Kitchen Memoirs are a collection of stories about the people and dishes who have inspired me most in the kitchen. Each month I will share a new story about one of these people accompanied by one or more recipes. This month’s story is about my Dad, Tom
Dear Dad
So often I’m asked, “How did you come to love cooking so much?” These Kitchen Memoirs were meant to answer this question. However, when the idea for this series of stories first dawned on me, one person came to mind first: my Dad, Tom.
Though his tenure in the kitchen began at a young age, learning to fry his own eggs for breakfast, his culinary journey has been a winding one. There have been years of experimentation, education, and dormancy. His long career working strenuous (and primarily overnight) hours as a Police Officer meant little time for much more beyond my and my sibling’s sporting events, family time, hunting trips, and sleep. His career allowed for my Mom, Viki, to stay home for many years, taking care of my sister, brother, and I, and of course: taking care of mealtime. Outside of grilling and cooking wild game, those were years that he didn’t spend much time on cooking. Those years, however, were the exception in a life that has been filled with a true passion for food.
A Lesson In Self Sufficiency
My Dad was 1 of 7 children: 3 boys, 4 girls. Being the 3rd oldest, by the time he hit a certain age, my Grandma had her figurative plate full caring for younger siblings. “Make it yourself!”, she would tersely but politely say in response to the age old, “I’m hungry!”. Of course, she happily taught him the basics, with his first cooking lesson being how to fry his own eggs for breakfast. “I always liked cooking because I could eat what and when I wanted. Also, the feeling of accomplishment it gives you. Some people don’t get that feeling, but I like that: I like being more self sufficient.”
Both my Grandma and Grandpa’s cooking lessons continued as my Dad grew older, though rather informally. “I learned to grill just by watching my Dad do it. Then, whenever me, Wayne, Pete, and Craig would go up to Craig’s cabin, I would just naturally be the one grilling for everyone.” He reflects fondly of his Mom’s, my Grandma Rose’s, Sunday suppers, which included beef roasts and his Grandma Vennewitz’s famous broasted chicken. Although he recalls many favorites made by his Mom, his absolute favorite meal is turkey for Thanksgiving. “If I could eat one meal…it would be turkey”.
Clearly those Sunday suppers had an impact on him, as he would go on to college with an understanding of how food can truly bring people together: and a desire to do just that.
“Also, the feeling of accomplishment it gives you. Some people don’t get that feeling, but I like that: I like being more self sufficient.”
Eggplant: The Owl House Chef
In the Fall of 1971, my Dad began his Freshman year at Moorehead State University with a scholarship to play football. Two years in and two major surgeries later, he was given the opportunity to coach the team during his Junior year, with a promise of returning to the field his Senior year. After one practice, 4 months post-op from ACL and MCL surgery, his decision was made: the joy that the game brought him wasn’t worth the risk. It was time to retire.
During his time at MSU, he joined the Old Order of the Owls: a fraternity on campus that was born in 1901. This chapter of his life is one he reflects on fondly and often. Whether it was the intensity of Hell Week, when we was lovingly given the name “Egg Plant”, the large painted refrigerator in the basement which remarkably resembled a Schlitz beer can, or the antics of the house that legitimately could have been the inspiration for the 1978 film, “Animal House”, my Dad tells stories about these years of his life with intense fervor. He has an uncanny ability to recite events with such imaginative illustration and unbelievable imitations, you’ll find yourself feeling like you’re experiencing his stories firsthand.
During his Junior year, he was working as a security guard and chose to spend the Thanksgiving holiday on campus to make extra money. 11 of his brothers also chose to do the same. My Dad wasn’t about to miss out on his favorite meal of the year, and after watching his Mom make it time and time again, he offered to make Thanksgiving dinner for everyone. “There were 12 of us, and everyone chipped in $2 a piece. I had $24 to make Thanksgiving dinner for 12 guys! Back then Turkey was just 27 cents a pound, so I got the biggest one I could find. I cooked a 24 pound turkey slathered in Crisco in a brown paper bag, and I made stuffing, real mashed potatoes, and I even cooked cranberries. After all that, I still had enough money to buy some cheap concord grape wine”, he laughs. “Mogen David was more expensive than Manischewitz, so we got the cheaper one. All 12 of us ate the entire 24 pound turkey!”.
