I have a good life, for the most part. I have a loving family, good friends, a bed to sleep in and food to eat every night. But sometimes, because of my father's cooking, I wish I didn't have to eat it. Now don't get me wrong, I love my father. He takes my sister and I places, buys us gifts, makes us laugh and really does loves us, but his cooking is abysmal. He has no freaking clue what flavours go well together (Thousand Island dressing does not taste good in potato salad), what colours should go together (you should never make chicken with Alfredo sauce and cauliflower with white cheese sauce on the same plate) and what not to make every single time he cooks dinner. Last year, every single night, my dad made salmon, and it wasn't even different kinds. Just plain, burnt, dry, barf-worthy salmon. When my sister and I complained, he would get all "sensitive". "Fine then. Don't eat. I'll never cook again." he used to say and " You never appreciate my cooking and there are children in Africa starving that would love to eat this dinner." He's probably right, but Salmon every night. Really? I used to love Salmon. Now, I can't even bare to look at it without wanting to puke. I know some people say too much of a good thing is bad, but too much of a bad thing is even worse.
Thankfully, my father has gotten better with cooking over the years with help from my mother, cook books and Bobby Flay. He now makes stew, jambalaya (his specialty), chicken, fish and chips, sloppy joes and hot potato salad (which is actually, quite good). Even though my father has moved on from his "Salmon" phase, some of his cooking is still questionable. He has now obtained a new phase, "sweet potato". He probably makes them every night, and I, once again, try to ovoid coming down to dinner. Here we go again.
