As I was growing up, there was never a family dinner that uncle Larry would not bring his little tray of mustards to. As a kid I didn't understand this. "What, Larry, our mustard isn't good enough for you?" I don't know where this bitterness came from. Anyone who has shared a meal with me knows that I am a sauce man. Whether it's BBQ, Ranch or anything made with peppers, you will seldom see me eat anything that hasn't first been thoroughly drenched in something else. So you would think that I would appreciate a fellow flavor lover, especially one that would later become the owner of a successful chain of Barbecue restaurants. Apparently, he knew what tasted good. But for whatever reason I didn't see this, even as I spread Larry's cranberry stone-ground all over my Christmas ham.
When Larry and my aunt Carol got divorced I didn't notice the lack of sauces on the dinner table and that might have been because by that time I had become a collector of condiments myself. When Thanksgiving was at our house there was always a full supply of mustards, whether it was Jack Daniels Old No. 7 or the peculiar tube labeled "Senf" that was brought back from a trip to Switzerland. It didn't matter whether the bird was deep fried or roasted, I had that turkey taste covered.
It wasn't until Larry's memorial service on Wednesday that I realized the difference between our collections. While my mustard remained in my mom's refridgerator, Larry's was mobile. But this was not because he couldn't stomach the yellow stuff, it was because he had found something better and he wanted to share it. Larry was a man who knew what was good and he wasn't one to hold it to himself. He was a man who loved life, but better yet, he loved sharing life with others. I wish I could have seen this earlier, because really, what else is there?
Larry, you will be missed. And thank you for sharing.
