Recently I was invited to have lunch with four women. All of us were born in different countries. That’s not that unusual, but it was an interesting idea for a gathering. The other thing we had in common was a passing acquaintance with our hostess. She was a tall woman whose charm made you feel at ease and glad you were invited.
After lunch, we walked to the apartment of one of the guests to see her collection of paintings by modern Chinese artists. As we looked at the canvases, she told us stories about the artists and explained a little about their art. We took it all in like willing students, eager to learn what she had to offer.
“Now,” she said, taking her leave, “I would like to show you something special and let you experience a little of my home in China.”
Shortly, she emerged from behind a closed door, carrying a tray with a matching tea set that included a teapot and assorted cups. As she carefully placed it on the table in front of us, I was struck by the color. The color of the finish was unlike anything I had ever seen—a green that reminded me of the newness of foliage when it first breaks ground; strong and fresh, not yet hardened by the elements.
We could feel her excitement as she pointed to the gold image that adorned it. “It’s a sunburst” she clarified. “The tea set was made in a village near my home in China. The color of the lacquer and the design are rare. This is an exceptional example of their craft.”
As she poured the tea into the cups, my nostrils filled with the sweet, yet slightly acidic smell, reminiscent of a morning walk in a damp field. “My mother served the same tea to our guests when I was a young girl,” she said. “The smell brings me back to my childhood. Now I serve it because it helps me feel connected to my past and allows me to share my traditions with you.” She paused and then added, “I hope it will help you understand me better.” She bowed her head ever so slightly, seemingly embarrassed by her directness.
As we sipped the flavorful liquid, she continued explaining her traditions so vividly and viscerally that I found myself traveling to what I imagined her home must be like. For that moment, I was part of another world.
As we said our good-byes, I marveled at how she had kept a piece of her past with her, both for comfort and power. She had taken the time to share a little about what made her unique.
What about you?
I know when I invite guests to my home I make a point of entertaining as I would in France. I want my guests to feel like they are walking into a different culture. That is who I am and I want to share it and express it.
Do you share your heritage when you entertain? How?
Are there objects that remind you of your family history? What are they?
Let us know in the comments below. Merci
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I was with my mother in her room at her new abode.
As I sat facing her, I began to read last week’s post, Cooking through a Child’s Eyes, about the time we baked a marble cake together. I wondered if she remembered the event that. . .
The first time I saw magic happen in the kitchen I was six years old and wanted to help my mother cook. I’d follow her every step and move, clinging like her shadow, struggling to see what she was doing. Inevitably, she’d turn around and trip over me. It wasn’t optimum for either of us, so when she told me we were going to bake a special cake and I could help … “there is a surprise at the end,” she promised…
I beamed with joy…
Cooking is full of mystifying moments that are…
The last time I took a train that had a dining car was right after I graduated from high school.
Walking into the dining car, I was flooded with memories of childhood trips. It looked exactly as I remembered: the tables were set with clean white tablecloths, cloth napkins, china, silverware, and gleaming glasses—just like in an old movie.
I was excited and hungry for French food. My first taste was . . .