CASSOULET
I made a classic French Languedoc Cassoulet and homemade French peasant baguette for dinner today. All of a sudden it reminded me of my grandma.
I was a greedy child growing up. FOOD was a BIG thing in our family growing up. My grandmother was the best home cook and makes all the females in our families a pale hue compared to her. In those days, food was scarce and ingredients were usually peasant food from extended family farms and tea from our family plantation. My grandmother was a super savvy and thrifty self-thought home cook. She can whipped up meals from trimmings and turned it into something so scrumptious that till this day, none of us could replicate what she had done with just nothing.
I was her favorite grand-daughter. Although all my cousins knew that I was, there was always rivalry among us, trying to impress my grandmother in the kitchen arena. I mentioned I was her favorite because I spent the most time with her while my parents were away. Those time that I got to spent with her, I was always nosing in the kitchen while she was preparing food. I got to go to the local farmers market with her at an ungodly hours in the morning. She would always walked her rounds at the market, from the poultry stall to the butcher; from the fishmongers to the farmers. Most days she had a clear vision of what she would cook. Occasionally, she would ponder a little longer as she sashayed to another stall. I like the time when she asked me what I would like to cook with her. That moment my eyes would sparkled and I would literally speak my mind. She would so carefully measured my ideas and chuckled at my suggestions because I always have the most peculiar requests. At my tender age of four years old, I wouldn't have a clue if the ingredients were cheap or expensive. But I liked it a lot when she took my suggestions on board.
I was always very inquisitive; not a moment passed us by without me asking her a string of questions. From the market trips to food preparation in the bare minimal home stone and wood charcoal kitchen, to evening walks with her and her dog. In the kitchen, I could hardly reach the stove top. She would then overturned a wooden crate and carried me to stand on top of it. She was always very patient with me, and had never once fail to answer all my questions and quench my thirst for more information.
One of the many things she said was "Eat to live - do not live to eat," or "Have a complete understanding concerning income, and live within it," She was hilariously funny! My laughter made her smiled, because I have a hideous laughter that was so unladylike, especially when I was cracked up!
My favorite suggestion she said one afternoon, just for sheer ridiculousness: "Do not spend more than six afternoons in the week playing bridge, whilst where you form a gambling habit," which by the way, she developed a women gambling repertoire on weekdays when Grandpa passed away. Perhaps that was her way of dealing with sorrow, which I will never know. But it was short-lived as I recalled.
Grandma once told my mother: "she wanted to cook, so she went into the kitchen and tried and tried, but she could not understand the principle, and she made dreadful messes, and spoiled her frocks and burned her fingers till she just had to hide all her mess." I was only four and a half of age!
At first I could always hear the Pretty Aunt and her Other Aunt told me that I was too young to cook, but I just kept trying, and making more messes and spoiled frocks and finally angered tears. Then they would compliment Cousin Shirley on how well mannered and manicured she was since we were both of the same age with only a few months apart.
Weekends at Grandma's was always a treat! My competitive nature always led her to hold competition of the fastest vegetable peeler among us cousins, the fastest bean sprout be-heading champion, etc. The reward was always a British classic brunch that Grandma would whipped up for a table of eight grand-daughters and one grand-son. That's non other than Campbell Condensed Soup diluted with a quart of fresh goat's milk, Heinz tomato baked beans and canned Corn-Beef with fresh chicken eggs from Grandma's own hen pen! It all sounded so gourmet when we all were so little. While the aunties and uncles will be devouring themselves in my mother home-made Jakarta sambal pecel and sambal belachan that we were forbidden to eat at that age.
Cassoulet reminded me of her primarily because it is a peasant dish, made out of odd cuts and secondary trimmings that were too tough to chew. The long braising, the care taken to stew with a bottle of Burgundy wine adds flavor to the meat, by the same token, also tenderizes the tendons and sinew of the tough cuts. Grandma is the expert in making the best out of nothing, getting the most value out of the little monies she had, to feed three generations of the family after Grandpa passed on. She was and still is my heroine. She made me realize how important it is to be self-sufficient, self-dependent and self-less too!
Hence, this pot of cassoulet was a pot of life stories that encompasses tears of sadness and joy during the new economy era post WWII; of blood and sweat laboring in the kitchen; and a celebration pot that brought three generation of grand, her children and her grand-children altogether. The only difference is in this digital era of ours, I only have my own partner to share with.
Thank you, Grandma!
