Away

I left Saigon on a hot day in April, 1975. I didn't have a suitcase full of clothes, travel guides, or even a passport. But then again, I wasn't going on a vacation. My family and I were escaping communism; it was our second attempt to leave the country.

The first time we tried to leave, we had been much more prepared. My mother had packed all of our clothing along with other items we had cherished in large trunks; the photo albums pressed upon our clothes provided the weight that enabled my mother to close them. I had no idea where we were heading. All I knew was that I was going on a long trip. I thought it would be fun. I guess I didn't noticed the frightened and worried expression on my mother's face as she frantically paced back and forth in our home trying to collect things deemed important; things we couldn't part with.

When the time came to leave, we went to the port of Saigon and boarded my father's ship with the captain and his family. They were also close friends of my parents, and their children were our friends. And then we sailed. I don't know how long we were at sea, but I do remember that I never got seasick. I find this fact very interesting since I am always seasick whenever I find myself on a boat these days - whether it is whale watching off the northern coast of Maine, or fishing on a charter boat in Sheepshead Bay, New York. I am balled up on a bench somewhere, my jacket over my head; my husband shoving crackers down my throat.

A few days after we left Saigon, the head stewart announced that the ship was getting ready to dock. I looked out the little window of my cabin. It was night. In the darkness, I saw specks of lights flickering at us from afar. Years later, I learned that those lights had been a harbor in Singapore.

However, the next thing I knew, our boat was turning around and heading back to Saigon. It didn't seem strange to me. To me, the whole trip was a magical adventure where my friends and me got to nibble on sausages and sucked on mangoes in the middle of the ocean. But my mother looked strickened at this news. Years later, I learned that we had been denied entry.
Word had gotten out that Saigon would fall to the communist North; that its citizens were trying to leave to seek shelter on foreign soil. No one wanted to take us on; no one wanted more mouths to feed.

And so we were home again - back in our own house; us three kids running like crazy in the backyard. The jackfruit trees were heavy with seed pods; ready to produce sweet, succulent fruits in the coming weeks. Through the open windows of our bedrooms at night we would breathe in the pungent aroma of the jackfruits when they were in season (imagine the scent of the most riped pineapple and then multiply that fragrance by 100) We were home, and we were happy.

When the moment came again and we left Saigon for the very last time, we hardly had any notice. I recall a family gathering; my mother's side. My grandmother, some aunts and uncles; everyone semed serious and solemned. I knew it wasn't a party because there were no elaborate trays of foods, no sweets, no laughter. They seemd to be waiting for more words or maybe they were waiting for Thanh, a young man who worked for my father. When he finally came through the door, all eyes were on him and all talking ceased. Thanh had come to take my mother and us kids to another ship for another voyage. We had to leave that very minute. When he said these words, my mother cried.

I remember my mother urging my grandmother to come with us, but she could not be persuaded. She did not want to leave this special place; she would wait there for us until we came back. Time was running out and we had to go. Everyone was crying now; everyone was embracing one another. Years later, my mother told me that her heart was broken that day when she had to leave my grandmother behind.

And so we left in an opened top Jeep. We drove hurriedly down the street passing many places that I didn't know I would never ever lay eyes on anymore. The importance of the moment was lost on me, but I knew it would be a long time before I see my grandmother again, and so I began to cry too.

This time we were fortunate enough to get on an American ship along with hundreds maybe thousands of others. That ship took us to Guam, and miraculously to where we are today- safe and sound, and happy!

I have been on many journeys since that summer of 75'. From Arkansas (where we were processed when we arrived in the United States) to Pennsylvania to New York City and finally to Connecticut , where I have made a home with my husband and our three children for the last seven years. And I have been away to many places as well much farther than that in between. Places unreachable by planes or automobiles; places deep in my heart and in my soul.

I am going away on a short vacation with my family in the morning; our bags not yet packed; tonight's dinner dishes still in the kitchen sink. We are heading up to Prout's Neck, Maine - a place described simply as "where Winslow Homer fell in love with the sea." We will spend the next five days playing, swimming, kayaking and biking with our kids. We will tote along watercolors and papers for in case inspiration hits us. We will lazily enjoy its rocky coasts and New England fares (we love lobster; we have been known to have lobster meals from the same lobster pound every day in a row for an entire week. I'm serious, ask the Trenton Bridge Lobster Pound people.)

You never know where life takes you. Going away sometimes really means GOING AWAY. As many times as I've GONE AWAY or BEEN AWAY, I have always learned that you must always go back to where you've come from. Whether physically or in your mind. That you should never let go of all the essences that makes you who you are. Like a spice that sits too long, its flavor becomes bland and unrecognizable.

The Melting Pot

Hot pot is a chinese dish that dates back hundreds of years to the Mongolians when the key was to cook as quick as possible a hot meal and conserve fire all at once. Usually some type of broth is brought to a boiling point over a fire; to it slices of meats, vegetables or grains would be added and eaten right out of the pot. The broth, in the end, is rich and deep with all the flavors of the ingredients that were quickly dipped into it making its taste much better than when it started out.

