Remembering Ba Ngoai with her Pâté Chaud
Back in October of the last year, I lost my grandmother.
She lived in Paris and I was thankfully able to attend her funeral. It's been a hard loss, and I'm not sure I've really allowed myself to fully process it all. I loved my grandmother, my ba ngoai, so much. More than I can even grasp. She is how I was able to appreciate food. She is the reason I can fully understand how love can be shown through food and cooking. Her cooking, the smells wafting through her tiny apartment in Paris, are tied to some of my best childhood memories. My ba ngoai taught me how to love everyone. She taught me how to smile in the face of adversity; how the glint in smiling eyes can disarm anyone. Ba ngoai lived through a lot. She lived through a war that tore her home and wealth from her, she lived through re-establishing herself and life in another country, she lived through her brother never coming home, she lived through raising 3 children, she lived through her husbands death, and she lived through her mind slowly diminishing as age advanced. I wish I could have said she remembered my last visit to her in Paris. I wish I had been able to see her one last time before her funeral. She looked so tiny in her casket. So much smaller than I remembered. So much smaller than all the joyous memories she gave me.
Ba ngoai used to give me stale breadcrumbs to feed the sparrows and pigeons at her nearby Mouffetard market as she shopped in the mornings. I remember waking to freshly baked croissants and pain au chocolat. She cooked up feasts of delicious Vietnamese food for us. I remember her making escargot for me every trip because she knew that I loved it. I wish more people had spoken at her funeral about her talent in showing love through food. I think she attended classes at Le Courdon Bleu. She is one of the most talented cooks I’ve ever known. And I will always remember her as someone with such an open heart. She would let me fall asleep during car rides, using her thighs to lay my head on. She would take in any family or friends that came to visit. She laughed with my husband, who she couldn't talk to (language barriers). She imparted much of her talent and love of food to my mother, who has in turn imparted those to me.
So I will continue to remember her and pay tribute to her through my cooking. I'll try to recreate her pâté chaud recipe again. I'll try to remember my friend's and family's favorite dishes. I'll offer them a seat at my table when they are hungry.
She lived in Paris and I was thankfully able to attend her funeral. It's been a hard loss, and I'm not sure I've really allowed myself to fully process it all. I loved my grandmother, my ba ngoai, so much. More than I can even grasp. She is how I was able to appreciate food. She is the reason I can fully understand how love can be shown through food and cooking. Her cooking, the smells wafting through her tiny apartment in Paris, are tied to some of my best childhood memories. My ba ngoai taught me how to love everyone. She taught me how to smile in the face of adversity; how the glint in smiling eyes can disarm anyone. Ba ngoai lived through a lot. She lived through a war that tore her home and wealth from her, she lived through re-establishing herself and life in another country, she lived through her brother never coming home, she lived through raising 3 children, she lived through her husbands death, and she lived through her mind slowly diminishing as age advanced. I wish I could have said she remembered my last visit to her in Paris. I wish I had been able to see her one last time before her funeral. She looked so tiny in her casket. So much smaller than I remembered. So much smaller than all the joyous memories she gave me.
Ba ngoai used to give me stale breadcrumbs to feed the sparrows and pigeons at her nearby Mouffetard market as she shopped in the mornings. I remember waking to freshly baked croissants and pain au chocolat. She cooked up feasts of delicious Vietnamese food for us. I remember her making escargot for me every trip because she knew that I loved it. I wish more people had spoken at her funeral about her talent in showing love through food. I think she attended classes at Le Courdon Bleu. She is one of the most talented cooks I’ve ever known. And I will always remember her as someone with such an open heart. She would let me fall asleep during car rides, using her thighs to lay my head on. She would take in any family or friends that came to visit. She laughed with my husband, who she couldn't talk to (language barriers). She imparted much of her talent and love of food to my mother, who has in turn imparted those to me.
So I will continue to remember her and pay tribute to her through my cooking. I'll try to recreate her pâté chaud recipe again. I'll try to remember my friend's and family's favorite dishes. I'll offer them a seat at my table when they are hungry.
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| Photo credit: You Are My True Photography |
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| Photo credit: You are My True Photography |
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