My grandmother's kitchen

Although this blog is supposed to be dedicated to sharing recipes, I need to post something about the source of my passion for learning to cook and the reason for my well-rounded cultural and linguistic upbringing: my grandmother's unforgettable home, kitchen and personality. This blog is the most appropriate place to publish it.

It all started with a strong woman

My family comes from a line of highly-intelligent, strong-willed women. One person in particular is my grandmother, Yaya. She was always feisty, funny, very huggable, and the best cook in the world. Although sophisticated, she was pleasantly modest. I love her more than anything in the universe. Thanks to my grandmother’s diverse background, I am culturally sensitive and respectful. Along with my parents, my grandmother has shaped me into the young, cultured person I am developing into.

For the love of languages

She is one of the few people who have truly inspired my love of languages. Besides my mother, she was the only person who constantly spoke French to me. She greatly encouraged me to speak French when I spoke to her (actually she made it a rule to only speak French with her; no English was allowed). Although it may have been inconvenient at first, considering I was more comfortable with speaking English than French, I am so thankful for this because it has given me a much deeper understanding and appreciation of the language.

Thanks to my grandmother, I speak French fluently. But that is not my limit. I am determined to learn more languages inspired by my multilingual family, especially Yaya, who spoke not only French, but English, Italian, Arabic, and Greek, all fluently. She is also familiar with Turkish. Out of these, the two languages that I am most eager to learn are Arabic and Italian. I have already taken classes for both languages in my university!

I learned Spanish while living in Spain and independently I find time to teach myself Japanese, which is a hobby that I share with a few good friends. My grandmother’s experience with languages has opened my eyes to the world. By being multilingual I am able to have a whole new perspective on the way people think and see the world, and because of this, I can connect much more easily to so many people from different countries and cultures.

"Les voyages forment la jeunesse"

Apart from languages, she is also very versed into art and culture. She has lived in many different countries such as Lebanon, France, Italy and America. She has also traveled the world with my grandfather to countries such as Egypt, Syria, Turkey, England, Germany, Switzerland, Canada, Morocco, China, and Hong Kong (under British commonwealth). My grandfather was in the silk industry and also worked for the United Nations, which is why they had the opportunity to travel so much for his business trips.

As a result from all these travels, Yaya’s apartment was like a little museum, with pieces of furniture, art, and many other antiques from several different countries. I often would ask about the origin of a certain item, and she would tell the story of her experience in that country from which the item is from. Because of these exciting stories, I became very interested in learning more about the cultures of different countries, and I would like to travel to see the things that shaped grandmother into the wonderful person that she was.

Being familiar with other cultures as well as respecting them also gives me the advantage of being able to make very good friends from all over the world. As an example, my best friends are from Venezuela, Japan, Thailand, Iraq, France, Morocco, Ethiopia and Spain.

As the French saying goes: "Les voyages forment la jeunesse". In literal terms, this means "traveling forms youth", but figuratively the meaning is more significant: "Traveling broadens the mind". A response to this well-known saying comes from Gilbert K. Chesterton, in which he states that "you must have the mind" in order for it to be broadened. I believe that I have "the mind" thanks to my grandmother.

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My inspiration

My grandmother's cooking was always delicious, and she also helped me to connect to my spiritual side. I looked up to her so much for everything and she listened to all I had to say. When she was proud of me, I became so happy that I wanted to continue to do well, not only for my own self-satisfaction, but also so that I could please her. No matter what I do, I always have her in mind because her opinion matters so much to me, which motivates me to do my best in anything that I do.

A youth's weekend in paradise

My grandmother used to live in a red brick apartment building with black shutters, and in front of every door and staircase was a black lamp post along the grassy green sidewalk border. Many weekends of my youth were spent here, and these moments make up my favourite childhood memories.

When I would turn onto the street of her apartment building, the long driveway would go all the way back to where the parking lot was, although there were also parking spots along the right side of the driveway, just across from the building. My grandmother's car parking spot was always parallel parked along that side, a short ways up from across her apartment door entrance.

This is the view of my grandmother's door (center) and her apartment window (to the upper left of the door, on the second floor (first floor for Europeans) from the spot where she would park her car.

Entering the home

Coming to this street and turning the car into the driveway of my grandmother's apartment building would always give me butterflies of excitement in my belly.

