Make a change for good
Posted by Faith, 16 January 2009
If you want to make a change in your life, you have to do something different.
Take one of my clients as an example – Martine. Some time ago, Martine told me that her dream was to visit France, attend a cooking school and learn how to make all those delicious sauces that the French are famous for.
I asked her about this travel goal and how it got started.
Her eyes misted over as she thought back and said, “I had a wonderful French grandmother, who sadly died when I was a child. I still remember her fabulous meals and how different they tasted to anything else in New Zealand at that time. I know now that this was because of her sauces. On Sunday mornings she baked croissants for all her grandchildren, which she would serve with her home made conserves. My mouth would water as soon as I smelled the aromas from her kitchen. Mmmmmm.”
I was almost salivating myself at the thought.
Martine continued. “She never wrote down her recipes, as she had them all in her head. Sadly, her recipes died with her and that’s why I want to go to France. Hopefully, I’ll learn how to recreate my grand-mère’s sauces.”
Martine and I talked about her other goals and then worked through her finances. She had several other commitments and while there was room for some saving in her budget, it was going to take a few years to save enough to get to France.
Martine looked crestfallen.
“Perhaps you could learn French cooking here in New Zealand? There’s all sorts of classes and courses available,” I suggested.
She didn’t look very convinced.
“What about making a start, then by the time you get to France you could take an advanced class?”
She gave a wee smile, “I’ve got my heart set on learning from someone who has lived and breathed this type of cooking for generations. Not someone who has only learned recently.”
“Well, what about your other grandmother? Is she still alive?”
“Yes, but she’s not French. She’s Scottish.”
“I bet she can cook, and has some old family recipes she can share with you.”
I could see that had Martine thinking.
“You’re right. She makes fabulous apple chutney and also something really tangy – plum, I think – which is sensational with cold meats and cheese.”
“Do you know how to make these or how long the recipes have been in your grandmother’s family?”
“No, I don’t. Gosh, that’s terrible.”
How old is she?”
“Eighty four.”
We both looked at each other, and hoped that Martine had not left it too late.
When Martine left my offices that day, she was determined to spend some cooking time with her surviving grandmother, while continuing to save for a trip to France.
Several months later, she returned for her annual review appointment. Before I had opened by mouth to ask about her year, she slid two squat jars and a stubby bottle across the table to me. She grinned, “I have a lot to thank you for, Faith. Check these out!”
They were beautifully presented with professional labels that stated:
- Granny Flora’s rhubarb and apple chutney
- Granny Flora’s plum chutney with ale
The bottle was filled with Granny Flora’s gooseberry and mint sauce.
“Wow, these look great and thank you,” I said.
“Wait until you’ve taste them. The gooseberry sauce is unbelievably good, especially with rich meats like roast pork.”
I was tempted to pop the lids to taste them straight away. However, I restrained myself and asked, “How did all this come about?”
Martine explained that she had telephoned her grandmother Flora, the day after she had seen me. Flora was delighted that someone in the family was interested in her chutneys and she was happy to pass on her knowledge. Martine learned that the recipes had been in the family since the 1800s, when Flora’s grandfather returned from service in India with the Royal Scots Regiment.
Martine excitedly told me that the concept of chutneys originated in India. The name came from the Hindi word chatni. Her Scottish ancestors had created a taste fusion from the Indian spices her great-great-grandfather had brought home with him and the fruits available in Scotland. The recipes had been passed down over the decades to Flora and now herself.
Martine and Flora decided to make batches of chutney as Christmas presents for family and friends. Martine had found a good supply of jars and bottles and initially had crafted the labels on her computer.
I looked again at the labels. These were professionally printed and I knew there was more to the story. However, I didn’t anticipate the next turn of events.
Martine slid one more bottle over to me. It was taller than the gooseberry one, with an elegant long neck. The label read: Sauce tomate de grand-mère Amélie.
I gasped. “You found one of your grandmother’s recipes?”
“Mais non. This is a different French grandmother.”
“Tell me all,” I said.
Martine was a volunteer at the local hospice, visiting residents who didn’t have family or whose families lived far away and couldn’t come every day. She had befriended an elderly French woman, Amélie, and they had formed a strong bond due to their common heritage. Martine also told her about her Scottish ancestry, the project with her grandmother, and how much she regretted that her French grandmother had died so early in Martine’s life.
