Single Dads Should Forget Cooking And Feed Their Kids At Restaurants

A lack of culinary skill could result in a daily diet of chicken nuggets

 

Julia Child once said that anyone who was hungry was her friend. When my kids were little they were always hungry.

I’m a lousy cook.  I never bothered to learn and tend to eat the same things over and over again.  This strategy doesn’t go over well with kids.  My kids wanted menus with choices like at IHOP or authentic Asian from Panda Express.

When the kids were with me we spent a lot of time debating where we should have breakfast, lunch and dinner because eating at home wasn’t an option given my cooking skills.

For years our breakfast restaurant was the Sky Kitchen, a small cafeteria located at the local municipal airport.  The restaurant has seven oversized card tables, twenty-eight folding chairs and a twelve seat counter for its guests.  Go during non-peak hours or be prepared to wait.

The menu includes thirty-one varieties of omelettes, scoops of tuna, sandwiches, soup and fruit bowls that as far as I can tell only includes cantaloupe.

My middle daughter committed a crime one morning – she offered me her last piece of bacon.

“Are you crazy?” I asked her in a deep, slow voice to emphasize my displeasure.  “Never offer someone bacon.  It’s against the law and punishable by no TV for three years.  I don’t care if you’re sitting next to someone who begs you, never give away bacon.”

“Okaaaaay,” she said.

I waited a few minutes to see if I was firm enough in teaching her one of life’s most important lessons.

“Hey, can I have your last piece of bacon?” I asked.

“Nope.  And I don’t care if you love bacon.”

 

 

For lunch the kids fell in love with a mom and pop diner called Broiler Express.  The menu is like a giant airport flight board, which is fine as long as you can absorb about a hundred options and remember your short list. 

Broiler Express’s menu is so extensive you need to walk the width of the diner to read it fully.  I’ve eaten there for years and always wondered how the owners are able to keep enough ingredients on-hand to cook so many dishes.

 

Broiler Express didn’t have any booths, you had to grab your own silverware and ketchup (if there was any).  The tables wobble unless you stick a napkin until one of the legs. The bread – which some would call toast – is stored on the floor just outside the bathroom.  And although the clientele is predominantly white, the TV is permanently tuned to Spanish soap operas and futball.

One of my kids developed a love for the meat lasagna and ordered it several times a week.  As I was getting a refill of soda I noticed the cook as he took out a container that said “Kirkland” across the top.  He opened it, cut a serving of lasagna, and placed it in the microwave.

“Do you buy your lasagna at Costco?” I asked.

 

“Yes.”

“And then you turn around and sell me a piece for $15.99?”

“Yes.”

“What else do you buy at Costco and then sell to me?”

“Oh lots of things: roast chicken, chicken alfredo, shrimp, cookies, muffins, eggs, sourdough toast.  A whole bunch of stuff.  Oh and pie.  We get our pies from Costco too.”

 

There’s no response to a conversation like that.  I refilled my soda. I guzzled it and refilled it a third time.  From that day forward I refused to over pay.  Three sodas were my minimum.

 

Despite being served Costco food, we continued to eat at Broiler Express for years.  Costco is three blocks from our house and Broiler Express is over four miles away so it isn’t altogether clear to me why we kept going.  But this I do know, I always got soda refills.

Without question the best meal of the day was dinner.  The chances were good that the kids would pick a restaurant where the food was passable.  Even though dinner was the best meal it tended to devolve into trench warfare.  Each kid picked their entree and if you wanted a bite of someone else’s meal, sorry Charlie.  Dinner was about ownership and sharing showed weakness.

Once – after significant groveling – I was able to negotiate a bite of chicken and waffles my oldest.  I’d never had chicken and waffles so I figured that playing the guilt card might work.

She gave in and shared a bite.  Wow, who knew that maple syrup on fried chicken with a waffle chaser would be good.  I asked for a second bite.  No luck, the ceasefire didn’t hold.

The other two kids were equally stingy with their food.  If I wanted a taste of something, my success depended completely on their mood.  With three girls my chances of success were never in my favor.

Dessert with the gang was pure joy.  Instead of dinner’s ground war mentality, dessert was a communal experience.  During dinner heads were down and all attention was focused on the food.  Dessert encouraged teamwork and cooperation.

 

“Wow this is good.”

“Yeah it is, we need to come back to this place.”

“This is better than last night’s lava cake.”

Their favorite dessert was a pizookie from BJ’s Restaurant.  A pizookie is a warm cookie topped by three scoops of ice cream and your choice of topping — chocolate sauce, hot fudge or caramel.

When the pizookie arrived, so did the laughter.  The kids worked as a team holding up the ice cream tower so everyone could get a scoop.

As the girls got older we expanded the dessert genre.  Once we went to a 

French restaurant and I suggested they try creme brulee.  Then I corrected myself, “Each of you should try your own creme brulee.”

 

The burnt sugar on top of the creme was off-putting at first.  They had to break through the crispy layer to get to the good stuff but once they did I asked, “Do you like it?”

Silence.

 

“Oui oui.”

Our go-to Italian restaurant was next to a shop that only sells cannoli’s.  The store has been around since the Roman Empire and is closed for six months of the year so the owners can spend the summer in Italy.  When the owners return, all the regular customers return with them.  If you don’t understand the cycle of the cannoli shop, you’re not part of the tribe.

In our town, Wednesday is food truck night.  Twelve trucks sell everything from hot dogs and fish and chips to Korean BBQ and gyros.  Independent musicians provided live entertainment and the city sets out chairs and tables where people eat family style.

For us, food truck night was like must-see-TV complete with our rituals..  We’d get to the park by mid-afternoon, take the dogs for a walk around the lake and by 5:30 everyone was hungry enough to begin the food truck stalk.  Even the dogs knew where the best trucks were because they got treats.

We ate as we listened to the live music and always ended the night by getting a serving of frozen custard.  I’m not sure if any of us particularly liked the custard but no one fussed because it’s how we ended our first food truck experience and through the years we kept the tradition.

It wasn’t Julia’s Reine de Saba.  But it was ours.  And for a few bites we all forgot the rules.