I was a greedy child growing up. FOOD was a BIG thing in our family growing up. My grandmother was the best home cook and makes all the females in our families a pale hue compared to her. In those days, food was scarce and ingredients were usually peasant food from extended family farms and tea from our family plantation. My grandmother was a super savvy and thrifty self-thought home cook. She can whipped up meals from trimmings and turned it into something so scrumptious that till this day, none of us could replicate what she had done with just nothing.
 |
| Library of books trying to find Grandma's flavor. |
I was her favorite grand-daughter. Although all my cousins knew that I was, there was always rivalry among us, trying to impress my grandmother in the kitchen arena. I mentioned I was her favorite because I spent the most time with her while my parents were away. Those time that I got to spent with her, I was always nosing in the kitchen while she was preparing food. I got to go to the local farmers market with her at an ungodly hours in the morning. She would always walked her rounds at the market, from the poultry stall to the butcher; from the fishmongers to the farmers. Most days she had a clear vision of what she would cook. Occasionally, she would ponder a little longer as she sashayed to another stall. I like the time when she asked me what I would like to cook with her. That moment my eyes would sparkled and I would literally speak my mind. She would so carefully measured my ideas and chuckled at my suggestions because I always have the most peculiar requests. At my tender age of four years old, I wouldn't have a clue if the ingredients were cheap or expensive. But I liked it a lot when she took my suggestions on board.
I was always very inquisitive; not a moment passed us by without me asking her a string of questions. From the market trips to food preparation in the bare minimal home stone and wood charcoal kitchen, to evening walks with her and her dog. In the kitchen, I could hardly reach the stove top. She would then overturned a wooden crate and carried me to stand on top of it. She was always very patient with me, and had never once fail to answer all my questions and quench my thirst for more information.
 |
| Remembering Grandma's, made with White Northern Beans, homemade duck confit, Toulouse garlic sausage, Brine Pork knuckle and mire-poix farm vegetables. |
One of the many things she said was "Eat to live - do not live to eat," or "Have a complete understanding concerning income, and live within it," She was hilariously funny! My laughter made her smiled, because I have a hideous laughter that was so unladylike, especially when I was cracked up!
My favorite suggestion she said one afternoon, just for sheer ridiculousness: "Do not spend more than six afternoons in the week playing bridge, whilst where you form a gambling habit," which by the way, she developed a women gambling repertoire on weekdays when Grandpa passed away. Perhaps that was her way of dealing with sorrow, which I will never know. But it was short-lived as I recalled.
Grandma once told my mother: "she wanted to cook, so she went into the kitchen and tried and tried, but she could not understand the principle, and she made dreadful messes, and spoiled her frocks and burned her fingers till she just had to hide all her mess." I was only four and a half of age!
At first I could always hear the Pretty Aunt and her Other Aunt told me that I was too young to cook, but I just kept trying, and making more messes and spoiled frocks and finally angered tears. Then they would compliment Cousin Shirley on how well mannered and manicured she was since we were both of the same age with only a few months apart.
 |
| Cassoulet plated |
Weekends at Grandma's was always a treat! My competitive nature always led her to hold competition of the fastest vegetable peeler among us cousins, the fastest bean sprout be-heading champion, etc. The reward was always a British classic brunch that Grandma would whipped up for a table of eight grand-daughters and one grand-son. That's non other than Campbell Condensed Soup diluted with a quart of fresh goat's milk, Heinz tomato baked beans and canned Corn-Beef with fresh chicken eggs from Grandma's own hen pen! It all sounded so gourmet when we all were so little. While the aunties and uncles will be devouring themselves in my mother home-made Jakarta sambal pecel and sambal belachan that we were forbidden to eat at that age.
Cassoulet reminded me of her primarily because it is a peasant dish, made out of odd cuts and secondary trimmings that were too tough to chew. The long braising, the care taken to stew with a bottle of Burgundy wine adds flavor to the meat, by the same token, also tenderizes the tendons and sinew of the tough cuts. Grandma is the expert in making the best out of nothing, getting the most value out of the little monies she had, to feed three generations of the family after Grandpa passed on. She was and still is my heroine. She made me realize how important it is to be self-sufficient, self-dependent and self-less too!
Hence, this pot of cassoulet was a pot of life stories that encompasses tears of sadness and joy during the new economy era post WWII; of blood and sweat laboring in the kitchen; and a celebration pot that brought three generation of grand, her children and her grand-children altogether. The only difference is in this digital era of ours, I only have my own partner to share with.
Thank you, Grandma!
Comments
Post a Comment