Vive gets top billing because she’s the older one, which is a lot more fun to say now than when we were kids. Given that this is a France / USA venture, expect a lot of Franglais on this site. It’s how we talk so we might as well blog this way too.
Vive
Bonjour à tous!
The name Mom’s Magic Square was created in the 1980s in my Maryland suburban home kitchen. It sounds like a lovely little place where mom (moi), wearing a crisply ironed apron and warm welcoming smile, is surrounded by golden brown loaves of bread cooling on the rack next to freshly baked cupcakes for the after-school crowd. Here’s the real story:
After work, commute , daycare/school pickup, sports and homework, it was time to make dinner. To produce tasty meals within time limits a cook needs space, organization, calm and lots of imagination. This is not possible with small children flying through the kitchen dressed in Super Mario outfits followed by a barking dog.
So, Mom’s Magic Square became a (friendly) demilitarized zone. While I made dinner, the entrances to the kitchen were off limits. If you forgot this simple rule, you would find me holding a crisp dishtowel ready to snap and a wooden spoon nearby if that didn’t work.
This rule still applies today in my French kitchen. My husband, children, and grandchildren all respect it—and get a good laugh out of it.
Please join us in our simple family magic, the best moments for being together and sharing love and good food!
A bientôt
Vive
Tice
Hey Kids!
I bet you didn’t know that when I was 8-years-old I watched a pan of onions burn on purpose. Mom shooed me right out of the kitchen and from that day forward I was relegated to washing very dirty, homegrown lettuce and making Meme’s vinaigrette. Why sabotage the onions? Because I didn’t want to be in the kitchen while my brother wasn’t made to cook. Oh, sure, he did other chores, but cooking was not one of them. My attempt at rebellion failed, but the outcome was that I perfected the vinaigrette to such an extent that it became the most requested item for me to bring to any potluck. A salad wasn’t necessary, as long as I brought my dressing.
Like someone I know (ahem), I tended to injure myself quite easily in the kitchen so Mom was understandably alarmed when I began working in restaurants. But the stint was a good tutorial and I owe a lot of my kitchen knowledge to those years.
As a new Mom, it was more about getting through meals before meltdowns and finding ways to make broccoli more appealing than nuggets. But most of all, it was about having meals together, sharing “table talk-its” and playing I Spy. It wasn’t so much about what we ate, but that we ate together.
Now that we’re beyond Mac & Cheese, Ramen and what I never thought was a meal anyway—Fish Sticks and French Fries—it’s time to memorialize some favorites for the day you say to yourselves, “Just how does mom make ______?”
Tice