23 Years Went By So Fast
(If anyone gets the reference, you get a gold star)
At the crack of dawn every Thursday morning in recent months, I go on a ruck with the same bunch of guys.1 It’s a sacred space for dudes, a bunch of working dads who are generally comfortable being open with one another. Every week there’s a discussion topic or topics, usually light-hearted. Last week’s invited a bit more substance than usual: “Summer’s here. Name something you’re excited about, and name something you’re struggling with.”
As others took the floor, I thought about the topic. I knew what I was excited about for sure. In June, all three of our kids would be home ‘til mid-July. We’ve had one or two of our kids in college for the past four years. Having our kids at home feels right. We’re a proper family again!
It occurred to me that I was struggling with essentially the same thing. My kids would be home til mid-July, but then what? While our daughter Sophie prepares for her Senior year in high school and our son Bennett gets ready to head off to start his third year at UGA, out daughter Anna, having finished her Masters with a job, is moving out on her own. She’ll be 23 in August. Aside from occasional holidays and family vacations, this is it - we’re on to the next phase of life. Soon it’s the dreaded empty nest.
I’ve through about this scenario, worried about it, since the time Anna was conceptual. I imagine all parents feel this anxiety. I even wrote a song in 2002, just before Anna was born, imagining my future self, watching his daughter grow up and navigate the world. It’s titled ‘Anna.’ Now that I’ve lived the song, it feels more or less as I thought it would. She’s ready; but maybe I’m not.
We’re so proud of Anna; she’s an incredible person. Like all of our kids, she’s way ahead of where I was at her age, chasing a dream into the ground with no backup plan. They’re much more grounded and practical than I’ve ever been. At this point, I’d probably benefit more from taking advice from Anna than trying to light the way. She’s going to be just fine.
My greatest hope and expectation in parenthood is that I’d have close and meaningful relationships with my adult kids, just like I have with my own parents. That’s pretty abstract when they’re four; but as my kids grow into their full adult selves, I’m so grateful that it’s coming true. It’s the reward for showing up every day, making the sacrifices and hanging in there. It’s a realization of my greatest wish: to send good people into the world to spread love and good vibes.
We don’t have many plans for our final month together in the house. I’m mostly working from home, and it’s nice to have a full house. I’m mostly on my own with the dog with Heather in the office as the kids come and go during the day. They generally sleep in and then it’s off to lifeguard, to the internship, the gym, tacos with friends, all the summer stuff in those peak years. We’ll go to Bonnaroo as we’ve done as a family since 2012, and a few other destination events; but mostly it’s about hanging around, enjoying another summer in our familiar little slice of new urban paradise.
Everyone comes home around dinner time, expecting to find me making dinner. When do we eat, dad? I send a text to get a headcount, and it’s usually everyone. They expect to be fed, which is fine with me. I make extra meat for Bennett, who’ll complain about portion size. Anna will reach into any pan for a taste. Sophie will claim to be dieting and then put away a trucker-size portion. It’s something I look forward to practically every day - something we’ve done together as long as we’ve been a family. Nothing strange, showy, or extraordinary; just the rhythms of our family life. The kitchen is the front of the house and the center of the action, as I believe it should be.
Heather’s a fine cook who dutifully holds it down when I’m away. But she’s long acknowledged that it’s something I enjoy and prefer to do. It’s a good arrangement. Everyone jokes that I’m a control freak in the kitchen, and I’m an easy target because there’s truth to it. If I am a control freak over the process, I’m wide open in terms of taking suggestions and critique - the menu is a constant work in progress. I’ve always adapted recipes for my family’s tastes, adjusting until it’s more or less a consensus. It’s collaborative. I rotate I take requests, I take it on the chin when the selection becomes too narrow. Sometimes I beg for requests - it’s a lot of work to come up with ideas. The range is from Heather’s grandmother’s repertoire of Nebraska casseroles to heavily modified and customized versions of Asian favorites.
Heather and I both come from dinner table families. We’re aligned in having our meals together, even if we’re not observing strict rules about sitting down together at the table. Eating out together is a rarity. We carry forward our family’s culinary history in a variety of ways. I attempt to replicate Heather’s family’s holiday meals. I think of my grandmother Strohm’s elevated farm cooking as an inspiration in my own goals. My household’s kitchen culture made enough of an impression for my high school sweetheart Freda Love Smith to write an entire chapter about it in her book, Red Velvet Underground.
Once Anna went away to college, she called to let me know she didn’t like the dorm food and really missed our dinners. She couldn’t wait to get home and eat well. She started calling in meal requests in advance of her visits. I don’t think there’s anything in my life that’s made me happier than cooking those meals, and it’s been more or less the same with Bennett.
