Dad struggled with his identity after World War II. Some dame had taken his job. Women were getting real jobs in offices, not just secretaries. Dad had to stake his claim in the new suburban dreamscape. Dad chose meat.
Gramps used to get almost maniacal about those shish kebabs. Mushroom, meat, tomato, mushroom, meat, tomato. We used to yell "Easy does it on the java, Dad! You look like you're all hepped up on bennies!"
We thought the stomach pump on Dad's apron was really funny — until that time at Camp Upchucka. Apparently Dad's meat was tainted.