It was April 2014. My Grandmom’s 80th birthday party. It would be the last time my mom’s side of the family were all together, and for the most part, happily. I always envisioned I’d be the glue that held my family together. Our common thread, and the creator of the space that allowed us to gather. And for a while, I was. We’ll fast forward through the dysfunction here.

I was searching for pictures to make one of those birthday collage posts, and in my hunt for some oldie but goodies, I scrolled past this picture of Nick. I quickly went back to it. I had forgotten there was a picture of this. I had often thought about the moment it captured. The memory unfolded. Nick was about fifteen at the time, getting taller, and more string-beany by the day – a characteristic he was quite insecure about. He was in that hard teenage phase of trying to find yourself. He was sweet, quirky, and oh so painfully awkward. He would later refer to this phase as his “Hey, Girl Phase” characterized by a very odd humor that resembled a 90s valley girl and Stewart from Mad TV. Staaappph! LOL. Those laughs are so bittersweet. I miss him and I wish I could fulfill my sisterly duties and embarrass him in my speech at his future wedding.

Nick, like me often misused words. We enjoy using words that seem to have the meaning we imagine they do. He was very dapper that day, and I, very French. When I asked him what he meant, he would say, with a dramatic flip of the hand “Oh you know, you’re just SO French.” Not too much more elaboration developed, but I eventually came to understand he meant he thought I was “fancy” because I cooked “really good food and hosted parties.” He also said he remembered me saying, ” Pardon my French” when we were younger.” I don’t think he realized that I was referring to my potty mouth– not fancy pants.

He was really happy that day. He was learning to cook with me in the kitchen, and helping my cousin, ( enter, Moon) Audrey, make a salad. We were joking, poking fun at each other, laughing, drinking ( I made him take a sip of my bubbly “French” wine, and grooving to some good Motown tunes. He loved being with me. I’m so grateful we shared that day and that I stumbled upon this picture– Pure gold.

And so, since this picture inspired the blog, I think it should also inspire some culinary adventures. For as much as I love to cook, I have never attempted, less mastered, any of the classic french cooking techniques.

THIS could get ugly…and if so, Pardon my French!

I’ll wait until I’m over the Flu though, because, in the immortal words of Julia Child, “I enjoy cooking with wine. Sometimes I even put it in my food.”

Yours in thyme,

Alecia