Happy Daddy's Day, y'all! Father's Day '09 has been quite anti-climactic. The only exciting part was the coleslaw... and it wasn't a good exciting. It started this morning when my dad decided he was going to make his famous coleslaw to go with the BBQ ribs we were having for dinner. This is the only dish my dad makes. Ever. He never cooks aside from flipping burgs on the grill. For whatever reason he makes really good coleslaw that everyone seems to enjoy... everyone aside from my lil sis who would rather cut off her left foot than eat shredded cabbage in a creamy mayonnaise dressing. Yummy.
He started shredding cabbage just after breakfast. It smelled disgusting. The entire house smelled disgusting. Since I slept late, I had the pleasure of smelling the cabbage while eating my Raisin Bran Crunch. Delicious. He shredded enough cabbage to make enough coleslaw for an entire army and always does. Keep in mind, only my immediate family members would be eating dinner at the Erasmus house tonight. Just Mom, Dad, Julie and yours truly. (Didn't mean for that to rhyme.) Dad didn't seem to notice the extreme portion. I'm fairly certain that he only knows how to make enough coleslaw for an army. No less.
Six o'clock rolled around and we decided to eat. My mom asked me to take the coleslaw out of the refrigerator where it had been sitting all day. As I peeled the tin foil from the top of the enormous bowl, I gagged. Turns out my dad made coleslaw soup. Mom and I stared at the seemingly inedible mixture of cabbage and liquefied mayonnaise and wondered if we should serve it in bowls and use spoons instead of the forks that had already been set on the table. Dad did not seem to notice or care that his coleslaw-making skills were severely lacking. And what was he doing cooking on Father's Day anyway? Aren't dads supposed to sit around and be waited on and do nothing all day long? Lord, how I wish that were the case in my house this year.
In honor of the occasion, I ladled some of the 'slaw onto my dish and tried to inconspicuously drain it with my fork before bringing it to my mouth and forcing it down. I'm not a huge fan of mayo as it is. Mayo soup, therefore, did not appeal to me. I was able to swallow some of it and hid the remaining soup on my plate under the rib bones. Julie lucked out and didn't have to eat any since dad knows she doesn't like it to begin with. Lucky bitch.
When dinner was over, Julie and I offered to clean the kitchen. "What do you want me to do with the leftover coleslaw?" I asked my dad. The bowl was still pretty much full. What was left was an even soupier, repulsive mush. My dad studied the mush for a moment and said, "I guess it's pretty soupy, huh?" No, really? Julie could jump in and swim in it if she so desired! He then directed me to dump it out. Alas! The coleslaw (if that's what you want to call it) is in the garbage.