A variety of hot pots are now eaten over all of Asia, varying from country to country and season to season, especially in the winter in some regions. HOT POT in China, LAU in Viet Nam, and NABE (nah-bay)in Japan to mention a few. Everyone has their favorite medley of what they like in theirs. Every home will most likely boasts of their special hot pot. To think of it, hot pot ranks way up high in our family's favorite home meals; our comfort food when feeling tired or sick; our healing repast.

NABE is the japanese word for cooking pot. Into the nabe, which is usually made of clay, are an endless array of ingredients. This is then cooked at the table, over a portable gas range, and eaten communally. The cooked item is fished out of the nabe and usually dipped into various sauce choices. Friends and family gather around the table and add to the pot what they want to eat from a host of pre-sliced/pre-cut platter of components. We asians believe that by eating together in this manner, from the same shared pot, we are in turn forging a bond in our relationship; making us closer.

Every region in Japan has their proud nabe. My husband is from Nagoya, a city in the Aichi Prefecture; the 4th largest city in Japan. One of the famous ingredient traits in Aichi is HACCHO MISO, a very dense aged miso. By now, most of the Americas and other continents are familiar with miso as Japanese cuisine leads in the trend of healthy eating. For those not, MISO is a salted and fermented soy bean paste product that has been blended with different types of grains. The fermentation process can be as little as five days to years.

Miso plays a very large role in the Japanese diet and is full of health benefits. Therefore, there are countless numbers of dishes that feature miso as their key ingredient.

Our favorite nabe uses miso in the base for the broth. Not just one miso, but usually a blend of at least two types. This past Sunday when I made nabe, I used barley miso and a dark red miso to compose CHANKO-NABE.

Chanko nabe was created over 100 years ago as a protein-rich nabe for sumo wrestlers. It was supposed to be their fuel. Its miso broth is laden with, are you ready for this? - garlic, pork slices, napa cabbage, tofu, shiitake mushroom, daikon, fried bean curd skin, potatoes, leeks, chrysanthemum leaves or shungiku, carrots, burdock root, and chicken thigh meat and sometimes, luxuriously, primed beef slices!

OK! OK!..I didn't have all those ingredients on hand, which is what the beauty of nabe boils down to-making do with what you have to create a steaming hot one-pot-meal- but I had most, and the meal was magical. Always an OOH or AHH when the heavy glazed clay lid is lifted off the bubbling concoction that begged to be savored immediately. Once all of the goodies are eaten, and if there is still room in the tummy, cooked rice and raw eggs can be added to make a rich porridge to end the meal. Udon noodles can also be added; that in itself is a whole other creative process. Usually we are pretty filled and our concentrated treasured left-over broth is saved for the next morning's breakfast.

I made chanko nabe on Sunday because I needed it after Saturday's rush of activities. My honey-seeking friend threw a huge party to celebrate her newly landscaped and restructured home, and I was on hand to help carry out the food making and entertaining end (meaning making silly jokes and coaxing people to eat and drink more.) The theme was happiness and Mexico, which was inspired by the wonderful crew of Mexican men that artistically and laboriously worked on her project for over two months- her special invitees!

It was also a party to celebrate the coming end of summer. Along with the special guests( about 12 men) there were also other friends of all ages, including my family of five..and my parents, sister and her boyfriend. We all love Catherine and we wanted to be there for her. My parents...did I say my parents? if you only knew (which you will soon enough..i promise)..you'd be amazed that they were present to celebrate this evening of evenings. There were also three generations of a Greek family, as well as an englishman and his jewish wife, Catherine's funky housemate, and my parent's Kenyan driver/right-hand man/ assistant. It was basically a collage of very different people from very different corners of the world, having the best time at the party despite the flashes of rain showers that came and went, hustling guests to duck under umbrellas, shufflling into the house for refuge at certain points, and then shuffling right back outside into the muggy night air just in time to listen to Diego strumming his guitar and belting classic Mexican songs.

That night, on Hickory Hill, we had a very unique hot pot. All the people were added in the huge pot, seeped in a friendship which yielded in happiness. It was delicious!!!!

My Friend Egg

Sometimes, the most special treasures are found in the most interesting ways, and in the most succulent places... Feta cheese enfolded in fried corn tortillas under a blanket of black bean puree; Minced pork and wood-ear mushrooms tucked in little puffed pastry shells; spicy cracked pepper under a thin sliver of scottish salmon topped with creme fraiche, chopped eggs, caviar and scallion to compose the tangy bite that completes the canape; Food and friendship go hand in hand. Take your friend by the hand; sometimes the smallest discovery turn out to be the most invaluable!

The Four Seasons

From a child's point of view, there were hardly any seasonal changes in Vietnam. It went from really hot, humid and sticky - your body drenched in sweat from the moment you got up til late into the night when perspiration gives you a slight rest, to rain, rain, rain!

