Your great grandparents were from France? Wow. Lucky you. You must have had some great meals. My great grandmother was from Italy. I also was fortunate to eat truly wonderful things. After serving the Sunday dinner to all of us (sometimes 30) she would stand at the stove and cry. "It didn't come too good this time, huh, nobody ate." "No Nona, it was wonderful, we just can't eat any more." She would still cry.
Yes. A coal miner, my great grandfather emigrated from France to be able to work for the first time "standing-up" in the fabulously rich Pennsylvania vein. Having by his own volition become an American, he refused to communicate with any of his five children in French.
This post is going horribly off-topic. But ...
An only child of only children, my family gatherings were rather small. In retrospect, the meal-memory I treasure most was the Tuesday dinner: boiled navy beans flavored by salt and a slice of bacon over a slice of white bread. My grandfather was truly a Man in Full, a fearsome grey-eyed Scot elevated by his Fellows to the 33rd
Degree. He insisted that hard times
- the Depression and the Nazis - never