To talk about my first Christmas turkey, we need to talk about my bà nội and ông nội. They were my paternal grandparents, and Christmas dinner almost always ended up at their bungalow in the suburb of Brossard, Que.

The holidays of my childhood were a gathering of cousins, aunts and uncles from Scarborough and Mississauga, Ont., Ottawa and Newark, N.J. Leading the meal prep was my bà nội, and she had her work cut out for her.

We could always expect steaming bowls of phở, the quintessential Vietnamese beef noodle soup; platters of gỏi thom, a tangy slaw made from lotus root, shrimp and cabbage; racks of pâté chaud, buttery puff pastries encasing golf-ball-sized servings of seasoned ground pork; stacks of deep-fried spring rolls; and bags of shrimp chips that magically refilled.

Interested in more stories like this? Subscribe to Broadview’s weekly newsletter.

Christmas dinner was always a feast.

Things changed after my ông nội passed away from complications with Parkinson’s in February 2015. My family decided it was easiest for my bà nội to sell her bungalow and move in with my aunt in Ottawa. Needless to say, Christmas 2015 was different. No long drive to Brossard. No hours of sitting in front of the TV as cousins duked it out on a Nintendo 64. No Christmas feast.

For many South Asian immigrant families, cooking for someone isn’t only about satiating the stomach — it’s an act of kindness from the heart. Not having that big meal and being under the shadow of my grandfather’s death left us a little lost.

Perhaps that’s why my dad, armed with limited culinary knowledge, started a new tradition in the form of a pre-prepared, 5.5-pound stuffed turkey breast from the grocery store.