Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. It was a nice one, kind of quiet. I love cooking at my Dad’s because he has a plethora of beautiful things that inspire chopping, mincing, stuffing and eating. Everywhere I turn there are beautiful eclectic collections of dishes and bowls and strange and unusual objects. An antique taxidermy falcon lives next to a wooden swan and a bowl full of misshapen eggs. He is antique dealer and like me with my honey, a bit of a hoarder. I know it is not nice to covet, but covet I did for many years his beautiful French Sabatier knives. I remember when he bought them. It was the late 1970’s and they were very fancy as far as knives go. Over the years after much use they have come to be replaced by newer and shiner non-carbon steel knives, smaller knives, but they always remained in their place. So this weekend when he gave them to me I nearly fainted, as I never imagine him parting with them. I suddenly feel very grown up.
One of the greatest things about my father is that he simply indulges whatever current object obsession I might have and right now I have a bit of a knife one. He has seen many obsessions come and go. As an antique dealer and a purist, he has of course raised an eyebrow at some of my choices over the years, which I was always able to defend with “It’s a prop. I can use it in a photograph.” This past weekend I went in search of copper pots. I always find it is best to have one thing in mind when looking.
In New Hampshire a giant copper pot suitable for the kitchen in Oliver Twist suddenly appeared in the junkiest of shops. I justified my need for this giant cauldron by telling my father “everyone needs a big stockpot and just think... if we had had it yesterday we could have made the turkey soup in it and the patina is SO nice!”
He took the pot from me, and did not tell me I was insane. Instead, he walked to the counter and battled the antique maiden and got that pot for a price lower than I could ever imagine and it was awesome.