My dad is patient, funny, and loves lamb. Thank you, pops, for keeping your cool back in 1989 when I smashed our brand-new Volvo into the neighbor’s mailbox. I love that you always laughed whenever I’d slap down the newspaper you were reading—even though I did it just about every day until I was in high school. (Sorry I was so annoying.) Most importantly, thank you for nurturing my picky palate, offering me honest and actionable feedback on my dishes, and being one of my biggest cheerleaders. I love you, dad!
