Housewarming Party

It's done! The traditional "Cremaillere" or House Warming, named after the chain that the cooking pot was hung from in the cooking fireplace in a home, was held Friday night. (The name probably comes from the idea that, once moved in, the family would set a pot on the fire to cook and invite friends and family for the first meal in the new home.) Our Cremaillere had an American flavor to it, which required some education for the French who were invited, at least those of the older generations, who expect to sit down and be served a meal over several hours, as opposed to the less formal style of heavy hors d'oeuvres and serve-yourself that is more traditional for Americans.

We served Jambalaya over rice to represent my Louisana heritage, quesadillas for Texas, carrot cake muffins from Grandmom Cochran's recipe, brownies, shrimp spread on crackers from Mom's recipe, "Heath" cookies also from Mom, and a few other tidbits. To drink, we offered Sangria, champagne, or orange soda. You see here the food laid out on our kitchen table. (This table was Patrick's grandmother's, and he has good memories of everyone gathered around it, so we are honored to continue that tradition in our own home.)

Jambalay almost ready!

Angela Boulet (married to Dennis--Patrick was his best man), with Lucie and Flo in the back yard. The weather held--we had a few drops of rain but were able to stay outside most of the time.

Below, left to right: Suzie Antoine, Ida Jacques, Andre Antoine. Andre is 92! I teased him that he likes to flirt with young girls, and his wife said, "Yes, he loves to walk in town with young girls." I said, "Actually, I was referring to Ida!" (She's only 82.) They are sitting on our living room "sofa" which was actually Ida's childhood bed, now serving as a daybed. On the wall behind, there are three framed sheets of music, all from around WWI, all owned by my grandmother Jewel Ewing. The first one is "Goodbye Broadway, Hello France" and shows Roosevelt shaking hands with Petain. The second is "My Dear Old Texas Home," and the one on the right is "Over There" by Cohen, with a picture by Norman Rockwell.

I took this picture from our bedroom window, looking down into the back yard.

I had to push to get people to try the Jambalaya, but once they did, they came back for seconds. I billed it as a Lousiana version of Paella, since Paella is very popular here, and that seemed to get it started. This is Michel Boyet (a man Ida helped raise when she served as a nanny for a family from about age 15 until marriage), Daniel Jacques (Patrick's uncle), and Francois Martin (another cousin of the Jacques, and the man whose company replaced the roof of the house.)

A couple of interesting things about the picture below. First, our friend Eric talking to the village priest. Second, next to Eric is M. Rouault, our neighbor and WWII vet who flies the flags. (He is 82 and joined the FFI, which was the undercover French army, aka the Resistence, at 17.) Third, we see our neighbor in the orange shirt in the background, helping himself to a beverage. There are stories behind each of these, but there isn't time or space here, but I wanted to put this one for the French blog followers. (By the way, the blong woman next to the priest is Eric's lady friend, Nathalie.)

Patrick talking to his brother Philippe (to Patrick's right).

Patrick and me with the architect who designed and oversaw the remodel. This is the same man who built Patrick's parent's house and his brother's, so by now we can say he is also a friend. We're standing in the living room in front of the beautifully-done staircase that was added by a woodworker/artisan from a nearby town, whom we discovered during the renovation to be a distant cousin on Ida's side. (Everyone here seems to be related in some way...)

Finally, for those of you who are wondering where Ren was, he was there all along, helping. He helped clean ahead of time, helped prepare the food, and helped serve throughout the party. We were proud of him: he truly was one of the hosts. In this last picture, he is standing in the entry way to the house pointing to the sign that says "Cafe de la Gare Chez Jacques." Last year, a rumor started that we were going to reopen the Cafe de la Gare, a Cafe that existed in this house years ago. (Gare means train station.) This house was also once a butcher (the giant basins for cutting up the animals are still in the cellar); a shoemaker's store and workshop; and a hotel. So Ren made this sign on the computer saying the Cafe was now open, with an asterisk at the bottom saying, "The cafe will open for sure the day the train returns to Granges." In other words, never!