Dad Food : When Dad Was in the Kitchen : Performance Art

“You know,” I said to my father, with the wisdom of my early 20s, “You really are a male chauvinist.”

“Me?” he said with surprise. “You know I always help with the dishes.”

In my father’s day, helping with the dishes simply wasn’t done. Dad was born in a time and place when men had absolutely no business in the kitchen. (Actually, in turn-of-the-century Berlin, well-bred women didn’t have that much to do with the kitchen either; it was the cook’s domain.)

During Dad’s lifetime, the world changed more than in any other period in history, and for the most part my father changed with it. He was one of the few book designers who did not lament the march of progress; when letterpress gave way to offset, he was joyful. When the computer transformed typography, he was charmed--”Think of the possibilities!” he’d cry. He invented the double-spread title page, designed the American edition of “Ulysses” and liked to say that he made the Bible look like a book.

But when it came to cooking, my father remained rooted in the 19th Century. The kitchen, he felt firmly, was not for men.

If my mother could not, for some reason, cook dinner, the solution was simple: We went out. Dad made a single exception to this rule--every Sunday morning he produced scrambled eggs. He was extremely proud of his technique. “The secret,” he’d explain happily every week, “is to keep half the pan off the heat.” Deftly he’d demonstrate, drawing a fork along the bottom of the pan, coaxing long curls of egg into the cool part of the skillet. When the egg was still shivering, he’d plop it onto a plate, carry it to the table and douse it with catsup.

His one other culinary trick was reserved for parties: Dad loved to make steak tartare. He’d run to the butcher at the very last minute, buy the most expensive steak and have it coarsely ground. Then he would return home where, to the admiration of the assembled guests, he would roll up his sleeves and set to work. In would go the capers, the chopped onion, the Worcestershire sauce. In would go the egg yolk and the anchovies. Then Dad would begin to taste, and mix, taste and mix. No one was allowed to touch his creation until my father thought it was perfect.

It really was delicious stuff. “Oh, Ernst,” the guests always said, “this is wonderful. What a cook you are!”

“Nonsense,” Dad always replied, “this isn’t cooking.”

ERNST REICHL’S STEAK TARTARE

2 pounds round steak

2 egg yolks

1/2 cup finely minced red onion

3 tablespoons mustard

1/2 cup capers

4 anchovy fillets, cut in 6 pieces each

2 to 6 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

Salt

Freshly ground pepper

Either have butcher grind meat just before serving, or grind, using pulse button, in food processor.

Mound meat on large, attractive platter. Make 2 indentations and place 1 egg yolk in each.

Surround meat with red onion, mustard, capers and anchovies. Place bottled Worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper shakers next to platter.

Set out large attractive bowl. In front of assembled guests, and with great dramatic gestures, mix all ingredients except anchovies to taste.

Serve with small squares of black bread. Allow guests to add anchovy to taste. Makes 12 to 16 appetizer servings.

Note : From food safety point of view, this dish can be hazardous. Both raw meat and raw egg yolks have been identified as possible sources of salmonella and other bacteria.