Memories from a Mixing Bowl

By Zhuzhen Xie (Nina), Université Lumière Lyon 2, Lyon, France

It has been two months since I started my residence abroad in Lyon, France. Among all the exciting changes in environment and lifestyle, I found myself a little baffled by the challenges of language and adaptation that would take some time to overcome. However, I think I have discovered one way to find my own rhythm: baking. After a busy week, I would spend an afternoon in the kitchen, playing with sugar, butter, and flour while listening to the soft tunes of the cello or piano. With my successful attempts, I would share the results with my friends who lived nearby. That was how I began building an endearing friendship with an old lady named Jocelyne.

After three weeks of passing each other on the staircase, Madame Jocelyne and I had our first conversation. As I stood outside her half-open wooden door—always so heavy to push that I needed to lean my whole body weight against it—I spoke with this old French lady who lived alone just two floors down from my apartment. Although I struggled to understand our conversation entirely, as she spoke at such a fast pace, I was able to continue our chat by connecting one or two words that caught my ear.

As I have always enjoyed making friends with my neighbors and those around me, my encounter with Madame Jocelyne seemed to fall within my expectations. The weekend after our first conversation, I made my favorite banana cake, but with a little more excitement this time because I had decided to gift it to the old lady. As I impatiently ran downstairs with the cake still warm, I hesitated just in front of the wooden door. What if she’s not at home? What if she doesn’t eat sweets? What if she’s scared by my intrusion? What if…? As always, countless doubts dashed through my mind, trying to convince me to stay in my comfort zone and avoid making changes to the existing equilibrium. I quickly took a deep breath and counted to three, my hand awkwardly hanging in the air. Knock, knock, knock. Then I heard footsteps slowly approaching the door. As the lady dragged open the wooden door, her eyes brightened with surprise upon seeing this Chinese girl standing in front of her holding a box of cake.

“Bonjour, Madame!” I greeted.

“Bonjour! Ma grande.” She responded with a warm smile and glistening gray eyes.

None of the scenarios that had raced through my mind came to pass; she delightfully accepted my gift and asked me to have tea with her the next day. Of course, I gladly accepted and ran upstairs, overflowing with joy and warmth.

Then, we had tea the next day, the next week, and every Sunday afterward.

Instead of bringing her cake, I started baking at her place with her help. Madame Jocelyne has some joint problems, so she cannot walk or stand for too long. As she shared stories of the fruit cakes she used to bake, I thought of recreating her old recipes to help her relive those memories through taste. Therefore, we began making cakes with apples, pears, plums, and more. I would arrive with the fruits, flour, and sugar, and then we would prepare the batter together in the kitchen. She would sit on her stool and help me peel the fruits while I portioned the dry ingredients.

While we waited for the cake to be baked in the oven, we would chat over coffee about how our weeks had been. Surrounded by photos of her family in the living room, she would tell stories of her past—how she used to run an electricity store, how she travelled to Geneva as a babysitter, and how she taught her children to be strong and independent. Sometimes, she would tear up a little when she mentioned her husband, who passed away last year, but would bring back a smile when she recalled the silly things he had done. I was glad to be a listener, seeing how much she missed him. Lady Jocelyne has had a fulfilling life with her husband for over fifty years, and she still wears his sweater in the winter. Usually, by the time she returned to the present and talked about her grandchildren and their lives in various countries, the cake would be ready to serve.

As I will be having tea with Madame Jocelyne tomorrow, I just wanted to note this special encounter that I hope will last for a good amount of time. Although I am in a completely foreign country, my afternoon tea time with my dear neighbor has brought a warm and comforting slice of calmness and stability into my life, which sometimes has too many unexpected turns.

Although I may not know the answer to the next question or the next right choice I need to make, I know that baking the batter for fifty minutes at 180 degrees will yield a perfectly golden and moist banana cake. While I venture into a whole new world with a different culture and an entirely different language, the enchanted encounters I have experienced through baking have expanded my comfort zone and given me the courage to embrace all that is yet to come.

Feeling disoriented and unsure about what is next? Maybe start with butter, sugar, and flour.