Dad, you are amazing! Mom, pass the gravy.

This latest submission to the Apron Strings Contest is from Donna whose family BBQ rituals will feel very familiar to many. The dad BBQ stereotype isn’t necessarily a bad thing–at all. Thanks for the great submission Donna. Be sure to check out the rest of the Apron Strings contest submissions and rate them. The lucky winners will receive gift certificates to shop at Fiesta Farms.

Every Saturday night my Dad barbecued steak. I mean every Saturday night. And we lived in Manitoba. In the wintertime, he’d put the (charcoal) barbecue right at the back sliding door. He’d throw the steaks on, close the door, have a few sips of his rye, open the door and flip the steaks. After seven minutes on one side and six on the other (one flip only), they’d go onto the plate my mother had brought out and then onto the table. My mother had been busy making the fried mushrooms, baked potatoes and salad. She put out the condiments, set the table and poured the wine.
We’d gather around for dinner and rave about the steak. “Dad, This is the best yet! So succulent, tender mine is done just right!” My mother would pour herself another glass of wine and wonder aloud–“I make the potatoes, mushrooms, salad, set the table, pour the wine–and he gets all the praise?” Apparently so. This went on for years. Mom was always around doing stuff for us. But Dad was special. And he cooked a mean steak.

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