Dad’s Cooking

​As the nature documentary played in the background, Tegan came down the stairs with an appetite. He’d just spent the last hour or so reading books on the Marsican Brown Bear and Ibex respectively in his room as his mind lingered on those animals for a few more seconds. His parents were focused on their documentary, cuddled up next to each other comfortably as they watched. The fifteen-year old looked at the screen for a few seconds and decided that he’d make his own dinner tonight. 

Entering the kitchen, he flicked on the lights and went straight to the pantry. Usually on nights like these, he’d just make himself a ham and cheese sandwich, grab some chips, and call it a day. However, on this particular night, he found himself craving a bowl of spaghetti. No better time than now to learn how to make it. Tegan grabbed a box of the uncooked, desired pasta and turned the box around to see the instructions.

“Four to Six quarts of water?” he quietly asked himself, puzzled. How much was that in cups again? He couldn’t look it up. He’d left his phone in his room and didn’t feel like going back up to get it. Guess he’d have to wing it. Grabbing a large, white pot from a cabinet, he went over to the sink as he heard his mother’s voice from the living room.

“What are you getting, Tegan?” Her voice always had an odd calming effect on those who listened to it. Tegan was convinced that if everyone just stopped and listened to his mother speaking, the world would be at peace for as long as she lived.

He turned around as he filled the pot with water. “I believe you mean, ‘making,’” he responded. He stared at the water as it filled the pot. Eventually, he figured it was filled enough once he was close to completely filling the pot. There had to be four to six quarts of water in there by now. He carefully set the pot on the stove and set it to boil. As per the box’s instructions, he got out the salt from the light blue cabinets. The box didn’t say how much salt was needed so, to be on the safe side, he put in one fourth of a teaspoon in the water before putting the lid on the pot.

The snow from yesterday’s snow storm had begun to melt, but Tegan could tell that not a lot of progress in melting it was made. The sun was disappearing over the horizon and it was just starting to get dark. Taking a glance outside was enough to make him smile. Cold weather was always enough to make him crave warm things and his mother shared a similar sentiment. Dinner in the wintertime especially would usually have something warm about it, whether it was chicken noodle soup or steamed vegetables with a side of beef. 

He heard the sound of someone getting up from the couch and assumed his dad was going to the bathroom. To his pleasant surprise, he saw his dad enter the kitchen and head to the fridge for something to drink. Tegan turned his attention back to the pot white pot for a moment before opening the lid away from himself to see how far along the water had come. It still hadn’t boiled enough. He heard his dad close the fridge and approached the stove. 

“Making spaghetti, huh?” His dad asked. Tegan turned around and nodded. His dad’s smile was always pleasant and welcoming. His red hair was in a messy man bun and his brown eyes always had a way of looking into someone’s soul and piecing together what makes them happy. “I was just thinking about making some myself. Great minds think alike, right?” That got a chuckle out of the fifteen-year old. 

Bottle of water in hand, his dad turned around to head back into the living room. But just before he did that, he turned to face Tegan one more time. “Let me know when the water’s boiled,” he requested. Nodding, Tegan turns away from his dad and back at the pot, catching a glance at his own reflection in the glass of the lid. His brown eyes looked at his currently blonde hair. It was only recently that his mom allowed him to dye his hair, but he was still deciding on what color to use. 

Eventually, the water began to boil and Tegan called his dad over. In a calming silence, his dad got the uncooked spaghetti out of the box and handed it to the fifteen-year old, who put it into the pot. His dad would hand him a wooden spoon to stir with. As Tegan stirred, his dad turned to him and said, “Maybe don’t add so much water next time.” Tegan only nodded in agreement as he continued to stir the pasta. 

At some point, his dad had grabbed the marinara sauce and set it aside. Turning off the stove, Tegan put a stranger into the sink to catch the pasta. This was the routine. He figured the pasta was done and he could eat now. However, his dad had other plans. 


He watches as his dad poured out the majority of the water inside, but not all of it. A small amount of water was left in the pot along with the pasta. Before Tegan could ask, his dad turned to him. “Can you pass me the sauce, Tegan?” He did what was asked of him and watched his dad with interest. He watched his dad pour a good amount of sauce into the spaghetti and begin to stir as he turns the stove back on. Confused, Tegan peered over his dad’s shoulder and pondered what he was doing.

“Do we have any cheese?” His dad asked. Tegan checked the fridge and grabbed a bag of shredded mozzarella cheese. You can never have too much cheese in a dish, Tegan remembered his mom telling him. He chuckled as he walked toward his dad. “Grab some of the cheese and sprinkle it into the spaghetti,” his dad instructed. Nodding, Tegan grabbed a fist-full of shredded cheese and sprinkled it into the pot as his dad stirred. Once Tegan finished that handful, he went and grabbed another to add to the pot.

Tegan’s interest in his dad’s plan was unwavering. He figured that the pasta was finished once it had been cooked to perfection. What was his dad doing? By now, the sauce had combined with the leftover water in the pot and looked like it was soup. Smiling, his dad looked at Tegan. “Can you keep stirring for a second?” He handed him the wooden spoon and went to where the spices were. As he looked, Tegan continued to stir the pasta with the sauce. He was lost in the simple rhythm of stirring. It was like playing a C-Chord on the piano; easy. 

Zoned out, his father eventually slightly shook his shoulder to bring him back to reality. He was holding oregano and Italian seasoning shakers. Smiling at him, his dad began to shake some of each seasoning into the pasta. Tegan’s mouth was watering as he looked down at what he and his dad were making. 

Eventually, Tegan saw his dad turn off the stove and take back the spoon. Hearing his dad telling him to grab a bowl, Tegan grabbed a yellow bowl and went back to his dad. His father put a good amount of pasta in the bowl and Tegan went to grab the parmesan cheese. With the pasta finished, Tegan grabbed a fork, sat down, and took a bite. 

“How is it?” He heard his dad ask. It took Tegan a few seconds to respond.

“It’s good, but it’s hot.”

His dad let out a quick laugh as Tegan gets up and grabs a bottle of water to cool down the inside of his mouth. The second bite was cooled slightly before being eaten. Then, Tegan could properly take in the flavor of the dish. Before he could say anything, his dad spoke.

“This is how Italians cook spaghetti.” This left Tegan confused. How did his dad know that? When he asked, his dad smiled and leaned against the kitchen counter. “An old friend of mine’s stepmom was Italian. Everytime I went over to hang out, his mom taught me how to make it.”

“So, she taught you more than just this recipe?”

“Are you kidding? She taught me every Italian recipe I know.” As his dad was talking, Tegan didn’t realize he’d finished the bowl until he put his fork into the bowl and hit the air and the bottom of the bowl.

He couldn’t resist going back for seconds.

After finishing the second bowl, Tegan saw his dad handing him a napkin. “You have some sauce in your hair.” Tegan didn’t even notice. He looked at himself in the reflection of the glass window. Now that he thought about it, maybe that’s the color he should dye his hair; red. Red like the sauce.

Red like his dad’s hair. 

Carrying the dishes back to the sink, Tegan saw his dad heading back to the living room, as he turned on the sink once again, he looked at the couch as his dad sat down.

“Hey dad.”

“Yes, kiddo?” 

“Do you think you can teach me some more of those recipes sometime?”

A smile spreads on both of their faces before Tegan’s dad voices his answer. “I don’t see why not.”