Before even making my way up the stairs to the main entrance door, my finger would already be extended and ready to press “B2”. After only a short wait, the door would buzz and unlock. To a normal person, this buzzing sound of the door unlocking might sound ugly or annoying, but to me this sound signified the green light to my grandmother’s sanctuary. This is a perfect example of classical (Pavlovian) conditioning, which explains why certain sounds or smells can have different responses from people, depending on how the latter is conditioned to the former.

After giving a firm shove to open the main entrance door, my lungs would be filled with a musky cigarette smell in the apartment building’s platform. I guess one of my grandmother’s neighbors smoked inside their apartment, so the scent would seep into the stairwell entrance. This smell never bothered me either; it was just another sign that I was closer yet to my grandmother’s door.

As I ascended one flight of carpeted stairs, two steps at a time, the metal stairwell would vibrate and echo slightly, and the smell would gradually evolve into a mixture of the musty cigarette with the smell of my grandmother’s cooking emitting from her kitchen. She would always be standing at the door, which was flung wide open, waiting for me. By the time I arrived to her door, I could already smell what she was cooking up, but before going inside, I would bury myself in her outstretched, inviting and safe arms and wedge my little face in her big bosom.

Taking my first step over the threshold and into her home was always exciting for me. I’d take off my shoes and walk on her soft brown carpet, check the little metal box on the desk by the door to see if my plastic bead necklace that I secretly hid was still there, and I’d say the usual “Salut, Yaya, comment ça va? ” (Hi, grandma (Yaya = grandma in Greek), how are you? ). She would answer me with a positive response, and, after placing my sleep-over bag in my room, she’d whisk me over to the dining table where my plates and cutlery were waiting for me.

A meal fit for a princess

Happily I’d sit at my place on the soft cushioned chairs, swinging my legs and finding a wooden ledge under the table to rest them on. While I would be intently studying the zebra pictures and designs on the cream-coloured table cloth, Yaya would bring the food to the table and serve us.

My grandmother was great at organizing and keeping her routine consistent in a way that I knew what to expect and what to predict in terms of the order of presentation, but I could never guess what the main dish would be. For example, at dinner time she would always make a salad first, and she usually kept her salad recipe consistent, which was nice because I loved it. After that, she always had a different surprise for me, whether it was kibbe and rice with laban, or warak arish, tabbouli, hummus, or koosa mahshi, I was never disappointed.

She would occasionally make fresh, homemade pasta, and when she made it, she would let me turn the crank of the pasta machine, slowly and carefully so that the pasta dough oozing out would not break. We would leave the pasta out to dry, and then boil it later.

My favourite meal by her was definitely the koosa mahshi, which is zucchini stuffed with rice and meat. Normally I do not like zucchini, but the way that this dish is made, you cannot recognize the distinct taste of the vegetable. I will provide the recipe to this delicious dish in my next post!

Following the dinner meal would be the dessert, which I could confidently expect to be my favourite brownies.

It was thanks to Yaya that I have such a deep appreciation of food, especially Lebanese food. At a young age, I was physically unable to ingest such large quantities of food, but my Yaya showed me how it’s done. Although I would be full and unable to finish my plate, she would tell me about the children in other less-fortunate countries (her favourite example was China, but I think it’s because when she was young, China was known to have a lot of poverty), and how I must finish my plate because they don’t have food.

I didn’t understand how eating food on other humans' behalf would make their lives any better, but the main point which I couldn’t avoid was that there was no moving from my seat until everything on my plate was finished. You can’t imagine how much agony I had to go through in order to stretch my stomach to a size that could handle her portions. Finally after years of practice, I am now able to eat more than most human beings who are my size or even bigger. Thanks, Yaya!

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The grand finale

Following the main meal, my grandmother would clean up the table, put away the dishes, wipe down the table cloth and send me to my bedroom to change and get ready for bed. She would then pull out my bed from the sofa, and I would help her to unfold the sheets, lay them out and tuck them around the mattress. My room had a TV in it, so she would turn it on for me to watch while I was in bed, and I would alternate between my three favourite channels: Cartoon Network, Nickelodeon, and Disney Channel (in order of preference).

