With June in bloom, a memory of food and father sticks in my mind.
It was the same summer as my memorable lamb bake. (I’m thinking now that it was a very bad year). I was five years old and Dad took me out one Saturday for an overnight camping trip near a fishing stream noted for plump trout that fried up to an unequaled feast on an open fire.

We made camp just before dusk that warm June night, as a pair of bullfrogs croaked their crude notes near a swamp’s edge, accompanied by a chorus of peepers to create a perfect orchestra in the open night air.

Later, as the moon beamed through a canopy of trees, both of us fat from fresh trout and salt potatoes, Dad, relaxing in an old lawn chair with pipe in hand, was teaching me how to roast my first marshmallow.

“Hold it just above the tip of the flames,” he said calmly, lighting his freshly filled pipe. “Now, slowly turn the stick with your fingers to let the marshmallow brown a little at a time. You got it son,” Dad said proudly, settling in his chair, legs outstretched, warm pipe resting comfortably in hand. “Just keep turning the stick till it’s browned.”

A loving smile crossed my face as I turned to Dad to thank him for the trip and . . .

But in a flash the calm of night erupted into mayhem. “Watch your marshmallow!” Dad barked, bolting upright in his chair. I quickly turned to see a mini fireball blazing against a backdrop of summer stars.

Jumping to my feet, I began hysterically waving the marshmallow to extinguish the flame. But the tiny inferno left my stick, shooting through the night air like a flaming orange comet. Seconds later, I heard a terrifying “splat” as Dad folded in his chair like a cheap newspaper, screaming in the mode of a horror movie star.

As he lay rolling on the ground, charred marshmallow embedded between his eyes, I danced around my floundering father, stabbing at the goo with the end of my stick in an attempt to pick it off. But dad was rolling so fast, I only managed to spear him in the left eye socket.

He let out another piercing scream.

Fortunately, a forest ranger heard the night howls and rushed us to a local hospital. Dad healed okay. But to this day, I have a deep-seated disdain for marshmallows and everything they represent.

Fried Fish (Fresh or Frozen)

2 eggs
Milk
Flour
Cooking oil
Salt and pepper
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There’s no substitute for fresh fried fish. But if you must, a frozen fillet will suffice.

Break two eggs into a small mixing bowl. Next, add a splash of milk. (Remember, a splash is tipping your milk container and counting one fishy two.) With a fork, blend the mixture until egg yolks are broken and milk and eggs are completely mixed.

In a separate dish, add about a cup of flour.

Now, in a large frying pan, pour enough cooking oil to cover the bottom of the pan and heat. You can tell when the oil is hot enough to fry by dipping your fork in the egg mixture and letting it drip into the hot frying pan. When the drops of egg mix sizzle, you’re ready to fry.

When ready, dip fish into the bowl of egg mix. Make sure all of the fish is covered. Remove from the bowl and allow any excess to drip away. Next, roll the fish in flour until completely covered. Carefully place in pan and fry each side until golden brown. It’ll only take minutes. Salt and pepper to taste.

Ahhhhh.