In the fourth trimester, we ask all parents: What kind of meals did you eat after giving birth to your baby? This month, it’s a rich chicken soup from cookbook author Lesley Enston.
When our daughter was born in 2018, her father, Atibon, longed to go to Haiti. Since the earthquake in 2010, he has been separated from his motherland. The ongoing and escalating political situation, among other reasons, prevented him from going back. Even though Brooklyn, where we live, has the largest Haitian diaspora in the world, he still longed to find ways to bring his home country into our home.
Almost everything to do with food in the house fell under my purview, but when I gave birth to Desalin, I could no longer dominate mealtimes. I found myself incapacitated, chained to the bed or couch, with a cute little package that was a complete stranger, and with no interest in anything like cooking. Our first night home, we had a meal prepared by my good friend Lucas, who picked us up from the hospital. Yet the second day of Dessalines passed by without me having a clue.
“I’m going to make soup,” Atibon announced.
Bouyon, the Haitian equivalent of chicken noodle soup, is a folk remedy for a variety of ailments: Feeling like you have a cold? Bouillon. Need to rejuvenate? Bouillon. Are you still grumpy when the weather gets cold? Bouillon! This dish was most likely made at your grandmother’s house and just like it is ordered at a restaurant, everyone has their own version. I looked at my daughter’s little face and muttered in agreement.
Atibong went to the grocery store and returned quickly, disappearing into the kitchen. Soon, the traces of his cooking emerged from there: the festive, boisterous sound of discs, the rhythmic grinding, the smells of slow-cooking garlic, thyme and cloves, and the occasional loud talk on the phone about Haitian politics.
For years, whenever I made dinner, Atibon would tell me to make it more Haitian. Add whole cloves, Scotch bonnet, maybe some parsley and thyme? “Not everything has to be Haitian!” I would exclaim. But I can’t deny that these suggestions are good. He doesn’t cook often, but when he does, it’s Haitian cuisine with an almost religious fervor. It was a way to connect with his ancestors and the place where he grew up between Port-au-Prince and Les Cayes.
Now he’s our designated chef – which I enjoy. I tasted my first bowl of Bouillon. I relaxed into a rich broth filled with garlic, eps, chicken bones and cloves. It made me feel like everything was going to be okay, like I could actually care for this strange and beautiful creature in my arms. With every puff of steam rising from the bowl, I could feel Atibong pouring his love for this new baby and his concern for me into the soup. He felt that his heritage could take care of me in this vulnerable moment.