This wasn’t a singular event: my Dad cooked often at the Owl house. “I would do beef roasts, venison, burgers…One time I roasted up about 10 ducks for the house, and we sat around watching football. Pretty easy stuff really”, he says nonchalantly, though you can tell he isn’t fishing for a reaction. These formative years for any young person’s life pave the way for their career, their relationships, and their education. For my Dad, it also shaped his love for cooking.
Breakfast For Dinner
A year after my Dad graduated college, he and my mom were married in 1976. Shortly in to their honeymoon, a road trip to the Black Hills (one that my husband and I would replicate over 40 years later), my Dad got the call: he received a formal job offer as a Police Officer from the city of Bloomington, and he needed to put in his two week notice with his current department. Back home they drove!
A few years later, my sister was born, followed shortly by my brother, and then me. These years were filled with backyard poolside BBQs, memorable vacations, and consistent family dinners. With my Dad working overnight, some of my favorite suppers were those which were breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Having supper as a family turned in to my favorite part of my day: in part because this was time spent with Dad. We talked about our days, what was happening in school, and any upcoming plans we had as a family unit. Shortly after plates were cleared and hearts and bellies were full, he was out the door for work.
My Dad loved his job. Sure, hours could be long and the work challenging, but the more difficult, escalated, or stressful the situation, the more he leaned in. He would relish the opportunity to learn, teach, and gain more experience, seeking out opportunities to continue his development. Countless stories were told around our dinner table, sometimes censored, other times not, all of which illustrated his sincere passion for what he did.
As they say, “those you work with become your family”. My Dad established some pretty remarkable friendships with his colleagues over the years, many that he still sees on a regular basis. Although the majority of their time spent together today is centered on hunting, much of it is peripherally focused on food, too.
Field To Table
When I was growing up, I became attune to how often my Dad’s truck was parked in the driveway. You see, if it were October or November it could only mean one thing: Dad got a deer.
Early in the season, as the air just started to cool, he would be in the backyard shooting his bow. An excellent shot, his target was regularly pristine, though the center shredded. After 30 years as a Police Officer, competing in the National Police Combat Championship, and hunting for the better part of his entire life…you could say this precision would be expected. While these are all contributing factors, he’s as talented as he is due to years and years of practice, patience, and continuous learning. “Always a student”: a mantra I get from him.
I became very familiar with the anatomy of deer, pheasant, duck, grouse, and wild turkey carcasses. My Dad would butcher any animal he killed, with our garage serving as his workshop. He taught my siblings and me to honor and respect animals, with countless antlers, feathers, and taxidermy serving as decor in our basement (in quite a tasteful manner, I might add). I think it was his way to pay tribute and honor those animals, but also to remind us that wild things are beautiful.
The Plant family farm included 90 acres of woods to hunt, which meant every weekend he could manage, he would be up hunting. Over the years, Fall became synonymous with venison. Not that we didn’t eat it year round (my Dad’s venison burgers are excruciatingly delicious), but Fall always marked a special time. The cooler weather welcomed warmer dishes in to our home, the most memorable including venison. One of my most vivid sensory memories from my childhood was when I would get off the school bus, walk past my Dad’s truck parked in the driveway, and then it would hit me: garlic. My mouth instantly salivating, I would march forward, anxious to ask the question that I already knew the answer to. “What’s for dinner?”, I would ask hopefully as I looped my backpack around the bannister at the foot of the stairs. With an electrified expression he would say, “Venison Roast”.
Outside of hunting at the family farm, he would take hunting trips with his friends, always coming back with stories to tell. He reflects on the best wild game he’s ever eaten in a way that makes you feel like you were right there with him, almost 30 years ago. “In 1991 I went out to Hayden, Colorado to hunt elk with Bud Anderson, Bobby Larsen, Scott Wilson, and Terry Johnson. Not too long after we got in, Bud got a huge 500 pound cow elk. With a little help from some locals, we were able to get it down the mountain and back to camp. Bobby Larsen fried up 2 pounds of bacon, which was reserved for the next morning. He dredged the elk liver in seasoned flour and then cooked it in the bacon grease. And as he’s cooking, it starts snowing: big flakes, about the size of a quarter. We had the World Series on the radio, in the snow, eating this fried elk liver. It was the best wild game I’ve had in the field in my entire life. And the Twins won that night, too.”
