My Dad the Chef

As you know, I celebrate my birthday for an entire week. The weekend before my birthday, I host a bacchannalia of sorts for my close friends. The weekend after is reserved for dinner with family at my parents' house. While the drinkfest with buddies may be over-the-top festive, it's the dinner that I most look forward to. My Dad cooks for the entire day, conjuring up a meal that is unmatched in its taste and execution. The side dishes may vary from year to year, but there is always one constant: The Standing Rib Roast.

Dad's got connections with the butcher, and together they select the choicest cut of beef. He takes it home and does something to it, much a fabled mystery that I may unlock as I get older, that transcends anything else. I don't know exactly what he does to it, but what I do know is that it is loved and tended after as if it were his own personal entry into the Meat Hall of Fame.* (Original photo of Dad has been redacted, as he thought he looked evil. I thought it was more Evil Genius, but whatever. He makes me awesome food, who am I to argue?)

When he places it onto my plate, it's like my own personal slice of gourmet love.
No, I don't have a recipe for you in this post. I just wanted to share the greatness of Dad.