Where life leads

Last year at this time I was writing to my nephew while in New york.  He was an exchange student. Now he’s in his first year of College, the youngest, the tallest and thinnest and most likely the baby-face of the freshman class. Today I wrote him a letter. When I considered making something edible and sending off the letter inside a care package, with either home-made peanut brittle or apple butter, the thought took me back to when I visited him at his school, in his first year.  In those days I not only got to drop him off and pick him up, but on occasion was able to eat lunch with him as well.
 
One reason I remember it so well is that I had made him dinner the night before. While we were dining he turned to me and said, “Tante do you think you can make this dish again and bring it to my school tomorrow?”

The next day I woke up early and began my preparations for the Coq au vin—that he liked so much.

As I approached Lycée Français de San Francisco, I saw a blackboard out in front of the school with a menu posted. Flabbergasted, I couldn’t understand how my cooking could compare to their elaborate full-course menu. I read the board that included—an entrée, vegetable, salad, bread and cheese and dessert. To my chagrin I thought of the paper plates and paper napkins I had packed thinking it was practical and made for a lighter load. If there was cutlery inside, I would have to look the other way. Then I realized that my meal however short on courses was made from an essential simple and powerful ingredient... and that was love. I had anticipated his birth and he was (and still is) very special to me. So in I proudly walked with my picnic basket of coq au vin, a green salad and French bread. I looked around the room. The school had a structured program when it came to meals and allowed plenty of time for consumption. It had all the little personal touches, the way the children waited in line, how they got everyone to quiet down and I felt comfort in the structure. I can only imagine what I must have looked like among all those 5 year-olds. But I figured if my nephew didn’t mind, then why should I?

Going to lunch was so much fun and so invigorating! I took out the entrée and bread, and all the other kids were in awe. Naturally being in San Francisco fruits and vegetables were organic and their plates had no signs of peanut butter or any of the fare I grew up with. We ate slowly and enjoyed our lunch together.

Afterwards, I placed my basket aside and stayed, chasing after him as we ventured over the playground. We went up the ladders for a chance to zip down the slides. It was cold, we were red cheeked, breathing out of our mouths, giggling and enjoying those moments of pure freedom. I had children tugging on my arms and pulling me in different directions and kept hearing, “Can I play too?” “Will you be my Tante?” They were wonderful children and it was great fun.