Books We Love Insider Blog: Skinny-fat, by J.C. Kavanagh

Saturday, June 16, 2018

Skinny-fat, by J.C. Kavanagh

http://www.bookswelove.com/authors/kavanagh-j-c-ya-urban-fantasy/

Voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016,

P&E Readers' Poll

Father's Day is tomorrow and it's one of many special occasions that bring to mind my dad, may be rest in peace. Dad was from Dublin, Ireland and he brought to Canada all the curmudgeonry (did I just make up that word? Yup, to be added to the Urban Dictionary: Curmudgeonry; the amalgamation of sweet and sour personality traits) with him. He passed away in 1995 and I still think of him with fondness, despite his affinity for curmudgeonry (yah, I'm going to use that word over and over hehehe).

Dad had a penchant for greasy, fatty foods. He would fry bread in bacon grease (bacon-fried bread actually tastes pretty good) and occasionally spread bacon drippings on fresh, white bread. According to my father, only white bread would do because whole wheat bread was for "tree-huggers and nudists." No sure where the 'nudists' came in, but that's what he said. He was raised in Ireland during World War II. Even though Ireland was not at war, errant bombs would drop across the country and wreak havoc and destruction. Scarcity of food was the norm and with that, bacon grease replaced butter.

'Fat' prevailed in other ways, too. On most Sundays during my childhood, mom would cook a roast of beef (leather-style, which is probably why I love my beef cooked 'rare'). My dad would cut the roast prior to dinner and with the utmost precision, he'd cut off the outer fat. That chunk of fat would then be carved into four portions: one for him and one for me and my two sisters. But this fat wasn't like any other fat. Oh, no. This was skinny fat.

With an impish grin as if he just found a leprechaun's pot of gold, my father would hold aloft the carving fork, four fatty slivers impaled to its prongs, and ask, "Who wants skinny-fat?"

Me and my sisters couldn't respond fast enough. "Me, me, ME!"

My mom would shake her head. "Skinny-fat, indeed. That rubbery chunk is fat - plain and simple."

But not for us. I realize now that skinny-fat and bacon drippings were a sweet/sour memory for my father, reminding him of how tough times can be glossed over with edible ecstasy. To this day, I keep a cup of bacon drippings in my fridge. It's my 'secret' ingredient to the best roast potatoes ever! Because I believe that everyone deserves a little skinny-fat now and then. Thanks Dad. I miss your curmudgeonry.