Chris’s dad loves to eat. He is one of those people who is impressed by very little in terms of culinary skills and ability. Give him a piece of multigrain toast with butter, and he will likely eat it all up, with a fork and knife (yes, really), and then thank you profusely for it. “This is superb!” he will declare in his Queen’s English accent.

The other day, I toasted some of our favorite olive bread from Il Fornaretto Bakery in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. I topped them with some of my Le Bordier smoked salt butter that I had vacuum-sealed and brought back from France last November (it was being stored long term in our freezer). I explained when I put the bread on the dining table what kind of bread this was and where it was from. Chris’s mom heard me and nodded while eating. Chris’s dad supposedly heard me. Then a couple bites in, he said, “Yvonne, this bread is delightful. Are these raisins or dates in here?”

So, the first thing to note is that, no, he wasn’t listening or paying attention. His dad, while well meaning, is usually more interested in talking than listening (I guess the apples don’t fall that far from the tree with his sons…). He asked a question that I had already answered before the plate of toasts even hit the table. The second thing to note is that… how can someone confuse the flavor of something very savory and salty (OLIVES) for something that is as sweet as dates or raisins….? I could easily get over the fact that he wasn’t listening to me because I’m kind of used to him asking questions to things that were already discussed or answered, but the confusion about savory flavors vs. sweets is particularly crazy to me.

So, Chris’s dad does, in fact, love to eat. He just… has no idea what he’s eating the majority of the time. That reminded me of the time a few years back when Chris’s mom had marinated some chicken and left it on the counter while doing another household chore, planning to return to the chicken to cook it. A while later, Chris’s dad came into the kitchen feeling hungry and looked at the bowl of chicken as though it was left out to eat. So, he dug in. And he served himself a nice helping of raw, marinating chicken. Yum.