Stop Underestimating Yourself

As a young girl, it never occurred to me to observe how much of the meal preparation my Dad actually did as compared to my Mom. We were what I would consider an average southern family – couple of kids, dog her and there, rabbits, ducks and other intermittent pets.

We called my parents MommyO and DaddyO. I think it originated when a picture was taken of my Dad posing with his hair combed down like Moe of the Three Stooges and with a guitar. My sister and I borrowed the polaroid one year to send off to have a jigsaw puzzle made of it for Father’s Day. We sent a cash payment that was promptly stolen. The company felt sorry for us and supplied the puzzle to us for free. The polaroid was returned with the logo “Beatle DaddyO” inscribed on it. Thus the origin of DaddyO.

I remember DaddyO fixing breakfast for my sister and me quite often when I was little. I found out later in life his affinity for cooking began at a young age. His mother purchased a donut making kit for him as a young teenage at his request. Over the years, he would prepare venison for many people who previously disliked the dish. His cornbread was good. At fish fry events, no one could touch his deep fried crappie or large-mouth bass filets. And the hushpuppies. We always had a large vegetable garden and plenty of fresh veggies to cook to death, as is the southern way.

One of the very first items I learned to cook was cornbread. Surprisingly, my beloved grandmother taught me. Considering she passed when I was 13, I probably mastered the cornbread at about age 10.

Years later in my twenties the boys caught some fish and I was tasked with their preparation. Not surprisingly, in my opinion, the fish were only adequately prepared. But the hushpuppies I crafted were superior.

I always knew my cornbread was good. But I also knew DaddyO’s was much better. The result is the same with his venison. So it was no surprise when my current boyfriend, who loves my cornbread and venison, had a chance to sample DaddyO’s, that he agreed it made mine taste inadequate.

Last week, I was cleaning out the freezer and found some crappie we were given. The date was approaching six months. After years of preaching, I know that a fish’s optimum freezer life is 6 months or less. So, by default, the fish made the dinner menu. I called the closest thing I had to a resident grandmother type cook for the lowdown on preparation. It had been 25 plus years since I had fried a fish. Boyfriend comes home and raves about how good it is.