I think Dad would like these crab cakes and appreciate that they’re a good way to celebrate this truncated holiday and his World War II army service.
The son said he imaged a surprise party, something that we both agreed was completely uncharacteristic of him. But the occasion was momentous–four years comprised of 19 hour days and working two jobs–a cum laude college degree from a rigorous university. But how to do this in this plague time seemed daunting.
Since taking possession of a smoker, the son has been experimenting with an array of meats. I’m very supportive of his efforts because he passes leftovers onto his parents.
It’s not hyperbolic to say the world shifted a little in having to contemplate the possibility that a recipe core to my identity, that was passed from one woman’s hand to another and then another could not be the total of its sum.