Okay, okay, so I blew it. Technically, strawberry shortcake did not get made on Father's Day, as my dad so casually noted in the comment section of my last post. It's not the first time I've been flamed by my own dad, and surely not the last.
But, I mean, listen. The plan, at my dad's behest, was to take him out for giant sundaes at Cabot's and that's exactly what we did. The strawberry shortcake idea was a little something extra I thought of, which sounded good in theory but then didn't seem to make a whole lot of sense as the day played out. I mean, who can eat strawberry shortcake after eating a giant sundae and then half of somebody else's. No one, that's who. We were all rolling around the baseball field afterwards just trying not to throw up.
So, yes, it's true, the shortcakes fell by the wayside. I got an earful from my dad, believe you me (Italians are not known for keeping their emotions all bottled up inside). Was my dad deserving of shortcake? Of course he was. He is deserving of shortcake and more, but we all deserve things we don't get! Sometimes you have to ride the moment for what it is and be less fussy about the details. I sent him home with a quart of local strawberries I picked myself, as well as the book, Man with a Pan, a collection of essays about cooking by such fathers as Stephen King and Mario Batali, not to mention a cutting board, some sharp knives, and measuring cups. After all, my notoriously stubborn bachelor dad has recently taken to cooking some of Nonni's recipes for the first time ever. I'm so proud!! Perhaps this was the start of a whole new chapter in his life. The chapter in which he realizes he can have strawberry shortcake whenever he wants!
So go ahead, Internet. Strike me down if you must. But let's not forget the time I made a whole tray of baklava for my dad's birthday dinner a few months ago and he forgot to show up. So, ya know, nobody's perfect.
I still love you, Dad.