Brunch served with a side of memories at my Grandparents’ house
When I was a little girl, at least one day of each week would be dedicated to going to my grandparent’s house. Today that tradition remains the same. Each time I walk through the doors I can’t help but feel anything but safe and content. It feels like home.
In that house, we spend the most time in the kitchen. When I walk in, I hear the same thing almost every time. On the radio, the French music of Celine Dion plays loud to diminish the noise of the fan cooling down whatever my grandmother may be cooking. In front of the stove is where she is. Apron on and humming to the music playing, she always makes sure to welcome me with a warm embrace and a gentle smile.
All around her kitchen I see portraits of relatives. Some of my cousins from a couple hours away, some of my grandparents themselves, some of me when I was younger. Seeing those photos can’t help but make me feel nostalgic. It’s got me feeling as though I’m still that same age and that since then, nothing has changed. Even if a lot has changed. The sight of the Fall colored walls always stay the same as I remember them. When I inhale, I smell maple as sweet as the memories that I’ve made in this kitchen.
As my cousins and I would help place the cold, shiny silverware on the table, my grandmother would announce that she’s finished. On a plate, a stack of crêpes sit, still too hot to touch. Since every meal means variety for my grandmother, another plate of the French-Canadian dish, ‘ploye’ is on the table. Along with bacon and eggs of course. This is there to provide the option of savory compared to the sugared taste of the crêpes. I usually take a seat on the leather booth. The heat of the heater underneath the booth warms up my feet on a cold autumn day. All the food is spread out onto the table, now it’s just up to us to decide what we want to eat. The food, as well as the smiles, are priceless.
I run my knife through the melted butter assimilating just enough to spread over the delicious-looking crêpes. They appear almost as thin as paper, although only a few have the capacity of having me full. I drizzle some bittersweet blueberries onto the crêpes, topping it off perfectly.
Slowly more and more of my family enters the small kitchen. We save a special place in the booth for my grandfather. It’s been his spot for as long as I can remember. No matter how many times we tell my grandmother to sit down, she always makes sure that we’re absolutely satisfied with what we have before taking a seat. And we always are. The dishes themselves are great, but my favourite thing on the menu that has everyone satisfied? Love. And that’s not something that’s served at many other restaurants.