Linguine, white wine, oregano, plums, chicken and stewed onions, I know it sounds weird with plums but is actually very tasty!

I am always a fan of my dad's black eyed peas. I remember picking up my first car at his house and on the stove was a big pot of black eyed peas with the turkey neck in there. i didn't even say hi. I simply grabbed a bowl, sat down and ate. Then said hi.

My dad makes the world's most famous pizza (if you're from the western suburbs of Chicago). He started when we were kids just for fun, but over the past twenty years he has honed his craft and now on our entire family longs for those Friday night pizza dinners that we had when we were younger!

My Dad did not cook. He always had nice things to say about whatever my mom served. He was the support team. Nothing she did went unappreciated but he did not cook.
Sarah

his blueberry pancakes with blueberry lemon compote.

scrambled eggs

I don’t know about “famous” , but I do have fond memories of going perch fishing (ferocious beasts, I know) on lake Erie with my dad, catching a mess of them (that is a metric weight, look it up) and him pan-frying them in butter with nothing but salt and breadcrumbs while I watched enjoying the illicit 17-year-old-don’t-tell-your-mother- I – gave-you-this beer. Lesson learned: simple is good.

My dad is definitely not a cook...that being said he was (as most fathers of my generation were) king of the grill. He was best at lemon oregano chicken - quartered pieces of chicken that he actually marinated himself and then grilled (with a maximum of turning and moving of course...guys just don't know when to let the meat alone.)

He was and still is the salad guy, he was using avocadoes long before they were cool, in Missouri!

Dad was a great grill cook. We lived on a lake growing up and he cooked a mean steak on the grill on our deck.

My favorite dad dish was on sunday mornings. He'd go out for the paper and come back with these little round rolls about the size and softness of a parker house. They were fairly heavily dusted with snowy white flour. He'd fry eggs sunny side up make us breakfast sandwiches. You'd bite in and the warm yolk would run down your hands and chin and the flour would leave little puffs of white clouds. He wasn't much of a cook but I recreated those just this past weekend with the Parker house rolls that we get from Z Baking and serve at Hearty.