A few final meals, and people I’ll carry with me.

This year, there were no fireworks lit off by me, just the sound of them echoing through the neighborhood, near and far. No big gathering, no party. Just a quiet 4th of July spent with my daughter, and a grill full of ribs. It wasn’t the most traditional celebration. But it was exactly what I needed.

In three days, I leave for China, to join my new wife, who is expecting our first child.

---

China has some truly incredible food. Dalian, where I’ll be living, is known for its fresh seafood, spicy noodles, hot pot, and charcoal-fired Chinese BBQ. It’s a food lover’s paradise in its own way. But there are a few staples from home that are nearly impossible to find overseas, a properly grilled steak, for example, or a rack of slow-cooked baby back ribs slathered in tangy sauce.

That’s why these past couple of weeks I’ve been cooking with a sense of purpose. These meals aren’t just about feeding people, they’re about preserving something. Memories, traditions, connection. The taste of home, before I leave it for a while.

“These meals weren’t just food. They were pause buttons. Anchors.”

One of the most meaningful parts of this time has been the rhythm I’ve fallen into with my daughter, Sydnee. I’ve been cooking for her a lot lately, breakfast, thoughtful dinners, even just snacks between her busy days. It’s how I show up for her. It’s how I care.

Early on, she made a request: Coconut Curry Chicken. Her favorite. At first, she wanted to order it from a restaurant, but I gently pushed to make it myself. She gave a reluctant “okay.” I went all out, potatoes, carrots, onions. And when I saw her hoarding the leftovers in the fridge afterward? That’s when I knew she liked it. Dad win.

---

The Saturday before the 4th, I invited my mom and Aunt Joyce over to join Sydnee and me for dinner. Just us. No distractions. We grilled thick steaks I had procured from a local market, the kind of market you just don’t find in China, with amazing cuts of beef, fresh fruit, wines, and vibrant vegetables. We served smashed potatoes with my new Yogurt Herb Dip (a surprise hit) and a crisp Tangy Cucumber Salad to round out the plate.

“It felt good to return the favor, to let them sit back and enjoy while I handled the prep and the heat.”

That meal meant a lot to me. My mom raised me, and my Aunt Joyce — though always reserved, had her influence too. I still remember one particular childhood summer at a U-Pick blueberry farm. I was being a little punk, teasing my cousin Kristin, who was a few years younger than me. My very quiet Aunt Joyce suddenly had enough and chased after me. I ran, saw my brother and yelled, “Run! Aunt Joyce is coming!” I don’t remember ever picking on Kristin again. And Aunt Joyce never had to say another word about it.

It was my pleasure to cook for these two women who had done so much cooking for all of us over the years. With ten kids in my mom’s family, those family gatherings weren’t small. Holidays meant big pots, big meals, and lots of mouths to feed. It felt good to return the favor, to let them sit back and enjoy while I handled the prep and the heat.

Aunt Joyce made a comment that evening, that the cooking skills in our family seem to have passed to the men. She mentioned my cousins Jon and Dave, and even some of the nephews. I smiled and told her the truth: when Kellie, who cooked but not very confidently, once tried to make me a vegetarian, I rebelled. That kicked off my personal journey into learning to cook for myself. And what’s my secret? I can read a recipe.

---

The next day, I celebrated my belated birthday with my dad and stepmom, Leslie. It was just the three of us, and I got to choose the place, I picked Duke’s Seafood House on the Ruston Way Waterfront. By some stroke of luck, we landed seats on the deck, looking right out over the Puget Sound on a glorious sunny late afternoon.

I ordered the salmon sandwich, and it did not disappoint. The birthday dessert? Simple and perfect: fresh fruit, whipped cream, and soft pound cake. And, of course, a cold hefeweizen, the 20 oz, not the 16. Ha!

It was a quiet, wonderful weekend. Just a relaxed time together. A chance to sit back and enjoy each other’s company before the journey begins.

---

“We didn’t light any fireworks. Didn’t need to. The booms were all around us — colors lighting up the sky while Sydnee sat quietly in her room, keeping the pets calm through the chaos.”

The 4th of July started with breakfast for Sydnee and me (amazing Shakshuka eggs), followed by prepping ribs with a homemade rub — cobbling together a blend of spices after realizing I was out of onion powder and chili pepper. I made it work. While letting the ribs marinate for about an hour, I took Sadie and Lily for a long walk. The day was sunny and calm. Once we returned, the ribs went in the oven to begin their slow transformation.

While they cooked low and slow, I drove to visit Kellie. She didn’t know what day it was. She didn’t even know why she was at the facility. And that broke something in me. All I could do was sit with her, and reassure her, that she was safe, that she was where she needed to be for now, and that once her Medicaid is approved, we’ll move her somewhere better suited for her needs.

I left with a somber heart and got back just in time to move the ribs to the grill and pull everything else together. That night it was just me and Sydnee. Backyard Boss BBQ Ribs, Tangy Cucumber Salad, Potato Salad, Corn on the Cob, Watermelon, and my Tajin Lemonade Shandy to top it all off.

We didn’t light any fireworks. Didn’t need to. The booms were all around us — colors lighting up the sky while Sydnee sat quietly in her room, keeping the pets calm through the chaos. The night was still. Not in silence, but in spirit. It was the kind of night that says more in what it doesn’t say.

---

These meals weren’t just food. They were pause buttons. Anchors. A way to root myself in the now before everything changes. They reminded me of what matters, not just where I’m going, but who I’ve been, and the people I carry with me.

---

Being a patriot doesn’t always mean staying put. Sometimes it means carrying your roots with you. Remembering what built you, and honoring it, wherever you go.

In three days, I board a plane. But the flavor of these moments? It’s packed and coming with me.

P.S., here are some of my fav recipes, enjoy! 🙂