Today is my dad's birthday. He is 79. I get to make his lunch, which per his request will be fried pork chops, homemade buttermilk biscuits, gravy, and mashed potatoes. My sister-in-law will bring a salad with homemade ranch dressing and another homemade lemon/garlic concoction the rest of us love, and niece Sophia will make his favorite apple pie for dessert.

The family will gather at my house. My dad and I have a back-and-forth on birthday lunches. We both order the same thing every year, and we tease each other about it because it is labor-intensive. We both know the other doesn't mind the labor. It is a labor of love.

I associate good Southern food with my dad. He grew up on a farm, basically in poverty except very well fed. His father had a huge garden and raised hogs and chickens and beef. He smoked his own meat. My dad hunted from a very young age, and they had deer, squirrels, and turkey, as well as quail that used to be plentiful in Franklin County. His mother was a great Southern cook. If nothing else, there were always beans with cornbread and fried potatoes. That's nearly always available at my parents' house to this day as well. And on the side, there's a sliced sweet onion to go with it. My mother and I have scouted the best place to get the ones most like Papaw used to grow. Believe it or not, it is Sam's.

Daddy nurtured my childhood mornings by building a fire in the fireplace where my brother and I got........

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