My mom has always loved music. She loves to sing and whistle (and even hum). Ma is game, too. She’ll listen to rock n roll, soul music, funk, jazz, and her “classic music.” But she’s never been a big record-buyer. When I was growing up, she had some Judy Collins records and Simon and Garfunkel lps, and of course, her Jacques Brel albums. Oh, how she looooved Jacques Brel. And we had an Edith Piaf record, too.

Most French-speaking peoples of my mom’s generation revered Edith Piaf.

I always think of Edith Piaf–of my mom singing in French, of Nuke Laloosh mistaking Piaf for a “crazy Spanish singer” in “Bull Durham”–whenever I hear Rice Pilaf. Edith Pilaf?

Sounds good, tastes good. Sometimes the French know what they are doing…

[Photo Credit: Janet is Hungry]