Cooking With Venison
Many people don’t understand how to properly cook venison. Often it’s overcooked, not properly seasoned, or its gaminess is hidden by contrasting flavors. My Dad admits that he wasn’t always partial to it. “I never really enjoyed it growing up, since it was always overcooked. As I got older, I just kept experimenting with it.” While I personally don’t remember ever not loving venison, he recalls when the switch was flipped. “I remember reading an article about taking a low leg cut of venison and cooking it slow and low with lots of moisture. And when I started doing that, you kids just gobbled it up. I loved doing it because I wanted you kids to like it, and we were saving a lot of money by not buying beef.”
When asked where he gets his inspiration for cooking venison, his response is loyal. “Some cookbooks have complex recipes with so many ingredients, but more times than not they’re no better than what I’m doing. I find myself coming back to my standard recipes pretty frequently.” Sometimes, you don’t change a good thing.
Most times, however, he’ll start with a recipe, though it evolves over time. He’ll add new spices, hot sauce, lemon juice, red wine, soy sauce, and more garlic. Always more garlic.
This Venison Burgundy recipe is one that he’s been making since the early 80’s. Though he can’t recall the precise publication, he knows it was from a hunting magazine. It includes tender, cubed venison that’s simmered in a garlicky red wine sauce which even by describing it, I can smell it. It’s served over wild rice, egg noodles, mashed potatoes, or any starch or grain you prefer. It’s the epitome of my Dad’s cooking, and absolute, unadulterated comfort food.
Cooking With Fowl
Though deer are the foundation of his love of hunting, he also hunts winged things, too. He’s had chapters of his hunting career that have been dedicated to hunting duck and pheasant, but for the better part of the past decade he’s focused on turkey. He’s had ample luck, and plenty fun doing it. That could be in part because he’s gotten my Mom interested in hunting, too.
“Pheasant a la Creme” consistently became, “Wild Turkey a la Creme”, although any fowl works nicely in this recipe. The meat is dredged in season four, lightly browned, and baked in a cream sauce in the oven. Like the Venison Burgundy, this recipe also can be served over any grain or starch. It is out-of-this-world tender, decadent, and absolutely divine.
Fishing On The English River
Though there are many more hunting stories to tell, my Dad’s stories about fishing in Canada are tough to beat. His colleague and close friend, Bud Anderson, received an invite from his neighbor whose family owned land on the English River back in the 70’s. The family’s agreement was this: come and enjoy the scenery, the fishing, and the wildlife, but it’s expected that you participate in the upkeep of the property. Read: there is always a list of projects or chores to complete. Though there’s hardly anything to complain about. “You can only get in by water or air to the cabin. The river goes ripping through the rapids right out front. It’s so cool at night, with the windows open, all you can hear is rushing water. It’s fabulous.” My Dad’s stories about his time on the English River for the past 25 years are filled with adventure (exploding cabins), wildlife (close encounters with Lynx), and of course: gourmet cuisine.
Bud’s own Dad was the Head Chef of a landmark hotel in Minneapolis, so his education was ingrained. “Bud grew up around gourmet cooking. He doesn’t need a recipe, he just knows how to cook great food.” This solidified through my Dad’s countless stories about Bud’s perfectly balanced Szechuan sauce, expertly golden pan fried fish, and thick and mouthwateringly juicy beef tenderloin. There’s never a bad meal when my Dad and Bud are together, I have no doubt. So many of his go-to recipes somehow tie back to Bud and their time on the English River.
I'll Have A Dutch
One English River tradition that’s been brought to my family is The Dutch Martini. The Patriarch of the family who owns the property, who’s name was befittingly Dutch, always drank his martinis in a very particular way:
- A few rocks
- Primarily vodka
- A quick drip of gin
While our family’s version usually includes 1-2 fat olives and a spoonful of the briny juice, a trip to the cabin wouldn’t be complete without a Dutch. Although I don’t know Dutch, I would presume he would be proud that his legacy of martini drinking has been the source for countless stories told fireside at the cabin.
