I've thought long and hard on how I would write this 100th post and many ideas of come to mind: 100 exclamation points, 100 cupcakes, 100 pictures of food that I have made etc.
But then I thought about it some more in the few times of free time that I have had. I thought about it on the way to class, on the way to the library, before I go to bed with Netflix, and sitting at Starbucks.
I've thought long and hard on how I wanted to write this 100th post and make this meaningful and not just leave you be.
I've thought long and hard and finally figured out what I will dedicate my 100th post to.
When I started to bake and cook, people started to ask me "Why do you bake and cook so much?" and I give the "Oh because I like it!" or the "It's therapeutic for me" line, but never really got in depth of why I love to bake and cook.
It wasn't until this senior seminar project that I finally realized the reason why I baked and cooked so much and why I shared it with people.
The reason for all of this was because of my grandfather.
To get the full understanding, here is a brief story about my grandfather.
I did an immigration report on him in the 4th grade so all the information was from that project that I surprisingly remember. Also to my family reading this, if there is information missing or wrong, please let me know, k thanks.
My grandfather was born in 1932 in a small village in Spain near the Pyrenees Mountains with five brothers and one sister. At the age of 16, my grandfather and his brother, my great uncle, left their home in the village to live in Uruguay with their aunts. There my grandfather participated in motorcycle races and worked in a bar with his uncles. Years later he met my grandmother and then they had my mother. When my mother was three, my grandfather moved his family to the East Coast for a brief time and then moved to San Francisco where they would reside for 20 plus years.
During the time of my grandfather moving around, he was separated from his family in Spain and had not seen them in over 10 years. My grandfather took my grandmother to Spain, for her first time and it was then that my grandfather was reunited with his younger brother who was a year old when my grandfather left for Uruguay. My grandfather and his younger brother reunited and him and my grandfather's older brother moved to California where the three out of the six siblings resided.
Living in San Francisco my grandfather worked as a gardner and then began to work at Boudin Bakery (which is where the baking comes in). He was well known in the Boudin community and still to this day. When my family passes the Boudin Bakery in Pier 39 San Francisco, we take a pit stop to see some of the workers who worked with my grandfather and they immediately recognize us and welcome us with bread and recognize us as "Alejandra, hija de Martin" or "Estibaliz/ Ivonne nietas de Martin" (Translation: Alejandra daughter of Martin or Estibaliz/Ivonne (<--my sister) granddaughters of Martin).
My grandfather made his impact in Boudin and he made his impact on our family.
With being separated from his family for so long, my grandfather made a point that while he was in San Francisco, the family that was there would be together for any occasion, whether it was holidays, birthdays, religious ceremonies or just because. My grandfather wanted our family to be together for everything as much as we could and he did a damn good job of it.
Growing up, I was surrounded by my extended family for so long that I thought they were my immediate family. My childhood memories are being with my cousins, aunts and uncles all the time. It wasn't until I was in elementary school that I realized what an extended family was and that my family only consisted of my mom, my dad, my sister and myself. Upon that realization, I still felt weird about the idea. I never considered my cousins to be a part of my extended family, they were my family and that's what my grandfather wanted.
Unfortunately, my grandfather passed away in 2004 of leukemia and to this day it still hurts. Sometimes when I'm at family parties, I take a step back and observe us all. All the crazy, rambunctious group that we are, all together laughing and being loud and it was all because of him.
I hear stories of how people have annual family reunions and only see them during that time and it has always weirded me out. I couldn't imagine seeing my entire family just one time out of the year, I don't think it would be the same and I don't think I would have those great childhood memories that I do now.
My grandfather's death may still hurt maybe because of the fact that my sister and I were his only grandchildren. My mother is an only child so having the two of us to himself and to my grandmother was a privilege and exciting times for him. Lord knows how many times I persuaded him to do so many things without my mother's permission and gotten him in trouble for it, but he always just sat there with a smile despite my mom's anger not wanting to bring disappointment to his granddaughter as several grandparents do.
My grandfather was one of kind, just like many are to their grandkids.
My grandfather is the reason why I do the things that I do. I bake and cook to bring people together. I write to bring people together.
When I bake and cook, I try to share my food with others to bring us together, there is something satisfying about creating a meal and having people sit down together and enjoying it and talking over it. When I make dessert for my family and they sit and eat it and converse, I sit back and watch them, knowing that maybe my grandfather felt like this at family parties. Just sitting back with his 80s glasses and looking at the family talking, laughing and playing and just enjoying the moment.
I write because it brings people together in one place. When you think about it, for example, book clubs bring people together. Authors write books for people to enjoy and those book clubs bring people together to discuss the book and bond over something, just like my grandfather did with our family and our bond of being related.
I think about my grandfather when I'm asked of why I bake/cook so much, but chose the other option to save myself from tears and the long story, but here you go, the final answer.
I always tell people that if I were to get a tattoo (emphasis is IF mom) I would get it on my inner left arm, of a wooden spoon and in that wooden spoon would be the nickname my sister and I used to call him "Anino". It would be a reminder of the reason why I do the things that I do.
I have complained about graduating and becoming an adult on this blog, only because it terrifies me because sometimes I have freak outs of what I will do with my life or I put myself down that writing isn't a talent or it won't bring me anywhere. But then I look at my blank inner left arm and imagine having that mark on my skin and it comes back to me of why I chose to do writing, why I chose to bake/cook for people.
My grandfather is the reason why I do it all.
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| This post is a surprise for my family, so I did not get the best picture of him, so this was all I could find via the Internet. Sorry fam. Martin "Anino" Vizcay 1932-2004 |
Thank you to all who came up to me telling me that they appreciate this blog. Thank you to all who said I have a sense of humor. Thanks to all who tried my recipes in their basic kitchens and thank you to all for reading. I really did appreciate all the compliments, self-esteem boosters and views. My senior seminar presentation was successful and I finally got my A.
People have asked if I were to continue this and I was back-and-forth on it for a while, but I've come to the conclusion of yes. Although I will be home in the East Bay for a while and have access to a stove and oven, I will attempt to make as many recipes as I can with a microwave and toaster. I will still stay on a budget because I am currently unemployed, although I hope not to be soon.
Thank you all again and Bon Appetit.
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