It has come to my attention that my Dad gets jealous when I write about anyone else but him on this blog. This includes my “no-good husband.” As well as “complete strangers.” And especially doesn’t rule out “girly vegetables.” How you can be jealous of a parsnip is beyond me.
So, fine, Dad, I’m writing about you. You who gave me life and a conscience that burdens me daily. Thanks a lot.
I was trying to spare you this next recipe from the family cookbook, but my dad feels it’s important. In fact, it will probably give you some insight into how I might have inherited my love of hot dogs. It might also give you a frightening peek into the life of a bachelor. That’s right, ladies, all this can be yours. You can put your phone numbers in the comment section.
So, without further ado, here's my Dad.
This is Freddie Donroe, third from the left, as a navigator on a (what kind of a plane is that?) in the Air Force in the early 1970s.
Then, it was off to Vietnam. Despite his nickname, Wrong-Way Al, he didn’t die. (YAY!!!!)
I was born at some point after his return. I’m a little fuzzy on the details of my birth, but I know it took place at a naval hospital in Kittery, Maine. I imagine the accommodations were luxurious. I didn’t think the Navy would let the Air Force use their hospitals, but I guess even hardened military men are afraid of laboring women.
The rules at the time were that the dads were not allowed in the delivery rooms. No siree, they were required to do the manly men’s work of smoking cigars in the waiting room. But, not my dad. They tried to kick him out but he refused, and when push came to shove, he pulled rank. The doctor was a measly lieutenant or something, while my dad had worked his way up to Even More Important Guy. As a reward, he got to stay and witness that living hell. I’ve been a Daddy’s girl ever since.
Here’s his signature dish.
Can of beans
Hot dogs (preferably thawed)
Open can. Pour contents of can into microwaveable dish. Cut hot dogs into half-inch sections and put into dish. Stir until you achieve a lumpy consistency. Microwave on high for about 4 minutes. Remove Beanie Weenies from center of dish, avoiding the burnt layer around the edges. Add ketchup to taste.
New Haven, CT – Worcester, MA
Next: Yankee Stadium
(Previous Recipe: Seven-Layer Cookies)