Dad loved to cook. Grandma teased that even as a boy on the farm in Nebraska he wanted to help out in the kitchen, but was not so interested in cleanup.
He served as an Army cook in World War II, and probably did 75 percent of the cooking at home when I was growing up. He made us a lot of good chow, but there was one recipe in his repertoire I just couldn’t stand: his beef stew.
I had kind of a smart mouth, so I informed him the stew served at the school cafeteria was better than his. Theirs had all the meat and vegetables cut into bite-size pieces, enveloped in a thick, luscious gravy. But Dad left all the ingredients in big chunks you had to cut up as you ate, and his gravy was thin and watery. Once, just to shut me up, he made a batch to my specifications, and I remember that it tasted pretty good. But after that he went back to his original recipe.
Dad’s Army service began in the Oregon National Guard, and in the summer of 1970, when I was 15 years old, his outfit had a reunion to commemorate their call up to active duty. It was held on a weekend at the National Guard camp on the Oregon Coast where they had trained. On Saturday afternoon the families of the veterans were invited to join them for lunch, prepared and served by present-day National Guard cooks. As we waited in the chow line with some of Dad’s buddies and their families, I remembered reading that during the war the Army adopted standard menus. It was simpler to manage all the supplies if every unit was eating the same meals on the same days. So, I asked Dad what Saturday lunch would have been back then.
He considered the question a moment then answered, “I think it was beef stew.”
I couldn’t tell if he was just pulling my leg or not, but it was 25 years after the war ended and I couldn’t imagine they’d still be using the same menus. Besides, even if they were, their stew had to be better than his.
The chow line moved steadily. Soon we were inside the mess hall and finally saw what we were having for lunch. It really was beef stew. Dad was right! Maybe he already knew that when I asked him and couldn’t resist teasing me. But the saddest part was that it looked exactly like his. Apparently he’d been making it “Army-style” all those years.
Our group found some seats together, sat down and started to eat. Sure enough, it tasted just like Dad’s too. I tried to mind my manners, not wrinkle up my nose and keep my smart mouth in check, but it wasn’t easy, especially when everyone else at the table was gushing about how good it looked and tasted.
Almost everyone, that is.
Directly across the table from me was one of Dad’s friends, and the disappointed look on his face showed he felt the same way about our lunch as I did. But he had a secret weapon. In his hand was the pepper shaker, and he was applying it generously. In fact, I’m not sure I’d ever seen anyone put that much pepper on their food. He must have noticed the expression on my face too, because he handed me the shaker and said, “Try this. It makes it a little more tolerable.”
I thanked him, and while I’m sure I didn’t add as much pepper as he did, I gave my plate a big dose. He was right. It helped the flavor a lot.
I inherited Dad’s love of cooking and think about him often when I’m in the kitchen. Sometimes I’ll fix something he used to make and wish I had his recipe. His hits far outweighed his misses. I even make beef stew once in awhile. I still have his Army cookbook, but that’s a recipe I’ve never bothered to look up. I make it my way.
But I’ll always remember that day long ago when his buddy shared the secret weapon to making Army-style stew edible.
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