Dad Food : Ahead of His Time : Creations: Unlike other fathers in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, this dad loved to cook. Trouble was, no one was ever certain what he would cook up.

My father was a curious man, a mathematician and a pioneer in solar energy. But he also invented things such as a high-volume hot dog roaster for sports stadiums. My brother, who once saw one of them, describes it as “a machine gun that shot wienies.”

But the thing that most set him apart from many other fathers in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s was that he cooked--not just at barbecues, but all the time. As a Spanish Basque from New Orleans, he was confident that his creations were utterly wonderful, and he presented them to us with the haughty, dramatic air of a matador.

He even did the shopping. Every day at exactly 5 o’clock he would call my mother for her shopping list, which usually consisted of just a loaf of bread. By 6 we’d hear the shave-and-a-haircut toot on the car horn, and for the next 15 minutes my brother and sister and I would unload bag after bag from the station wagon.

Everything was in the large economy size. He’d buy any exotic vegetable, anything labeled “new,” anything in a red package and absolutely anything marked “discount,” “two-for-one” or “going out of business.” We’d be stocked for the indefinite future with everything--except, of course, the loaf of bread.

In the early ‘60s, he became enamored of the now-ubiquitous soybean, which he proclaimed would save the world from hunger. The noble little legume started to show up everywhere in his cooking: milk mixed with soy powder and maraschino cherry juice, soy grits for breakfast. He was particularly fond of a concoction he called soy sprouts a la Tudury, which included zucchini, onions, garlic, hamburger, spaghetti sauce and Angostura bitters. There was always a big pot of it in the refrigerator.

Sunday brought the event of the week: Father’s pancakes. They were pancakes like none other. He cooked them in a heavy, institutional-size pan the size of a bicycle wheel, bought at wholesale from a restaurant supply warehouse. He’d ladle spoonful after spoonful of his special mix into the vast pan. Bubbles would slowly appear in the center of the buckwheat sea. The edges would curdle and stiffen.

Then came the moment we lived for. Father would step up to the pan and announce in the sonorous tones of a ringmaster, “Time to flip the flapjack.” When it worked, it required surgical precision, deft timing and two spatulas, but there were some recalcitrants he simply could not budge--they’d collapse or fold in half, and be set aside for the dog or my father to eat later. I can still see my brother gleefully pouring syrup onto a pancake that had completely flopped over the sides of a large dinner plate, the syrup spilling onto the table.

On Sunday we also joined in making my father’s version of that San Francisco favorite, Joe’s special. We all cooked our own. I’ve never tried his pancakes, but this is one dish of his I know I can do.

Holidays had a particularly inspirational effect on my father. He’d repair to the kitchen to work in solitude. One year he stuffed the Thanksgiving turkey with a mixture of onions, garlic, bread crumbs soaked in Sherry, chunky peanut butter and popcorn. The aroma from the kitchen was, well, odd, but then came the sounds--at first an explosion or two, and then the full cacophony of corn popping. Finally my mother emerged from the kitchen and said, in a stunned monotone: “I believe your father has blown the (rear end) off the bird.”

This was the same man who once took me outdoors at the exact moment of the summer solstice and laid me on the ground with a compass on my stomach, my head pointing north and my feet pointing south, so as to electromagnetically “ground” me for the rest of the year. He said it would improve my study habits. It didn’t, but I miss him.

NEW JOE’S SPECIAL A LA TUDURY

2 tablespoons oil

1 large onion, chopped medium

1 large clove garlic, minced

1/2 pound ground beef

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

2 cups fresh spinach leaves

4 eggs

Salt, pepper

Parsley

Catsup

Heat oil in skillet over medium heat. Saute onion and garlic until onion is transparent. Add beef and Worcestershire and cook until nearly brown. Add spinach and cook until tender. Beat eggs and fold into spinach mixture. Stir with fork until eggs are just done. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Garnish with parsley and serve with catsup. Makes 2 servings.