Thanks to a Longshot and a Bear on the Mountain

In a belated tribute to father's day I would like to recognize a few father figures in my life and thank them for feeding my addiction. I'll start with the biggest of them all...

Daddy Porkchops, aka Johnny Bear:
You surrounded me with great, gourmet food at a young age. I will never forget the giant, roasted pig sprawled front and center across the carving table at my First Holy Communion party. I was too scared and rambunctious (my cousins, sisters and I did lots of cartwheels and splits that day) to try it, but I watched in awe as you and your friends fearlessly dug in.
I appreciate all of the upscale, award-winning restaurants to which you exposed me. I had no business being in Le Cirque at age ten, but you made the reservations, I'm sure, without flinching ("Felix party of 6." DiFeliciantonio party of 6 causes too much frustration). You also encouraged us to try everything. I think that once I was old enough to form sentences and order for myself my choices were not from the Kid's Menu. I want to say that without tasting great food I would have never developed such a yearning to be close to it and to attempt to create it myself.
Moreover, thank you for one of the greatest food memories I have: rolling homemade gnocchi in our kitchen one Christmas Day. As usual, I ate tons of chocolate that morning and I don't remember what the final product tasted like (probably cacao), but I do remember making a mess with you and loving it.

Pop-pop Porkchops, aka Longshot Lou:
Thank you for never saying, "no." You made indulgences possible. My first cup of coffee was with you, in your Philadelphia row home, at 5am. I loved sleeping over. You and Mom-mom woke up before the sun and although you tried to creep past the pull-out couch into the kitchen I was secretly waiting for you to come down. I'd jump a few feet from my make-shift bedroom into the kitchen where you filled that blue-flowered mug with black steaminess then added half the sugar from the brown sugar bowl and lots of milk. Ice cream for breakfast? Sure. Chinese wings from JC's? Every time we were there. You flagged down the guy with Federal Street soft pretzels in a shopping cart with no problem. We had lots of great sandwiches from Primo's on visits to your house but the best sandwiches were packed on ice and eaten track side. Mother's Day at Delaware Park, eating peppers and eggs on a Sarcone's roll, and betting on the ponies were things I looked forward to all year long. It felt like hitting the trifecta. While I'm sure Mom-mom did most of the cooking, I think you were the master-mind menu planner.

Grandpop Porkchops, aka Boss:
Saturday night was date night. Mom and Dad would go out and we couldn't wait to get to Mountain Street. You were ready for us. Two pitchers of iced tea, Jiffy Pop, and cheesesteaks with onions soon to be fried were prepped and waiting. I later discovered that iced tea was a powdered mix but I could never re-create it as you served it. Your Jiffy Pop was unlike any other due to the velvety, melted butter you poured on top of each bowl you served. And although you only used chip steak and sliced American to make our main course you made it with such love and care for each ingredient that it tasted like sliced ribeye with aged cheese. I always had seconds, even though I knew it was only a few short hours until the next meal. Sitting up on the edge of the bed next to my two sisters, I carefully hopped off the pull-out avoiding the iron sides, shimmied through the skinny opening between the end of the bed and the TV stand then raced down the steps. Overcoming obstacles is always worth it in the end, especially if at the end they are serving bacon and eggs.

I know I have said "thank you" a million times but I don't think you have ever understood the impact you had and what it all really meant to me. Hopefully, somehow, now you do.