Thanksgiving was different this year. The usual hum of our family traditions felt even richer, the air filled with the unmistakable aroma of turkey, fresh herbs, and gratitude. My son and I spent four hours in the kitchen together, cooking side by side. We’ve cooked together many times before, but this time was different. This time, he wasn’t just helping—he was leading. He was teaching.
He was the chef. I was the student.
There’s a moment every parent dreams of— seeing their child find that place where their passion and talent collide. Thanksgiving morning, I saw that moment unfold in real-time. He graduates from the Culinary Institute of America in New York in a few weeks, and though he’s always been talented in the kitchen, this year he’s grown into something extraordinary. Watching him work with confidence and precision reminded me of just how far he’s come.
He’s a professional. I am in awe.
He larded the turkey with a flavorful compound butter he infused with herbs and tucked it under the skin with the skill of a seasoned pro. He basted the turkey with a cane glaze he threw together which rendered it juicy and sweet-tangy in a way I’ve never managed. His brown butter mashed potatoes, with herb-infused cream was perfection. Even the gravy—something I’ve always prided myself on—was a masterclass. The cuts on his mirepoix were straight-edged and uniform and the deglazed fond rendered a gravy that was rich and savory with substantial depth in the flavor profile. Half the time, I just stood back, watching him, pride swelling as I realized how much he’d surpassed me in the kitchen.
It was a proud moment, indeed.
I offered a few suggestions here and there, as fathers tend to do. He nodded politely, listening without a hint of arrogance or impatience. Whether my advice made its way into his process didn’t matter; the result was flawless. Watching him, calm and composed, completely in his element, filled me with admiration. At his age, I wouldn’t have had the same grace. I probably would’ve snapped back with a defensive, “I’m doing it this way because…” But not him. He moved through the work with a steady, understated confidence, turning the kitchen into his stage. The most impressive part wasn’t just the mastery he showed—it was the humility in his confidence, free of ego, true self-confidence, no cockiness, and tons of respect towards me.
Our relationship has often revolved around food. When he was very young, Saturday mornings were our time. I’d take him to the local donut shop so his mother and sister could sleep in. He could put away some donuts, no question. Later, we’d explore breakfast spots around town—just the two of us. Eventually he started cooking.
In 2011, when he was ten, our family took a six-month trip overseas. Those mornings became our tradition, a thread connecting our time in 17 countries and 72 cities. While his sister worked on school assignments or slept in, he and I ventured out into the world, searching for breakfast. We ate in the bustling market off Las Ramblas in Barcelona, on a rooftop in Athens overlooking the Parthenon, in bakeries in Tuscany, and in quiet cafés in Paris. Sometimes we’d wander aimlessly through a city until we found a place that looked promising, talking about superheroes along the way. His superhero always had something to do with electricity. I don’t remember mine anymore. I was told when both kids were were young to make sure and take notes.
I should have taken notes.
It was during those mornings that we built the foundation of what we share today. Back then, we weren’t talking about the restaurant business. It was just a dad and his boy, exploring the world together one breakfast at a time. Those moments are etched in my heart, even if some of the details have faded.
By the time he was 14, he started mentioning an interest in the restaurant business. I didn’t take it seriously at first. The restaurant world isn’t for the faint of heart; it demands passion, resilience, and total commitment. But when he came to me at 16, determined and unwavering, I knew he meant it. I created a plan: I told him, “if you want to go into this business, and you want to come back and work with us, this is what you are going to need to do (it’s actually what I wish I would have done had the opportunity been available to me)— four years of college with a business major and accounting minor, followed by two years at the Culinary Institute of America, then two years working in other people’s restaurants. Then, and only then, can you come back and work with us. But it doesn’t matter what your education was, your title was, or what your experience was, you are going to start at the bottom and the degree to which you rise through the ranks, if you even do rise through the ranks, will be 100% dependent upon you and your commitment and effort, and will have nothing to do with me.” He agreed without hesitation.
He’s all in.
Since then, I’ve watched him grow into this industry, not just with skill but with a genuine love for the craft. He started cooking with me at 13, and by 15, he was remarkably self-sufficient in the kitchen. He took instruction well, had original ideas, and worked with a quiet determination. While he may not have been as obsessed with the restaurant business as I was at his age, his passion has deepened over time, and it’s become his own.
Thanksgiving morning brought it all full circle. I’ve always believed in letting my kids carve their own paths, resisting the temptation to push them into something they weren’t passionate about. Watching him in the kitchen that morning, I realized how grateful I am for that approach. He’s not just following a legacy—he’s building his own.
As I look back on the past year, filled with so many meaningful moments, I can say with certainty that those four hours in the kitchen were among my favorites. There’s something indescribably special about standing shoulder to shoulder with your grown child, seeing their talent, their passion, and their hard work come to life.
I’ve felt this pride before—when I watched my daughter find her calling in interior design, her creativity and talent shone through in ways I could have never imagined. I have written of her talents and traits often and look forward to watching her professional career continue to blossom. It’s a gift to see your children excel and to know they’ve found what makes their hearts sing.
This Thanksgiving, I was reminded of just how blessed I am. My wife and I are here to support our daughter and son in whatever they do, but they’re cutting their own paths. They’re discovering who they are, and we get to sit back and watch it unfold.
As for my son, I can’t wait to see what the next chapter holds. He’ll be heading to Chicago in January to work in some of the best restaurants in the country. I have no doubt he’ll thrive there. And I’ll be here, cheering him on, remembering these mornings and these moments, and feeling grateful beyond measure.
Onward.
