Our meal menu’s can be monotonous with Papa. Not for him, but for the rest of the family.

“The wonderful smell lures me down the stairs.” He enters the kitchen, with a swish of his heels. He’s happy.

“What is that?” He points to a cast iron pan of sautéed greens.

“Broccoli Rabe.”

I give my pot of arborio rice a stir.

“Broccoli Rabe? Really?” His voice lilts up at the end. “Oh, papa, I love that. It’s been so long since I’ve had that!”

He had it yesterday. And two days before that.

“That’s good, then you’ll enjoy dinner tonight.”

I smile.