Some days Martine took notes for the hospice’s residents when they wanted to record key dates of their family’s history. One day Amélie asked her to bring pen and paper and Martine had expected to record the usual biographical details. However, Amélie dictated the recipe for her sauce de tomate, finishing with, “for you, ma chérie. I have no one else to give it to.”
Martine was moved by Amélie’s generosity. It gave her an idea, which she contacted the hospice’s management about - a combined remembrance and fund raising project.
Martine’s idea was to record family recipes, and the stories behind them, from hospice residents who were worried this history could be lost. With their permission, the recipe would be made into the end product, named after the donor and then the product sold to raise funds for the hospice.
Amélie’s special tomato sauce was the first venture and sales had been phenomenal.
A label on the back of the bottle provided a short biography of Amélie:
Born in Morzine, France, in 1916; tennis champion; winter Olympic silver medallist for skiing; served in the French resistance, married a New Zealand solider she met at the end of WW2; settled in Auckland, coached women’s tennis, played tennis until she was 86; can still give a ball a good whack. Motto: Il n'y a aucun miracle pour ceux qui n'ont aucune foi en eux. (There are no miracles for those that have no faith in themselves.)
Martine had set up a commercial kitchen, and had covered her costs while donating the profits of sauce tomate de grand-mère Amélie to the hospice. From this success, she formed a joint venture with the hospice to continue with other recipes.
She also now had the right premises to develop commercial ideas for her and Flora’s project and to turn it into a profitable business.
Martine breathlessly finished her story with, “I can’t believe how much my life has changed since we last talked. I am so grateful that you persuaded me to explore all of my ancestry.”
“It’s you and your attitude that did it, plus your volunteer work at the hospice. What happened to Amélie?”
“She was very ill. I brought her the first of her sauce bottles to roll off the production line and she was thrilled with them. Sadly, she didn’t live long enough to attend the launch.”
“Did she have any family?”
“Maybe there’s some left in France. Her husband died 10 years ago.”
“Any children?”
“A son, but Amélie outlived him.”
“Grandchildren?”
“Amélie said that there was only one and she died as a baby. I don’t know what happened.”
“That’s sad.”
“I think she threw herself into her tennis. She told me she got a lot of satisfaction coaching youngsters to their full potential. Heaps of tennis players came to her funeral. The tennis clubs all got right behind the hospice promotion and bought box loads of her sauce de tomate.”
“Do you still want to go to France?’
“Oh, yes! I want to try and track down Amélie’s family. I want to tell them all about her and how her wonderful sauce helped the hospice. My new business will help pay for my trip and I still want to attend a cooking school over there. Maybe there’s one in Amélie’s hometown? Morzine is in the French Alps and it’s very beautiful. I’ll be going to Scotland too. Who knows, there might be another taste fusion between the flavours – but, this time between French and Scottish.”
“I can’t wait to try that,” I said.
Martine confirmed to me once again that, if you want to change, then you need to do more than just think about it. You need to do something.
Martine initially couldn’t afford to get to France for her cooking lessons and she would have needed several years of hard saving to do so. However, she made a decision to start the lessons in a different way.
Once you begin working towards a dream, remarkable things can happen. Dare to dream, do something to get started and then keep working on them to make more progress.
There are no miracles for those that have no faith in themselves.
---ends---
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See previous blogs:
Don't sweat the small stuff.
Can you grow a money tree?
What's holding you back?
Money or your life - which has more value?
The seven secret thieves
Five questions to change your life
Find that spark
Switching lives - what would you choose?
Who can I trust to help grow my money?
How to swim in a sea of money
Life can be unfair
The rule of happiness
No way to live
Anyone can be good with money
Best ways to warm up winter
Who wants to be a millionaire?
The secret of wealth
Keeping your money safe
Having it all
Win an all-expenses-paid trip for two to Europe (Part 3)
Win an all-expenses-paid trip for two to Europe (Part 2)
Win an all-expenses-paid trip for two to Europe (Part 1)
Make a change for good
A recipe for a happy Christmas
Nothing else matters
Rage, rage against the dying of the light
Make a wish come true
Buying or Selling a House – Those that care least, usually succeed
When is a good time to buy a house?
Sleepless Nights in a War Zone
Transitions - more life or more of the “same old, same old” boring stuff?