My father, Keith Martin, ran a catering business called "As You
Like It" in Hyde Park VT - really close to Stowe. He ran it out
of our house. He did weddings and had a different menu every week. Watching
him gave me many happy memories.
When I was younger I watched him
all the time. I'd prop myself up on a stool, rest my chin on my knee
and observe. My eyes held the reflection of his brave hand flipping
and waving in the dangerous flame. I stuck to him, watching his practice,
praying he wouldn't be sliced by the sharp shiny edge of the silver
knife, cutting away at carrots and onions. He had it down, his routine,
a second nature, his hand chopping away, not stopping for anything,
in a rhythm. It was fascinating and I remember studying him for hours.
Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle
of the night and find my way to the kitchen where he would be working
hard but enjoying every minute of it. He sliced perfectly, he danced
around the kitchen tending to all his creations. He garnished everything,
seasoning here and there.
He prepared it all for us as if
we were critics or famous people to impress. Everything he made for
me always tasted better then anything most people could possibly imagine.
It was perfect and it was all for me. I was his only little girl and
the only one who looked up at him with my chocolate brown eyes, the
only one who gave him true inspiration. He put so much into it just
to make me happy. I even had the satisfaction of cracking an egg or
two or mixing until my arm hurt. He did everything to make me smile,
he put my name on menus with a description of the treat in a fancy font
and my name in bold letters. That meant more to me then I wanted to
show.
If we did talk it would be about
little things, things that didn't matter, but every time we had those
meaningless conversations in the kitchen, just the two of us, we walked
away adoring each other more every time. That's something Ill never
forget, I wont forget all the things I picked up from him that wont
show until I'm on my own. I wont forget the way he looked at me as he
did it all, just loving the fact that I cared.
Cooking with my dad was always my
favorite thing, and it taught me a lot about different kitchen tools
and just how to communicate with my dad. Its not always the recipe or
the way things are made its how you bond when you make them. My dad
was always the best to me, and still is.
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