Now each kid has a standing meal request for every first night home. For Anna, it’s “steak stir-fry,” which means something very specific in our house. Anna has food allergies and can’t eat in most Asian restaurants - my versions are what she knows. For Bennett, it’s “coconut soup,” which is also well-defined and evolved. I don’t keep recipes, but I make these dishes, and many more, nearly exactly the same each time. It’s what they’ve come to expect.
I’ll share with you the recipe for Bennett’s so-called coconut soup. I made it tonight and I actually paid attention to amounts rather than just throwing it together through muscle memory. I’ve never written a recipe, so forgive any formatting mistakes. This recipe is a version of Tom Kha Gai, Thai chicken coconut soup. Heather and I used to order it at Siam House in Bloomington. They served a large hot pot that fed two, so delicious. It was a family favorite long before I met Heather, since the 80s. I wonder if it’s still a thing. Siam House in its heyday was a fine Thai restaurant in general, but those hot pots were memorable and worth attempting to replicate.
Heather asked me to make it after we moved away, and I made a recipe or two I found online, and found them not to be nearly as delicious as Siam House. I experimented a couple more times and landed on this process, which I’ve made dozens of times. I used to make a special trip to an Asian grocery to get Galangal, which is the authentic ginger variant in the dish. Over the years, however, the kids have let me know that they prefer regular ginger with a very heavy hand. I sometimes substitute a commercial lemongrass paste for the actual stalks, which works fine. I’ve never written down a recipe, so please show some grace if I do it wrong. True to my commitment, I’m not going to have ChatGPT rewrite it for me.
Ingredients:
3 lbs. boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cubed
2 cups chicken stock.
3 cans full-fat coconut milk
2 limes
the equivalent of 3 1-inch cubes of fresh peeled ginger
1 cup Shiitake mushrooms
3 to 4 lemongrass stalks, at least a few inches long.
half a white onion (optional)
1 teaspoon Sriracha
1 tablespoon fish sauce
salt to taste
Tablespoon honey or agave nectar
This recipe is for exactly the amount to feed my family of 5 so that everyone can have seconds and nobody complains. I heat the chicken stock in a Dutch oven and add the chicken, along with the ginger, lemongrass, and the juice of one medium-sized lime. I remove the ginger and lemongrass just before serving, but I leave them simmering long enough for the ginger to have a bite, we are all about the ginger. If I remember I add a half an onion, which I’ll remove with the ginger and lemongrass before serving.
I add the shiitake mushrooms along with the coconut milk, adding the Sriracha, salt, and honey. I let that simmer for at least 45 minutes, then I skim the fat on top with a separator. I serve the soup over white Basmati rice - this is important. The soup thickens on its own - you could eat it as a soup, but we eat it more like how we have chicken and dumplings (another family staple). Garnish with cilantro and a squeeze of lime. Anna and I add additional Sriracha to taste.
That’s it. If you try it, let me know how it comes out. By the way, I don’t think of myself as any sort of serious cook, especially compared to the many people I’ve known who do it professionally. I’m untrained, a home cook. I figure out how to make food that tastes how I want it to taste, then I adapt it to suit my family. It’s very much like music for me - I lose myself a little bit in the process. I’m happy when I’m cooking just like I’m happy making music. It’s a creative way to fulfill a basic need while showing my family how much I love them.
Anna is our baker, she likes to measure things and be very scientific about it. That doesn’t really interest me - although my first job was in a small bakery. I like to make things that leave some margin for error, some room for improvisation. Making a soup and doing a mix or writing a song are similar to me, and completely engaging. If I could do one or the other the rest of my life, I’d be happy. If I couldn’t do cooking and music, I believe I’d struggle.
I recently told my brother and dad on a phone call that the thing I’m most looking forward to is being a grandparent. They were both a little shocked. What about career? What about travel? Sure, I want those things, of course. But not as much as I want to watch our family grow so that need a bigger table. That’s what matters most. My dream for my retirement - if I ever get there - is to be the kitchen tyrant for a gaggle of little Strohms, learning each of their quirks and preferences and serving them with all the love I have to offer. That’s something to look forward to.
A ruck is a hike with weighted packs - training for some sort of fictional military operation, or else just multi-tasking low-key strength training with socializing. I carry 30 lbs, which is standard. Sometimes we pass around a sandbag that adds 40 or 60 or more additional pounds, but I try to avoid that when possible.
I love this. Long live Siam House! 💕
“Nothing is something after all….”