Recently, I heard a story on NPR about a woman who was adopted. She talked about how she considers herself to be the totality of all her parents, the natural and the adoptive. I think of myself this way, a mixture of mannerisms and traits, heredity and circumstance. Except I’m not adopted. I’m a stepkid. My parents divorced when I was nine and remarried others when I was ten. I grew up with a platoon of parents who shaped me into the woman I am today. And for me, this is a good thing.
Today’s post is a tribute to my stepfather, who introduced me to a world I wouldn’t have otherwise known. For starters, he gave me an appreciation for opera and classical music. I was probably the only seventh grader humming La Boheme in algebra class. His passion for breaking news and foreign politics along with his demanding career as a journalist, opened my eyes to circumstances beyond our suburban neighborhood. And the playful bond he and my mom have shared for over 25 years has become my standard for a successful marriage.
I was probably the only seventh grader humming La Boheme in algebra class.
But, all that came later. When we first set up house together, I noticed his influence primarily in the kitchen. When he was in charge, family dinners often consisted of the following staples:
A) Baked chicken with a lemon shoved up it. Of course, this was always real gross to three tween girls. “That’s sick!”
B) Green rice. In the early 80’s, this favorite family starch was nothing more than white rice from a box turned green by an herb packet. No matter, the stepsisters and I believed this exotic-looking food elevated our culinary stature in the neighborhood.
C) Brown bread. This came in a vacuum-sealed can and was always uncomfortably moist. It seemed to have an eternal shelf life, like astronaut food. If I had been as curious as my stepsons are, I would have asked some very pointed questions about the ingredients and potential legality of this food.
But, of all the delightful dishes my stepfather brought to the dinner table, nothing competed with his Fettuccini Alfredo. Its’ gut-wrenching simplicity always pleased the crowd.
My unrefined stepsissies and I always inhaled it too fast (I didn’t learn until much later in life that noodles are meant to be chewed), which almost always led to after-dinner stomach cramps. I often used this over indulgence of butter and Parmesan to get out of dish duty. “My side hurts. I better lay down.”
It was during these long stretches of recovery on the couch that I imagined my stepdad cooking large batches in his bachelor years, his ploy for paralyzing young writers long enough to charm the pants off them. Maybe it was a particularly cheesy night when he’d won the heart of my mother. Now, years later, he was working a new kind of magic on me. Watching my disgruntled stepsisters scrub and stack dishes without me, I’d think, this guy’s alright. I’m not going to call him Dad (I’ve already got one of those), but he makes a pretty decent addition to the family. He can stay.
Image courtesy of The Vermont Country Store
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Platoon of parents is a perfect way to put it.
Brown bread in a can?????? I thought I’d heard it all! That is so great. I am not a stepmom, but I have one. When I was younger it was terribly hard, but now that we are all grown and I have kids of my own our relationship has grown too. She is one of the most dependable people in my life now. It’s funny how things can change so much and how much our growing up can shape, in a good way, who we are now (even if we didn’t like it as it was happening).
I sort of forget that I came from a step family too…..let me explain, my natural father died aged 32 of a heart attack, when I was aged 2 and my brother 5. After he died, Mum, widowed at aged 27, was living in a remote village. She sold up, and moved closer to where she could get a job. My Dad’s friends helped her move, actually, one of his friends carried on helping us, taking us out for day trips (an unfortunate incident of and ice rink and vomit from me didn’t put him off either). They got married when I was 5. So MY step father has always been in my life and I don’t know any other Dad.
What I’ve always said is that it takes a BIG man to take on someone else’s kids, or a big woman. It’s a hard job. But the amount of respect that I have for my stepdad is amazing, you couldn’t choose a better dad.
I echo Kristi: brown bread in a can?! How intriguing. Props to your stepdad for taking responsibility for the meals. My dad’s culinary repertoire consisted of McDonald’s and Breakfast for Dinner. I still love the Breakfast for Dinner….
I’m feeling a revival of brown bread in a can. The new couscous?
Please!!… Nooo… We really like the couscous. We’ll be good.
Who the heck are these in-laws and their canned bread?
What neat things your stepdad passed on to you.
And I too was quite surprised about the bread in a can…hmm.
But honestly he cooks more and better than most men I know (and some women!)
i am glad you came from a well meshed step-family. My story is no where as pleasant, I think I rival Cinderella in my story, only my prince charming didn’t steal me away from the wickedness, he came in much later, with three kids of his own lol.
You know, I almost forgot about the Brown Bread.. The fab of it was just dieing out when I came back to the states… We had it a few times, though that didn’t last long as we found a farmers market with fresh bread not far from the house.
I am an adopted kid, a bio-mom, and a Stepmom. It’s an interesting perspective. I hope I give my stepchildren a firm foundation and a lot of fond memories. I don’t want to be their mother, but I definitely end up filling those shoes someday. For my son, I just want to get along with his Dad so that he grows up knowing that he never has to choose. So far that’s working. I’ll let you know on the rest. :)
I’m glad your experience with your Stepdad was a good one. I think my husband is a knock-out Dad and Stepdad both. It benefits all of the kids to have a Platoon at their disposal, if all of the parents are focused on their well-being.
Hey, “The Husband”, try curry couscous. This has turned into my Husband’s new signature dish. He mixes it with chicken and an assortment of veges, it’s delicious and makes awesome leftovers. I agree, you should stay away from canned bread.
Are you allowed to share the Fettuccini Alfredo recipe? Or is that a family secret? ;)
I’m happy to share the recipe, but I warn you now. It might cripple you for an hour afterwards. You may want to try some mail-order brown bread instead.
IR
My dad didn’t make fettuccini alfredo, he made homemade macaroni and cheese. I am sure it was similar. Rib sticking, enough fat content for a month, formed cheesy film on roof of mouth. My step-sister, like Izzy, also didn’t think the noodles needed to be chewed. She inhaled them. And they were the big giant noodles. Giant. On one particular ski trip, I think she inhaled a couple quarts of it and then spent the night yakking it back up in the cabin bathroom while wearing her wool socks and ski cap.
I need the curry couscous recipe…….. and Fettucini alfrado
Piper is disgusting. I will not provide her mac and cheese recipe, but stay tuned for the alfredo…it’s coming
IR
[...] already read my tribute to him, where I acknowledged his culinary savvy, especially during the early years when we (just another [...]
Very interesting post I like your blog keep up the amazing articles