My dad’s always been a breadwinner, working long hours in the office and then even more at home. But one of his favorite ways to provide for his family is to nourish us with platters and platters of food. He’s whipped up spicy salmon, buttery mushrooms, sweet corn salads, and perfectly medium-rare steaks. But my favorites are his Sunday omelets.
Every Sunday morning, my dad makes omelets for my mom, sister, and (when I’m home) me. They’re mashups of half-eaten steaks and crisper-drawer rejects tied together with small mountains of cheddar cheese. Apparently, dads and omelets are a thing. But his still feel singularly special to me, anyway.