LA BOUILLABAISSE* AND AUNTIE INEZ**

One of the most vivid childhood memories I have is of hopping into our family's gargantuan 1946 Chevy and gliding from Long Beach into the Hollywood Hills area of Southern California.  These star-struck hills were populated with humble white-stuccoed, red-tiled dwellings, looked down upon by palatial, multi-level locked-gate homes.  In one of these moderate sized but elegant homes, Uncle Walter and Auntie Inez awaited our visit with open arms.

As soon as the car stopped, my two younger brothers and I exploded from the back seat, ran up the many steps on our short legs, and flew through the screen door into the living room where I stopped, suddenly shy.  As my eyes slowly adjusted to the darker interior, I saw what looked to be an angel sitting on a throne--this "angel" turned out to be my Great Aunt Anna Pelletier, mother to Auntie Inez.  She sat straight-backed and regal for her advanced age, white hair piled atop her head, aglow with the sunlight streaming from the window behind her.  She held out frail, wrinkled arms, bidding me come to her.  I shuffled flat-footed to her and sank into the luxurious cushions of the sofa which, to my overworked imagination, doubled as her throne.

She talked quietly with me until my confidence was gained, and then this lovely apparition I was meeting for the first time held out a gift.  For me?  Of those days my Mother often declared later, "We didn't have enough money to buy a postage stamp!", and so this experience of an "angel" giving me a gift took on major proportions.  I received the box with trembling hands, managing to open it without dropping or breaking anything. I found it to contain a kit made up of a fish bowl and bright colored crystals that grew like magic when water was added to them!  I treasured that gift given in such a loving way; but then the well known fact that children can be very fickle found it's way into my heart.  A young mind and empty stomach proclaimed that one cannot be expected to live on love alone, especially when an exotic smell was pulling me toward the kitchen.  I quickly kissed my Great Aunt's soft  cheek which gave off the fragrance of violets, thanked her for the gift, turned on my heels and moved quickly in the direction of the even more promising smell of FOOD.

How to express fully the scene that greeted me on that golden day of my ninth year?  Auntie Inez was a lovely vision enveloped in billows of steam rising from a huge pot on the stove.  And lovely she was, for earlier in her life she had been a silent screen star sought after and adored by many.  My sketchy knowledge of those years only lent greater mystery to this effervescent personality before me.  As I entered the kitchen, electric with drama, Auntie appeared to be directing a major scene from one of her movies:  her bountiful dark hair flying as she swirled in her ruffled apron, arms flinging one ingredient after another into the steaming caldron.  All the while, she was simultaneously laughing and talking, leading a room full of relatives in funny stories and verbal sketches from years gone by.

My unbridled curiosity overcame me, and I dared to ask what was in the great pot?  Auntie never missed a beat, but pulled up a chair, lifted me like a feather and planted me so I could see the bubbling contents.  Her extravagant nature led her to go so far as to give me command over the giant spoon, inviting me to "Stir!", no small feat, but a great thrill for a wee girl.  It is said the sense of smell and memories surrounding it can be carried with us, even when other memories fade.  Many years have passed, and yet I can still remember the aromas which wafted up and over me on that long-ago day.

My dear Auntie was putting heart and soul into making for us all, Bouillabaisse,  a famous fishy soup-stew which began in Provence, France, the sun-drenched land where my Father's family originated.  I've since learned that this fragrant concoction was traditionally made from the portion of fish, the "godaille", allocated to the fishermen once the bulk of the catch had been sold.  These "leftovers" were then cooked with potatoes, onions, carrots, garlic, herbs, Muscadet, and eau-de-vie (French for "water of life", a fruit brandy most often made from pears).

The crowning moment came when we all crowded around the long table, napkins tucked in, anticipating the messy goodness to come.  We energetically dug into the colorful, tasty meal that had been carefully and generously prepared.  Wine glasses clinked, "bon appetit" was wished in unison, with the lively conversation never slowing (how is that adults can talk and eat at the same time, while it is forbidden for children?).  The staccato of mussel shells cracking open, the sight of many hunks of warm french bread being dipped into the delicious broth, heads bent with purpose, all painted a picture of a cornucopia filled with lavish bounty and shared experience.  I looked through wide eyes at the ever-moving scene before me, my mouth and heart full and happy.

Appetites and bellies at saturation point, the women donned their aprons and attacked the mountain of dishes with renewed energy. Hours afterward the meal would be discussed in finest detail, for this was, and is, the French way.  By verbally regurgitating the meal, they were honoring and giving dignity to the cook whose loving hands and heart had sustained them.  In another room, the men  put up their feet and smoked cigars, dozing a bit, the children running and waving their arms through the lazy drifting smoke.

The best part, that is following the meal, was to be with Uncle Walter on the front porch.  Their little dog Minois (French for "Pretty Face") and I, sitting with Uncle while he contentedly smoked his huge cigar and had philosophical discussions kindly brought down to the level of his little niece, was like dessert.  Together we watched the blazing sun sink slowly behind the undulating Hollywood hills right into the Pacific Ocean.  It seemed to me like a final curtain coming down on our day together, sadly heralding it was time for my family to retrace the way we had come.  Though so young, I had learned there was a big difference between The Anticipation vs. The Fulfillment of a longed for event. Even so, the day had heaped upon me hours of fun and laughter, as well as the very real gift from Great Aunt Anna sitting securely in my lap.

Later, we arrived safely back home and I was tucked beneath my covers by my parents.  I closed my eyes and before sleep overcame me, whispered into the dark, "Bon appetit!", to help keep the memories of that day alive just a little bit longer…

Many years later, it is strange to find myself older than they were then.  I believe Great Aunt Anna, Uncle Walter and Auntie Inez would have been surprised if they had had just a glimmer of what it meant to a little girl who was invited to sit at their table and eat Bouillabaisse with them, and this after talking with an angel!  A little girl, who normally went unnoticed in the company of adults,  was truly made to feel like a princess.

  *Pr. BOO-yuh-BAYZ 
** Pr. EE-NAZ