Thick As Thieves
Over the years, my parents have maintained some of the best friendships with people from grade school, college, and work. Mike and Gail Dorsey have been in my parent’s lives for close to 50 years. They were in each other’s weddings, Mike and my Dad were Owls together, and there were frequent Plant and Dorsey BBQs and get togethers, which have continued to this day. “The Dorsey’s cook super gourmet. We get together with them a couple times a year, either at their place or ours, or every once in a while we’ll go out. But Mike is a great cook: he can just cook from memory. Some people… their food’s ok, but they don’t have the knack for making everything just right like both he and Gail do.”
My Dad met Grant Weyland when he started his first job as a Police Officer in Moorhead, shortly after he graduated. Grant and his wife, Marsha, would become fast friends with my parents, a friendship that remained strong despite my parent’s relocation to the Twin Cities. Today, they see each other frequently, as their cabins are a short drive apart, not to mention the turkey hunting trips and sunny vacations they take together. One thing my Dad always anticipates when hanging out with the Weylands is fantastic food. “I’ve never had a bad meal at their house”, he says, “both Grant and Marsha are fabulous cooks.”
It’s very obvious that his friends have been a huge part of my Dad’s love of cooking. “I wanted to learn more about cooking and be around it, I loved it. People like Bud Anderson and Grant Weyland, they really knew what they were doing. It’s so enjoyable to cook something that tastes good, but to please other people: that’s what’s fun”.
The Tambourine Man
Since my Dad retired in 2006, he’s found more time and space for the activities he loves most. Cooking, hunting, fishing, and what might just be his first love: music.
For those who know him, it may come as a surprise (or perhaps, not at all?) that Tom was in a band when he was a young teen. “The name of the band was ‘Just Us’. Dave Carlson was in the band too, he was the guitarist. Al played drums, and I sang and played the tambourine. We just did covers: some Rolling Stones…we actually played at a couple of parties!”, he laughs. Though he’s reluctant, or rather, refuses to perform on demand, he has an excellent singing voice. Whether it’s drifting down from the cabin loft, around the corner as he intently hovers over the grill, or belted out as a joke, you can tell that ‘Just Us’ could have been something big.
Like cooking, his education, knowledge, and admiration for music has compounded over time. Led Zeppelin, Eva Cassidy, Merle Haggard, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Chris Botti, Joe Bonamassa, The Doors, Vince Gill, Bonnie Raitt, The Rolling Stones, Waylon Jennings, Brandi Carlile, The Moody Blues, ZZ Top, Bob Dylan, The Allman Brothers, Leonard Cohen, The Doobie Brothers, Buddy Holly, Van Morrison, …the list is truly endless of bands and artists that my Dad loves.
His deep appreciation for good music is truly infectious. A few years ago, my parents were hosting a get together for our family and the Dorseys, and my husband and I decided to stay late. We started playing records in their basement, and before we knew it, it was nearly 4 in the morning. Glassware half-filled with amber liquid sat near us on the floor as we thumbed through their impressive vinyl collection. It’s a miracle we didn’t get a noise complaint from how loud we were playing records that night.
At my parent’s cabin, music is a core part of the ambiance. 70’s rock on the lake, the “Crooners” or “Chicks” playlist during happy hour on the deck, jazz and blues for dinner, and classic country around the bonfire: there’s a playlist for every activity, and always enjoyed at an alarming volume (unless the grandkids are sleeping).
Dean Martin floats on the breeze out to the lake, where Dad insists that the Bald Eagles are drawn to his velvet voice.
The famed “Late Lament” of the Moody Blues is always recited with uncanny precision.
Artists are called out as their songs come through the speakers, with a story or a fun fact to follow.
All conversation ceases when a specific lyric is sung, and sometimes Dad’s words get caught in his throat as he processes and translates what it must mean.
Cook & Learn
“Hi Dad!”
“Hi Jamie, what’s up?”
