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| Maternal Instincts |
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Cooking
traditional Vietnamese dishes brings the writer
and her mother closer together.
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By
Tina Vu
Two extra-strength Tylenol and a glass
of water. Breathe. Ready and dial.
"Hello?" A girlish voice answers
the phone.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hi, monkey! How is my princess?"
She giggles. My mother giggles, and I’m
calling this woman for advice.
"I’m good. How are you?"
"Good. Is it HOT in Chicago? My baby
is so cute," she says, laughing.
Still laughing.
"Yup. It’s hot and humid."
This, like most of our conversations,
continues for some time. At intermittent
points, she will sigh and say, "My
poor baby" as if I were suffering
in some way being so far away from her.
Usually, however, our talks leave me restless
and bored, rather than, like now, apprehensive
and shaky.
"So. Mom. I was wondering…"
"Yes?"
"Um. Can you give me the recipe for
bo nhung giam?" The spring roll dish
with vinegar and beer flash-cooked beef
is one of my favorites, and I was in need.
"Oh! Of course!" my mother says,
but her enthusiasm can’t fool me.
I’ve lived with her for too long.
"OK. First you have to buy the beef.
Make sure it’s tender. I like London
broil. And get it sliced very thin. You
know. Then you’ll have to make nuoc
mam for it. Start with some water and
sugar. Then put in fish sauce—"
"Wait, wait. How much of everything?"
"Oh gosh. I don’t know. I usually
just do it." She pauses. "How
about one rice bowl—no two—of
water. Then some sugar. Put as much as
you need. You know, pour it and then you
can see how much. Then put in some fish
sauce—"
"Mom. How. Much." Patience was
never my strongest virtue.
"I guess, maybe, I don’t know,
taste it. You’ll know when you taste
it."
All of a sudden, the simple dish I had
planned for my friends was not so simple.
I should have known. |
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