Cooking: The International Language

9/19/2008

This evening I had to distinct pleasure of cooking a meal for my French mother. This is how the story goes.

Friday night, I ask my mother, “Qu’est-que nous mangeons ce soir?” (“What are we eating this evening?”)

Elle dit, “Rein.” (She says, “Nothing.”)

I think, OK, now what? Of course, she was completely kidding, however she was sick and hadn’t had time to plan a meal for us. I have the wonderful idea to suggest that I cook dinner. Now keeping in mind that the French are very possessive of their kitchens. They rarely let strangers help prepare the meals. And oddly enough when I suggested that I cook, she agreed. However, it was not an ordinary meal, no; she only entrusted me with cooking a meal from a box.

Baked potatoes, with sauce, and fancy Hot Pockets was what she gave me to make. However simple this meal was. The gesture of what she did was extraordinary. And while I was cooking, she cracked open and beer, and asked if I would like some. We continued to chat and discuss random things in our lives, I asked questions and so did she. It was an opening of communications, almost as if we were in peace talks. Not that we had been at war, but we finally seemed to be equals within, her home, which I now feel is our home.