French Sundays have a rhythm I fell in love with almost immediately — relaxed, unhurried, built around cooking, family, long walks, and lingering conversation. Restorative in the truest sense. But last Sunday, I nearly turned one into a full-blown-Christmas-dinner-what-was-I-thinking production. 🙄 Let me explain.
It Started With A Barn Full of Heirlooms
When we moved to France, we made the deliberate choice not to ship our household goods from the US. A clean slate felt exciting — until Sunday suppers rolled around and we had no casserole dishes, no serving platters, and barely a plate to our name.
Enter Marianne the Chocolatine’s mom. 💞
She is the not the kind of lady to see a problem she can solve and not offer help!
She invited us over and as a housewarming gift, she led us through her gigantic, barn-like garage — a treasure trove of 40 years of family history. She hunted through stacks and piles, unearthing antique plates, gratin dishes, vases, antique silver, and a beautiful family candlestick. She gifted us every single one of these small treasures, presenting each with a mix of pride and gentle uncertainty about whether we’d actually want them.
I felt like I’d found a French second grandma. 🥰 Not only was it just an amazing boost practically, it felt like such an amazing welcome to our new French life.
The candlestick now sits on our table as our own family heirloom. 🤩
I Wanted to Say Thank You
Perhaps a Little Too Ambitiously…
To say thank you, I invited their whole family for Sunday lunch. And then the pressure set in. I wanted to pull off something authentic — a traditional, grand, French family Sunday lunch. With a few little American twists. 😉
Here’s how it unfolded, my French-American hybrid:
Aperitif: We started in the living room with an American original — artichoke and spinach dip with local veggies, paired with a nice Champagne. We snacked, sipped, and lingered over conversation while the roast stewed away.
Entrée (the first course, French-style): Goat cheese and tomato tarts, plus deviled eggs made by Juliana — my sous chef, recruited early that morning. A nod to French œufs mayonnaise, with an American accent.
Juliana, up bright and early making deviled eggs. 🥚
Main Course: Pot roast, potatoes, and carrots. Classic and hearty. Although I realized too late I bought the wrong cut of French meat for this American family recipe and it came out so tough (OMG. Seriously, there should be some sort of international regulation or treaty or something to be able to identify meat cuts across countries)
Salad & Fromage: A fresh endive salad with lardons and — yes — homemade American ranch dressing, alongside a generous plate of local cheese. In France, the salad comes after the main course. And my new French grandma? She loved the ranch! Although who wouldn’t, really?
Dessert: A strawberry shortcake trifle, layered in a dish from my aunt and uncle’s bed and breakfast back in the US. The strawberries came fresh from the local market — and if you’ve never tasted French strawberries straight from a market stall, please add it to your life list.
Strawberry shortcake with “charlotte” strawberries from the market. 🍓
Coffee: We finished with espresso in the colorful little cups Marianne’s mom had gifted me — a detail that quietly moved me. They nearly match the china my American grandma gave me and I shipped here. A perfectly imperfect, loosely matched set from two continents, two families, and two generations of women who thought to pass something beautiful forward. I feel cheesy writing that, and yet it’s how I feel when I see it all together.
The Lesson at the Bottom of the Pot
Ok, if you’re still with at this point, you might be sensing that it felt like cooking a full American Christmas dinner on a random Sunday morning, I finally turned to my new French grandma and asked: “Holy cow — how do people do this every single week?!”
She laughed and said: “Oh no! Sometimes I cook everything on one sheet pan. This kind of meal is only for christenings, weddings, or special occasions now.” 😯😂
Well. LOL.
I’d been holding myself to a completely imagined standard of what a French family Sunday lunch should look like, stressing about it — and somewhere between the deviled eggs and the ranch dressing, I’d recreated Christmas dinner in April, which no one really expected.
What a relief.
Baguettes and Butter 4ever, Raina, Jason and Juliana ❤️
