Neon “STEAK”

They — whoever “they” are — say that there are two types of people: those who love to eat, and those who eat to live. I fall in the former category, having grown up in a household that revered food in all of its forms — meat, vegetable, salami, potato, chicken, maybe a piece of fruit, pastry, pastry and more pastry.

Legend has it that when I learned to walk, the first thing that my two little legs took me to was a cookie. That doesn’t surprise me at all — I still travel great distances for a spectacular dessert.

Now, my food loving friends, there is also a distinct reason why I find food inherently important. Yes, we do need to eat to survive on a daily basis (the intermittent fasting craze aside), but have you ever thought that someone could survive only to eat? I have a story to share with you today that illustrates this point…and might explain the significance of food in my upbringing.

It all started in WWII, probably 1943 or 1944 — somewhere in Texas where my father, Leonard Sherman, (pictured below at his army base) was stationed as a medic. My dad’s job was to inoculate soldiers who were preparing to go overseas and would be susceptible to all sorts of diseases.

If you ever saw the film Pearl Harbor with Ben Affleck and Kate Beckinsale, my dad was the role of Beckinsale (sorry, Kate!) stabbing grown men with long needles. My dad said that for a lot of the men that was their first time away from home; he had never seen so many grown men cry out for their mamas before.

Anyway, because he was exposed to an unprecedented amount of germs as a medic, my dad contracted a deadly disease, bacterial endocarditis, which is an infection of the the lining of the heart and the heart valves. After collapsing during roll call one morning, he was rushed to a nearby hospital.

At the time, bacterial endocarditis was fatal…my father was not expected to survive. The hospital sent home a telegram to his parents saying that their son was dying and they needed to get to the hospital right away to say goodbye. My grandfather packed his bags, grabbed a salami, (what did I tell you about food and my family?) and boarded a train from Ohio to Texas to say goodbye to his son.

Meanwhile, the doctors tried a revolutionary new treatment: they gave my father Yellow fever, a viral infection usually spread through mosquitos. The doctors theorized that the Yellow fever would raise dad’s temperature so high that it would kill off the deadly bacteria that had invaded his heart. For weeks, my father was bedridden and utterly delirious with fever. Who wouldn’t be delirious while simultaneously fighting off Yellow fever and a heart infection?

Dad had a vision, however, that gave him hope.

Across the street from the hospital was a steak house, with a neon sign that flashed “STEAK” every night. He saw that neon sign from his bedroom window and somehow through his hazy, dreamlike state swore to himself that he would get well and walk across the street and eat a steak at that restaurant. That glowing steak sign became my father’s own North Star…guiding him with its promise of deliciousness to recovery and health.

His promise to himself paid off. Slowly he got better and would secretly drag himself out of bed on his own without the doctors or nurses even knowing about it and walk around his room. After several weeks, a doctor came in and said, “Okay, Mr. Sherman, I think we can start getting you up and out of bed now!” And at that, my dad leapt out of bed and said, “Sure!”

My father’s desire to eat a steak — his will to live to eat that steak — was THE family story. There was no story that could ever match its significance. Not even come close. Because I am alive, my dad obviously survived and received an Honorable Discharge and lifetime Veterans Benefits.

Though his heart was permanently damaged from the deadly disease he contracted during WWII, it did not impact his dietary choices and his love of steak. My father lived to be 80 years old. When my brother and I were cleaning out his apartment after his death, we found a freezer full of steaks he had ordered from the Omaha Steak Company.