Growing up in my house was quite interesting. My father, who is epileptic, was always home growing up, and although he was never the gourmet chef no one can make hot dogs cut up and American Cheese melted on top and beans, scrambled eggs, and English Muffin pizzas like my dad. Mom always made awesome German dinners and I still crave a lot of those recipes.
As we got older and taught ourselves how to cook and the meals that they would make for themselves evolved.
Throughout high school, my dad primarily would make himself Rice and Beans. He'd get a block of Vermont Cabot Sharp Cheddar cheese and some smoked sausage, bring it into the living room on a small personal wooden cutting board and just cut off a slice of both and eat them, while munching on his rice and beans. This was a constant. Forever. And he still does it. He would always ask us if we wanted some, touting the health that would go with eating "rice and beans" and given the shape he was in maybe I should have listened.
But I didn't. I rarely ate it. But I remember the conversations that always went with it.
And now the Niff is eating it. Regularly. It didn't really phase me until she started talking like my dad. And now I might need to move away in the middle of the night because I'm having flashbacks.
Can you blame me?