If I had been a boy, I would’ve been Edmund Francis Andresen III. My dad and I would’ve played baseball in the side yard and hockey on Long Pond in the winter. We would go fishing more often and we never would fight about makeup, curfews and boys who came to pick me up in cars while I was still tooling around town on my Huffy 10-speed.

But sons were not in the cards for Dear Old Dad – he got two girls instead. And while my sister and I love to fish, we both prefer a trip to the mall to a trip in the boat. I am a girl’s girl. Dad is a guy’s guy. But the one place we’ve always seen eye to eye is at the table.

Growing up, there were days when I didn’t want to speak to my father, let alone share a steak with him. During those embattled teen-age years, the dinner table was as neutral as Switzerland – plus, it’s hard to fight with your mouth full.

So it’s no wonder some of my fondest memories of Dad involve food. The details of our then-earth-shattering arguments have faded, but I can see Dad clear as day, wearing his red-and-white striped apron in the kitchen. He’s pouring Ken’s Italian dressing into a stainless-steel bowl, squeezing in lemons and limes, adding a dash of Worcestershire sauce and a smattering of ground black pepper. He places the bowl full of marinade on a brown platter next to a slab of London broil, walks down cellar and takes the back door out to the patio, where the Weber is waiting, ready to grill.

Over time, London broil has given way to New York strip or Porterhouse, but other than that, the routine hasn’t changed in more than 20 years. When I go home for Father’s Day this weekend, Dad will be there, soaking his hickory chips in the fridge, building a pyramid of Kingsford charcoal in the bottom of the kettle grill, and searing the steak so that the outside is cooked but the inside is tender and pink.

When I lived at home, grilling was a solitary affair for Dad. He would go outside, load up the grill cart with steak, marinade, brush, spatula, fork, oven mitt and beer, roll it outside and relax, uninterrupted, for 20 minutes. I knew it was ritualistic, but I didn’t realize how much so until I called him recently.

“Grilling is an ancient art,” he explained.

It’s an art he takes seriously. There are rules that cannot be broken: You must use a Weber grill. Kingsford charcoal is essential. You cannot taint the coals with lighter fluid. And gas grills are unacceptable. Period.

“When we first were married, it was more economical to use a hibachi than a gas grill, so I perfected the routine on a hibachi,” he said. “As we became more affluent, we moved into the higher-priced models, but I’ve always despised the taste of a gas grill. … Gas grills just don’t cut the mustard. Call me a traditionalist.”

Before he bought his electric charcoal starter, Dad would wad up “tightly pressed” newspaper to use as kindling for the charcoal. This eliminates the chemical flavor that infuses the meat when you use pre-soaked briquets.

“Never use lighter fluid,” Dad said resolutely. “It ruins the taste.”

Taste is the whole reason why people barbecue, or, as my father calls it, “the flavor that you can’t get anywhere else.” That’s why he grills year-round – neither rain nor snow nor sub-zero temperatures will keep Dear Old Dad from doing his job.

Some things never change.

I know that when I come home, Dad will be there, spatula in hand, on the patio. He’ll be sipping a beer. Looking out over the river. Watching the sun set, maybe. Except now, I’ll go outside and join him. We seem to have more in common these days, now that we’ve run out of silly things to argue about. I’m still a girl’s girl. Dad’s still a guy’s guy. But we will always agree on the right way to cook a steak – on a Weber grill, over Kingsford charcoal, with a hint of hickory.

Dear Old Dad’s Steak Marinade

1 cup Ken’s Italian dressing

2 tablespoons Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce

2 tablespoons A-1 sauce

Dash of Tabasco

1/2 to 1 tablespoon coarsely ground black pepper (to taste)

1 large garlic clove, minced or put through a garlic press

Juice of one lemon (reserve rinds)

Juice of one lime (reserve rinds)

1/2 cup each of chopped fresh chives, oregano and parsley (in winter, use 1/2 tablespoon of each, dried)

Dad suggests using Porterhouse, New York strip or Delmonico steaks, at least 2 inches thick, but “they all work fine,” he says. Also, if you’re in a rush, it’s OK to just baste the steak rather than marinate it.

Combine all ingredients in stainless-steel bowl, including lemon and lime rinds. Marinate steak in a Ziploc bag for an hour. While steak is marinating, soak 2 cups of hickory chips in warm water.

Stack charcoal in a pyramid shape over an electric charcoal starter or newspaper kindling. Light. When coals are gray and flames have subsided, spread out the coals, drain hickory chips and add chips to coals.

Place steak on the grill, cook for 1 minute, and flip. Close the cover and let the chips smoke for 3 minutes. Flip the steak again, baste, and cook 3 to 5 minutes per side until steak reaches desired doneness.

Dear Old Dad’s Chicken Grill Sauce

1/2 cup honey

1/4 cup orange juice

1 lime

1 lemon

1 tablespoon pepper

1/4 cup chopped fresh mint leaf

1/4 teaspoon each ground coriander, cinnamon and ginger

2 bone-in, split chicken breasts

I haven’t tried this one yet, but Dad swears it’s great. I’m not going to argue with him.

Combine all ingredients in stainless-steel saucepan. Heat on stovetop until honey melts. Pour mixture over chicken breasts in a Ziploc bag and marinate for an hour. While chicken is marinating, soak 2 cups mesquite chips in warm water.

Stack charcoal in a pyramid shape over an electric charcoal starter or newspaper kindling. Light. When coals are gray and flames have subsided, spread out the coals, drain mesquite chips and add chips to coals.

Place chicken on the grill, cook for 1 minute, and close the cover. Let the chips smoke for 3 minutes. Remove cover and cook 3 to 5 minutes per side until juices run clear.