…far from the tree. Especially where fathers, sons, and grandsons are concerned.
I am not the only foodie in my family. My brother Mark is a whiz in the kitchen, and so, increasingly, is my nephew Patrick, who is now the proud owner of my father’s recipe files and several of his cookbooks.
He and his wife Sarah made this pasta from one of them a few months ago. I know my Italian mother, and her father, would particularly approve of that fluffy grated cheese on top. Around the same time, Mark sent me a photo of his latest creation, a post-St. Patrick’s Day New England boiled dinner.
To cook the brisket, he wrote, “I put it in water and brought it to a boil then changed the water and brought it to a boil again then dumped the water. I then put the meat in a pan and smeared it with good mustard and baked it for three hours, tented. Half way through, I added the potatoes. It was like butter, no knife needed. The only down side is I had to pay 49 cents a pound for the cabbage. I think dad rolled over in his …” Alas, he’s right, our father prided himself on paying 10 cents per pound or less!