by Max Brantley
Every Sunday is Father's Day at my house. I cook. Today: beer can chicken on the grill, broccoli slaw and homemade focaccia, a three-hour project that's worth the wait with pools of Tuscan olive oil in the dimples on top and aroma from fresh rosemary, picked from my window box. There's a little sea salt on top, too.
Oh, and I should credit my wife for making that volcano/earthquake cake I saw at John Walker's birthday party -- coconut, chocolate chips, cream cheese, devil's food cake mix, butter, etc. Not much to look at, but awfully good to eat.