How Petit Potage came to be

Hi, my name is Lucy, and I was born in France 32 years ago. Life led me to Hanoi, where my son Édouard was born in late September 2015.

Are you a new mom? Then, like me, you know that the cliché really is true:  being a mother is a beautiful experience without compare.

That tiny little baby you met for the first time seemingly just yesterday is now crawling all over the place at the speed of light. And away he goes, waving his little hand at you, toddling around that dangerously sharp corner in search of exciting new worlds.

Like him, you also feel more confident in your role. You know he is learning and growing every day. The world is his now.

It was a beautiful day when my son reached the age where I could begin feeding him solid food, and I was thrilled. All one has to do is ensure her little adventurer gets all the nutrients he needs. Sounds easy and doable, right?

Well, not for me. What I hoped would be an exciting and fun new world was fraught with worry and fear. Édouard would not eat, no matter what I tried. Nothing I did could convince him to swallow even one spoonful of mashed banana, but I couldn’t help feeling I could do more.

It’s not always a fun ride. Being a mom means you also have to be very brave. It means you have to learn every day. It means knowing when to follow your intuition, when to put aside rules and pre-established knowledge. It means asking for advice and treasuring other people’s experiences.

For me, it has often meant finding comfort in other moms’ wisdom and understanding.
After hearing of my struggles to feed my son, a friend from my local mom’s group suggested I give myself a reprieve from the epic battle waging in my kitchen and visit a nearby café that offers a baby menu. I followed her advice, and that was the moment that changed everything.

We arrived at 11 am,  and ordered before we sat. It was Édouard’s first time in a restaurant and the baby chair was too big for him. The lentil and carrot soup came. I waited a bit for it to cool down and offered him a spoonful. He slurped it down without hesitation!

I was simply delighted with how my ravenous son ate everything to the last drop. He loved his little soup! Everything was going great again. When the watermelon juice came, I discovered he could drink through a straw with no effort at all. In the end, I ordered a glass of red wine before noon to celebrate. Next to me, my baby was playing happily, covered head to toe in lentils and carrots.

Something was different. I was finally able to step back and enjoy a meal with my baby. Because the food had been prepared by somebody else, I didn’t feel as if his like or dislike of the meal was a reflection on me or my cooking. I was much less nervous and, as a result, so was he.

I realized that there was nothing wrong with my baby. He was able to eat just like everybody else. With renewed confidence and enthusiasm, I started cooking for him again. If the restaurant could cook food he would eat, so could I.

It worked. I learned new recipes and even invented a few of my own. I started searching for quality healthy ingredients in Hanoi. I did research on how to introduce solid foods and took part in a workshop on baby nutrition.
In the end, it was a lot of work. It got me thinking how it would be nice to have someone to help me select fresh, healthy ingredients every day. And, to take it one step further, how great it would be to have safe, balanced meals prepared and delivered to my home in Hanoi.


Then it came to me — my eureka moment: “Other moms would surely like it too!”

And that’s how the little seed of Petit Potage started growing.


My Son’s Seal of Approval