“Well I know I have it written down in five different places but can you remind me what you do for your…”
This exchange occurs on a frequent basis. Whether it’s his classic marinade recipe, how to cut up a chicken, or what temperature to grill salmon to: I seem to always have a reason to call him with a cooking related inquiry.
“Well, I cheat a lot, I’ll use Italian dressing for half the base, then add in what I have. Hot sauce, citrus, soy sauce, wine, garlic. The good one for venison is just soy sauce, cabernet, and garlic. That’s it! Just don’t leave it in there too long”, he cautions. “ It breaks down the protein. I ran in to that one time up in Canada, I was making drunken venison…”. He goes on to tell me a story of the time he didn’t have red wine for a marinade, so he used what he had: vodka. “I let it sit fo the better part of the day, so when I went to put it on the grill, it was almost deteriorating. It turned mushy on the edges. Bud and Steve both gobbled it up but Bud said, “A little heavy on the marinade, huh?” A lesson to remember: cook and learn.
“It’s so enjoyable to cook something that tastes good, but to please other people: that’s what’s fun”.
Realistically, I always know how to find all the answers to my questions. I guess I’ve just subconsciously used it as an excuse to chat with him, listen to a story, and have him remind me how intuitive and artistic cooking can be.
He compares food to another skill he’s honed over the years: woodworking. “It’s just like primitive art: I can start with a bunch of old moldy fence wood and end up with something like the tables I’ve made.” And that’s genuinely how he operates: use what you have, and learn along the way.
Sweet Tooth
Although cooking is primarily where he’s focused in the kitchen, he’s no stranger to baking either. “And it’s that feeling of accomplishment, like that time I made that peach pie from scratch. I thought, this is really cool. It turned out delicious. So now I know if I ever want to do this again, I can!”
He also reflects on his favorite dessert of all time that he’s made a time or two: Chocolate Pudding Cake. “That’s a Betty Crocker recipe. My mom made it growing up, and everyone loved it, but especially me. On special occasions if I could have that, that’s what I would choose.” Incredibly rich, soft, and creamy, this cake includes a handful of humble ingredients which pay out dividends in flavor.
Lessons I’ve Learned From My Dad In The Kitchen:
- Always clean as you go when you cook. It makes for a more organized working space, which means an enjoyable cooking experience.
- Pan sauces are just as easily made in the microwave.
- Experiment in the kitchen. Find the recipes, the methods, and the ingredients that work for you.
- A beverage and a good playlist is mandatory for a delicious meal.
- When in doubt, seasoned flour, some fat, and a heavy pan can transform any meat in to a delicious meal.
- Always take care of your cast iron.
- An expected side effect of a delicious evening is wearing sunglasses while pouring your coffee.
- Have fun!
Thank You, Dad
I genuinely have never met anyone in my entire life as dedicated as my Dad. Whether it was working grueling hours to provide for our family, investing in himself to be better in his career, or putting in countless hours of dedicated practice to any of his many crafts: he’s relentless. But with this determination comes an overwhelming amount of heart. Of love. Of emotion. Of care.
Dad, thank you for teaching and showing me what hard work looks like. Thank you for instilling in me the respect we should all have for one another. Thank you for holding my hand, whether crossing a precarious pass or down the aisle. Thank you for showing me that it’s ok to get emotional when a lyric hits just right. Thank you for teaching me to take responsibility when things don’t go as planned. Thank you for passing down your love of the West to me. Thank you for entertaining my countless calls asking for your marinade recipe. Thank you for being the storyteller that you are. And good grief, thank you for all the delicious meals.
I love you.
Recipes Featured In This Story
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Wow!!! Your dad makes my cooking skills look like that of a grade schooler!!! He is an incredible man! Once again Ms. Jamie, excellent job pulling all of this together. You are such a gifted writer amongst all of your many other talents! We are so blessed to have you and your incredible family a part of our lives!!!
Love you girl!!!!
P.
Wow! Thank you for such kind words, Mr. P! I am so lucky to have such talented Dads 😉 Love you!
I can literally hear your dad saying all of these stories!! Wonderfully written Jamie! ❤️
Thank you so much Morgan! <3