Love and kholodets

It was Gannas' birthday on thursday. I had asked her ages ago when it was and forgotten. Hearing the phone ring non-stop the cobwebs started to clear. I've been giving her some space these last few days because she's been really down.My gentle efforts to get her back to her old self just seemed to irritate her so i decided to give her some space , even though I've been worried about her.As one of life's paid up interventionists its has been hard for me to leave her alone but i just decided to let her roll with her feelings while i kept a watchful eye in the background.Anyway friday morning came and as i was leaving for school i asked her when her birthday is.

'It was yesterday' she said diffidently

'I thought so .. and you didn't say a word to me about it'

'What for.. there's nothing to celebrate.It's not like it was before... now it's just misery'


'But it was your birthday..'

'Don't worry about it.Anyway, we've got guests coming at the weekend'

I'd vaguely heard about this russian tradition of having guests over for your birthday. I was running late for school so i just said 'Ok' , gave her a peck on the cheek as i normally do and darted out of the door.



Later that evening on the way home i bought her a big bouquet of russet coloured roses and tiger lillies.She wasn't home when i got in so i just put them in some water . When she got back i lead her to the kitchen and showed her the flowers .


She looked at me in disbelief , 'This is exactly why didn't tell you it was my birthday.How much did you pay for these?' Flowers aren't cheap here.


'I've forgotten'

'You've forgotten ?!'

'Yep, I've forgotten'

She looked at me, started laughing and came over and kissed me on the cheek 'Thank you darling... and what have you eaten today... all you ever do is drink , drink , drink . Did you eat the cutlets that i made you?' She walked out of the kitchen to look for a couple of vases , asking herself aloud what she is going to do with this crazy woman she has in her house. I knew then that my russian mother of old was on her way back.


In the wee small hours of the morning she's in the kitchen and i walk in and notice a a pot with a pigs foot and a piece of meat in it. I know instantly that we're going to have the dreaded kholodets .It's apparently a Ukrainian dish and probably the only thing Russia loves about the Ukraine right now. However, i eat it only to make Ganna happy but this chopped meat and vegetables in jelly dish is never going to make it into my culinary repertoire unless by some quirk of fate i marry a Russian man.

'I'll put the meat on to boil now. It needs at least 6 hours boiling for the meat to be really tender'

Naturally i get a little concerned at having to go to sleep with a boiling pot of pig foot and beef on the fire.

Ganna laughs at my consternation. 'Don't worry, this isn't the first time I've done it you know and as you can see I'm still alive !'

I laugh with her but i can't help remembering the times that I've told her something she was cooking was burning.I'm really tired. In my head I'm thinking 'Do not go to sleep, don't go to sleep' .As if making those words a mantra rather than a command would save me from 1st degree burns caused by boiling pig foot.

I get into bed and I'm awake for about 5 minutes before i decide i can't keep my eyes open anymore. I turn out the light and fall asleep holding onto my little bag of worry people under my pillow.

I wake up saturday morning and trust me i bless the day. Immediately as i reflect on how great it was to be alive the smell of boiling pig foot and beef assaults my senses.Then I'm reminded of mum boiling cow-heel to make Guyanese Pepper Pot. It tastes really really good but boiling cow heel (or indeed the pig foot that gives it that sticky consistency) definitely ain't a perfume that will rock your world anytime soon. Isn't it funny how strong the link is between smell and memory ? Dried fish and palm oil reminds me of Sierra Leone . Strangely, it soothes me , mainly because i love eating with my hands. Eating with my hands reminds me of dad.Remembering dad reminds me Nigeria. Remembering Nigeria reminds me of the Ibo-Guyanese blood that is my life.And so it goes on.

Sunday morning we start the food preparation. I make my first Olivier salad (Russian salad).Another much loved russian dish that has many variations so take your pick and then go on and make your own variant , everybody here seems to.We chop and prep for ages .Table linen out , table dressed, plates set, platters of food out. We wait for the guests.They start to come and it is immediately obvious that this tradition is about bringing love in abundance to a home. It's not about how much you spent on your outfit, how much drink you bring, who's going to play the music, wanting to know know who'll be at the party so that you can decide whether it is worthy of your presence or making foul comments about how much someone didn't spend on a gift. This beautiful tradition is about focusing attention and love on the person whos' birthday you are celebrating a and nothing should distract from that.

It was a real test of my russian to so totally immersed in family life.Ganna and Ira (her daughter) speak to me in russian so everybody took their cue from that. Of course it immediately obvious to anyone that i am not biological family but i am accepted as such .So, on sunday in many respects the love wasn't only given to Ganna it was given to me too. It was truly a joyful day. I will take and keep this tradition with me always.Back home i think that we have forgotten that the best celebrations are not the ones based on consumerist principles. True love and coming together to celebrate someone or each other are things that we can do and give in abundance for free.