Happy Father’s Day to all you guys out there who have brought little people into the world! I hope you’re duly honored. Most of you reading this do so because you cook—God bless you for that! I love guys who cook for their family. There’s something really powerful about them. Maybe because my dad, above, circa 1968, cooked food over fire all year long for us.
Happily, Donna let’s me cook anything I want on Father’s Day, so I’ll relaxing by the grill tending a spatchcocked turkey (thanks for the idea, Cheryl). This is not steak or a burger. This is 12-pound bird—currently soaking in a sage brine—and so will require a good couple hours, at least, of hanging out around the fire, tending the fire, mopping the bird with butter seasoned with mustard and tarragon and shallot, and generally feeling lucky.
I don’t get to tell my dad Happy Father’s Day anymore or tell him how much I love him, but he taught me how to grill so I can think about him and thank him with a great roasted bird and the butter baste he came up and served his friends and family all summer long.
Happy Father’s Day.