Lauren's Foreign Family

My grandmother grew up in rural Idaho with thirteen siblings during the Great Depression. She, like the thousands of hungry people who defined her generation, knows the value of a good meal. It is perhaps for this reason, then, that my evening’s host makes me feel so at home. Monique has not only made sure that her guests will not go to bed hungry, but also satisfied. Before me sits pot of traditional Swiss cheese fondue and a basket of fresh bread for dipping. Captivated by the delicious aroma, I listen as Monique explains the traditions surrounding Swiss fondue. The pride she takes in the meal that she has prepared for us again reminds me of my own grandmother, who always has a story to share about the meals she prepares. Geneva may be a long way from Idaho, but the similarities between the women are unmistakable. Like most grandmothers, Monique takes the time to share stories with us about the antics of her children and grandchildren, animatedly painting a picture of her family. As we sit around the table laughing and helping ourselves to generous portions of hot, melted cheese, it is hard to decide which is better: the company, or the food.
The conversation shifts, and Monique regales us with stories of her extensive world travels, from exploring Nicaragua to traversing rural China, on a mission funded by the Red Cross. Fondue forks are slowly returned to resting positions as we hang on her every word. She tells us of how she can trace her family’s lineage back to one of the founders of the Red Cross, and explains how her continued work with the organization has allowed her to travel the world, meeting people from every imaginable walk of life. She has had some of the most powerful experiences I could ever imagine, and I cannot help but admire all the good that she has seen and done in the world.
The fondue pot ran dry two hours ago, but all of the story-telling prevented us from cleaning up earlier. When we finally rise to do the dishes, I am immediately transported back to my grandmother’s kitchen, where I dutifully dry each dish. My task in Monique’s kitchen is similar, and the familiar, repetitive action of drying dishes allows me reflect upon my evening and the company I spent it with. There is no question that I am extremely fortunate to have been graced with such a generous host, just as there is no question that I will ever be able to forget the meal that brought us all together. I smile, thinking that my grandmother would be proud.