Saturday, November 12, 2011

The book on the cook


I inherited precisely five things from my father after he died. Two of them, and for reasons that are inexplicable to me, are spoons. A big metal one I use for cooking vast quantities of sauces and such; a soup spoon with a black bakelite handle I reserve for comfort foods.

The brass knuckles that he kept in a metal locker in the cellar underneath the apartment building where we lived also came to be in my possession. In winter I used to wear them underneath a black leather glove when riding the A train through Brooklyn to get to high school. I only used the weapon a handful of times, always out of self-defense, though I may be undercounting here just a bit.

There was also a thousand-dollar check from a life insurance policy that was turned over to me when I became eighteen, five years, give or take, after dad died. I used the money, as best I can recall, to buy books and records and black-and-white film and drugs and Chinese food and gifts for a girlfriend or two. Unlike the spoons, which I still have, and the brass knuckles, which I don't, the money never meant much to me.

Then, of course, there is "the book." Like the spoons it has a distinct culinary bent. Also like the spoons, I will never part with it.

"Technical Manual 10-412" was released by the War Department of the United States in August 1944. A copy of TM 10-412, also entitled "Army Recipes," belonged to my father. He was a corporal in the Army, you see, and his station during his tour of duty was that of cook.

I would like nothing better than to tell you some of my father's mess hall stories; really, I can't think of many things that might make me happier. Except that I don't have any of my father's mess hall stories. Because the man never told me any of them. 

He was a quiet one, my father. I really cannot say what thoughts he may have had or positions he might have taken on the vast number of matters that make up a man's life.

Searching through his cookbook hasn't shed any further light, for here too he is silent. There isn't a handwritten scribble on any of the manual's two hundred and seventy pages. Not a single one.

I know this because I have gone through the pages hundreds of times through the years, each time searching for him and wishing that I'd missed something the time before.

I looked again just yesterday, in fact.

But he's just not in there.

9 comments:

  1. My father was a quiet man. He began a memoir which was never found after he passed. We have torn all of our homes inside out looking for it. I just felt a similar pang.

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  2. Great story, wonderful insight into what's important too you. Too bad you never found anything in the book written by your dad.

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  3. My father doesn't say a lot.But when he speaks it is worth listening.
    I am sure you remember much more of your father.You were still young..when he died.
    And the book..it is priceless..

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  4. Expressed longing, right here on a meatball blog. I can't help but believe that your earnest words have passed through a veil and touched your father's heart.

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  5. My Dad was also a cook during his tour of duty with the Army in WWII and Korea. He also cooked at home as he was a better cook than my Mom. He died when I was a young teenager and I miss him every day. Thankfully I did get a chance to hear some of his stories as he used to take me fishing with him out in Captree, LI and we;d talk as we watched our lines. I just wish I had more years with him and that he had a chance to meet my husband and children.

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  6. Wow, you are an expert on spoons. I have a Silver Spoon (Il Cucchiao D'Argento) ... it's considered the Bible of Italian food. I often make spaghetti and meatballs, my daughter's favorite dish - now everytime I make it I'll think of you. I like your blog, you're so funny. I'm following you immediately. Regards from a sicilian in Rome!

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  7. i have just stumbled upon your blog - your food, much of it seems daunting to me, your writing is captivating and for that I will subscribe and maybe, one day, I'll try to cook something you've posted. but for sure, I will enjoy your stories and journeys to another place and time.

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  8. Thank you, Tee, very nice of you to say. And welcome.

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  9. Good bye, considerate soul mate :)

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