So, most steak stories start with lots of hungry boys, and ESPN blaring in the background, and of course, too much beer. My story is different.

I was alone in the house with the windows open, during an unseasonably warm January day when my dad cycled over from around the corner to visit. (I am assuming you would call 74 degrees and sunny unseasonably warm!) And, oh, this day! It was a day that begged to be enjoyed while sipping a crisp white Chardonnay, noshing on some salty English cheddar, and reveling in a good talk with my dad. I loved how the afternoon was turning from yellow, to pink to dark blue. This was something to celebrate.

“Do you have to rush off?” I asked my dad who had already lingered far longer than usual. He turned abruptly when I spoke, teetering awkwardly on my kitchen stool — a perch he prefers to leaning over my kitchen ledge — and I have learned not to remark that he always appears to be uncomfortable. I know that the appearance of suffering is just his style.

“No! I am enjoying our talk, and the wine.” He replied. And I worried that by asking him to stay for dinner I would scare him away, as one would startle a humming bird who, appearing engaged with you, had only momentarily forget he was scared of everything.

“I will make steak if you will stick around,” I said while looking at my wine, trying my best to seem quite neutral. Surprisingly he nodded in agreement, and the deal was struck.

Now I needed to hurry and get things made. He may be larger than a small bird, but flying home in the middle of a conversation was always a possibility.

Let’s just say that everything turned out perfect. With cutting board poised, and everything fresh on hand. Look for yourself at our beautiful meal….

Because I had just been to the farmer’s market, I had a lot of choices to pair with this occasion. One was the perfect, royal loveliness of the purple sweet potatoes. Unlike some regular purple potatoes, the soft flesh is perfect for smearing a circle upon a plate. It finished the meal, don’t you think? And the sweetness of the flesh made every bite perfect. A little salty tartness in the sauce, the heat of the pepper, the satisfying umami of the meat, and the cool sweetness of the potato.

The story ends well. My fathers stayed well after dark, cutting into his medium rare steak with passion and care. We licked our plates, and finished the wine and I’m glad the hummingbird clipped his wings on this wonderful evening of “dinner with dad.”