FABIENNE TOBACK

Documentary filmmaker, Arts District

Recipe: Gratin Dauphinois

IGREWUPintheWest Village of Manhattan, and as an only child, I would spend large swaths of time alone. But when I was in the second or third grade, I started going after school to my grandma’s (my father’s mother’s) place in Crown Heights. It was there that my love of cooking began. Grandma would let me concoct anything I wanted, under the sole condition that it be baked. (Why just baked? I’m not sure, but I have a vague memory of a horribly burnt pot that soaked in the sink for weeks.)

Never really loving sweets, I would favor a savory taste profile, so the gratin serves as a salty touchstone from that time. I don’t remember whether anything tasted particularly good or not, but I remember the uninterrupted time exploring food and flavors, and the unconditional embrace of Grandma’s love and support while I tinkered away in her Brooklyn kitchen.

On my mother’s side, I would spend the summer in Switzerland. [My grandmother] Satsi, as I affectionately called her, lived in Lausanne, a beautiful urban town on Lake Geneva. We would spend the long summer days hiking in the tangle of thick woods or the cooling alpine mountains, or lakeside in the glacially cold waters. Wherever and whatever we did, we would pack sandwiches to enjoy on our outings; whether it was on milk bread or a baguette, Gruyère cheese was always to be found.

My Gratin Dauphinois is a self-created food memory and has become my signature dish for Thanksgiving. I wish I could say this dish was a recipe handed down by generations, but that would be a lie. It’s almost fail-proof, and always a crowd-pleaser. A little scoop on your Thanksgiving plate goes a long way; it is rich and creamy. It’s the comfort food you never knew you craved.

When I make this dish, it serves as a meditation, imbued with memories from my childhood, and allows me to commune with the women in my life who have helped me become the woman I am today, and for that, I am grateful.