While I would watch my cartoons before sleeping, she would then bring to me the dessert tray which I could eat in my bed: Soft, moist brownies and a glass of milk, with sometimes grapes or another fruit. I was living the true childhood dream life, but I never took it for granted. In fact, I remember thinking how lucky I was to have a grandmother like this, and I knew (and still know) that those days of my life were really the best. I don't believe I had one care in the world, and I remember that the only thing I dreaded was the day that my grandmother would no longer be here.

Goodnight prayers and waiting for Le Marchand de Sable (Mr. Sandman)

At around 10pm or so, Yaya would take my empty tray and turn off the TV while scooting me to quickly brush my teeth before sleeping. After tucking me in bed, closing the window shades and turning off the light, she would sit on the edge of my bed and say a prayer with me to "le petit Jésus" (Little Jesus), and she made me promise to be a good girl.

After the prayers, she left to sleep in her room and I would stare at the ceiling, the shades, or at the blinking light from the house phone and wait for sleep to come over me. Sometimes I would stare at the red digital clock on the television's cable box, watching and waiting for the minutes to tick by. Some nights I fell asleep quickly, and on others it took me a little bit more time. At certain times in my youth, I would have some trouble falling asleep due to the growing pains in my legs; regardless, I would eventually fall asleep, and in Yaya's home I always slept well, deeply and peacefully.

A few times during the night I would wake up to use the bathroom to pee, and I remember feeling so scared to use the bathroom because I didn't want to wake up Yaya. I would sometimes crawl or tip toe very carefully to the toilet, pee, and then not flush it. Then I would carefully turn on the sink faucet, so that I could wash my hands, drip by drip.

New day, more food

Every morning after waking up in my grandmother's home, I would crawl out of my bedroom and see what Yaya was doing. She was always awake before me, either in her bedroom praying her rosary while watching the Sunday mass on TV, or she was in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

I do not know why, but I never wanted to greet her in a normal fashion. In other words, instead of walking to where my grandmother was and giving her a kiss, I would crawl towards her on my stomach like a snake and hide under the table until she noticed me, and then I would enthusiastically reveal myself and kiss her. Although my intention was not to scare her, I probably gave her multiple heart attacks. Thankfully she got used to it and as far as I know, she never seemed fazed by my creeping (since she was expecting it).

Breakfast at Yaya's also had a special pattern to it. Before I would wake up, my grandmother would already have my first course prepared. Yaya would start my breakfast with a bowl of sliced strawberries and bananas drizzled with chocolate sauce. It was very simple and I knew to expect it every time, but I never grew tired of it. Sometimes I still make this for myself when I miss it and want to feel nostalgic. I had a special method of eating this bowl of fruit: I would always alternate one strawberry and one banana. I never ate more than one slice at a time, nor did I ever eat two in a row of the same fruit. Call me obsessive, but this was my system.

Following the fruit bowl was the main breakfast, which were homemade crepes by Yaya. I absolutely loved her crepes, and I would either eat them with Nutella or with strawberry jam. Occasionally I would accept using apricot jam, and after some time I grew a liking to it, although at first I did not like it at all.

I also had a method of eating the crepes. While being laid open, I would line one verticle quarter of the circle of the crepe with the filling of my choice, and then roll it up starting with that same side. In other words, I would only eat my crepe if it was rolled up (not folded), and the filling had to be on the side and not in the center. This is because if the filling is spread the side (one quarter into the circle of the crepe), then the filling will be exactly on the inside center part of the rolled up crepe. Also, doing it this method will prevent the fillings from overflowing out of the ends of the rolled up crepe.

I will also provide a recipe of the crepes in a later post!

Epilogue and a lesson

As you may guess, I miss my grandmother very much. Thanks to her, I have become passionate about eating good food and learning new recipes. I have also learned about tolerance, acceptance, thoughtfulness and support for all backgrounds of people because my grandmother was so culturally diverse. I cannot thank her enough for helping to shape me into the person I am today.

This story has a lesson in itself for everybody reading it: Keep your minds open, and learn from the best and most valuable people on earth, which are those who have lived through many experiences and have a lot of stories to tell and advice to share. These people are more valuable than books as their lives are finite, and because they each have their own unique stories to share, which will soon disappear from this earth if not told. There are many things I still would like to ask my grandmother, including many recipes that are lost with her, but I feel glad to know that the moments I did spend with her were well spent and not in vain.

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