Yes. I honor the dish.
What the Executive Chef of the Bayleaf said after he described the brilliant Paella that he learned from a fellow who inherited it from his Great-Great-Grandmother from Granada, when I asked him if he makes it with the chorizo that he told me the recipe calls for.
Something amazing: Even though it’s Christmas, even though people are packed to the gills with parties and bookings and things to do, Nini’s funeral service and the reception to follow are coming together beautifully. As though all the stars are aligned.
We’re planning a luncheon after the interment in Napa. Just imagine trying to seat fifty people on a Saturday during the Holidays in Napa. And yet: doors opened wide.
Last night I spoke with the executive chef who’s planning the menu. He was so generous and solicitous and kind about our situation. And as he described the courses, the care that he takes with the Cornish Hens, the Paella recipe that he received from his mentor, and his warm words washed over me, I was reminded of a moment long ago when we read the Odyssey in a University course, and my professor remarked on the banquet that was laid for Odysseus, who had lost everything.
Commented on how this is what we must do when death visits us: We must eat. Eventually.
Because this is how we know we are alive. And this is how we pledge to keep on living.
Update: Indeed. The paella was amazing.
5 comments:
I think you've commented before about how your Nini just shows up when help is needed, and I think she must be doing something for you all now. What a wonderful, generous spirit she must have been, and how lucky you all are to have each other (and all that delicious food!) to celebrate her. Thinking of you, as always, hoping you stay safe in the storm and travel safe, too.
When my grandmother passed, someone told my grandfather to remember to drink water. Because tears can dehydrate, making you feel even worse without knowing why. When he told me about it, I knew he had agreed to go on living.
how great to find a Chef like this!
Now I'm hungry. Mmm. Paella.
So anyway, what I meant to say before the thought of paella sidetracked me was:
I was a waiter in a hotel for a couple of years. For some reason this hotel got a lot of funeral service luncheons. I hated those jobs, even though they were mostly quiet and simple, so I hardly ever took the funeral shifts for reason of preserving sanity. But one thing I did notice on the 10 or 12 times I did do funeral shifts was that one of the most interesting distinctions between families was what kind of food they ordered. The universal funeral luncheon went like this: simple sandwiches, danish, coffee, fruit, biscuits, cheeses. The people who ordered this were quiet, and didn't eat much (one of the things the waiters liked about these things was that there were lots of leftovers they could snack on.
The people who ordered hot dishes on the other hand - often comfort food like soup or pot meals - were always the interesting ones. They were always talkative, despite the grief, and always seemed to have more of a will to live than the other kind. Conclusion: food is good.
i empathize with you. four years ago around the holidays i lost my grandpa. we were close. during the last months, i didn't work. i just cooked for him. i'll always remember those times.
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