Like Father Like Food

I have another thing to add about my dad (did you read my entry about him? - I tried to link it to this but I can't figure it out).  Anyways.

My dad loves peanuts.  He loves peanuts in their shell. He always has peanuts in his pocket and as he stomps around Calgary, perhaps in a drug store, perhaps in Home Depot, he eats his peanuts and drops the shell where ever he is.  And then he asks if you want a peanut.

I think it's funny.

He also once munched on a cinnamon stick as they are good for the heart.  But when he did so, he spit it out immediately and said things like 'bleck' 'ptha' 'terrible'.

Then promptly offered it to me.

My cousins are in awe of him because they swear they once saw him eat a muffin, have some of the muffin fall off, and catch that muffin bit in mid-air in his mouth.  He denies this ever happening.

I am not so sure.

Us Groundwaters are not delicate eaters.  We eat fast and shovel the food in our mouths like it is our last meal.  Or maybe that is just my dad.  Sometimes when eating, my mum and I just stop and stare at the wonder that is his mouth.

Then again we have all seen me shove food into my mouth and practically die of happiness.

It must be the genes.  Minus the peanuts in my pocket.

My love of all food and food from hole-in-the-wall restaurants comes from my parents.  When all the other kids in Winnipeg got to go to chain restaurants like Perkins or Red Lobster, I was dragged to a funny smelling South East Indian restaurant.  Or a Portuguese place where my parents told me calamari were Ukrainian french fries - I ate the whole plate and then cried when I found out the truth.

Don't ask me where Ukrainian comes from in a Portuguese restaurant.

They also tricked me at a young age into eating caviar by telling me it was ice cream balls.  Liars.

For all their trickery, I am grateful.  Without my peanut-popping dad, or my culinary mum, I might not be the food loving gal I am today.

Then again I might also be a size 2.

Meh, bacon's better than skinny.