Vietnam is tropical with a wild rainy season from May to October; the rest of the year is sweltering hot. The one good thing is that fruits are allowed to ripe perfectly to a sugar sweet state.

My parents often complain about the bananas, mangoes, and a host of other fruits here in the United States. They are never sweet enough; never soft enough; never ripe enough! Come on, I'd say to them, maybe you should buy from better markets!
My parents are notorious for buying fruits and letting them sit on a large platter which rests on the altar in their apartment for weeks. Before they are ready, the fruits serve as an offering to the dearly departed - my paternal grandmother, and to Jesus, Mary and Joseph. And then, just when the fruits have more freckles than Howdy Doody, only then do my parents think that they are in good shape to be consumed. Molds are another sign that the fruits have fully ripened.
Although I was born and grew up (well, the first six and a half years of life) in Vietnam, I have always despised the heat. People would say to me, "but how come?" My answer is pretty much the same to all their wonders, I had air conditioning and was not overly subjected to the outdoors and to the heat.
This, of course, is maybe a curse. When the temperature in the Northeast hits the 80s, I must sustain myself by turning on the air conditioner immediately. No breeze will do no matter how well they blow. I have very little tolerance and patience when it comes to HEAT!
But don't get me wrong, I love living in the Northeast and I love living in a four seasons climate. No matter how drastic one season becomes, there is always the promise that the next season is around the corner. That there is always spring and fall to look forward to; always winter and summer and all their glories. The joys that each new season brings are invaluable to me and make life just a little more worthwhile.
Another great thing about seasonal changes is that food changes also. At least this is true for the Japanese. I must confess right now that I am fortunate to be married to my husband. Coming from two very different countries with very different palates, our joint venture has been nothing but educational, cultural, and extremely rewarding both in life and in the kitchen.
Our family loves to eat. We eat everything! I can't say this enough (and maybe in the coming entries I will go into details as to the specifics of what, how, and where we flock to to get our fave meals)...but mostly, our foods revolve around Vietnam and Japan, fused with all the goodness of what we take from America..making our meals delectable and united.
Oh the joys of eating foods that are in season. In America, we look forward to Honeybell oranges from Florida in January and early February. Shad roe in early April from the upper Hudson River Valley, watermelon riped and heavy with juice, apple picking starting in September here in the Northeast, to heritage turkeys in November - the list goes on and on.
Well, maybe shad roe isn't on everyone's list, but Do give them a try if you are ever lucky enough to find them. Actually, it is only in recent years that the shad have returned to the Northeast in abundance, thanks to different groups of environmentalists who aimed to take the river back from the polluters.
The shads swim upward of about 100 miles upstream to lay their eggs. They adjust from saltwater to fresh water; spending one to two weeks of their lives to spawn in the early spring. Did you know that George Washington was a commercial shad fisherman in 1771? I only know this fact because a friend of ours was a part of one of the groups trying to keep the Hudson River waters clean.
This spring I was sooo happy when I saw shad roe at our local Stop & Shop. I stopped in my tracks, pulled my produce-laden shopping cart backwards, and brought my eye level to that of the roe. Yes! Shad roe! At $16.99 a pound, I asked the lady behind the counter to give me three hefty pieces.She put on her disposable plastic gloves, placed a sheet of waxed paper onto the scale, and unwillingly plopped the three roe down. Mind you, not that she didn't want to part with them, she was just overwhelmed that I came along and desired them. Just her luck!
"You gonna eat them?" she asked.
Lady, if you knew what it took for the shad to lay these eggs; what it means in general (never mind how delicious they are), you wouldn't be asking me such a question.
I did nothing fancy to prepare them. I just put some unsalted butter in a hot pan and fried the shad roe. When they were browned and cooked, I glazed them with a little japanese soy sauce and voila! We ate the protein-rich roe with hot rice and some vegetables and simple miso soup.
You extract from yourself in order to share with others. The shads did their part and I did my mine's with respect to their journey. My children learned an important lesson that came with their meal.

It was a very rewarding culinary evening in my life with the food from my America.

Fanta Orange

Before 1975, before everything changed, there was La Cave - a quaint and intimate french restaurant on Le Loi street in Saigon. Going there for dinner on Saturday evenings was as religious as going to church on Sundays.

La Cave was a special treat. More than that, it was confirmation that my parents loved me.
The restaurant usually catered to diplomatic crowds and foreign dignitaries...never ever some little Vietnamese school girl who the Maitre'd greeted by her first name and escorted to her usual table.

It was the same routine. Around 5 o'clock every Saturday evenings, my father would appear mysteriously at 16 Le Loi street. That was where we lived. Actually, that was where we three children, our mother, and a household of domestic staff lived. Our father lived in a bedroom built behind his office at his company. He was a busy man building and running a new shipping empire; he hardly had time for much else (except a few bad habits) let alone a 15 or 20 minutes commute to and fro. Besides, I think he wanted his privacy; to come and go, to just not be bothered.

It was actually a very good scenario. I did get to see my father anytime I wanted to. After school, I was able to ask our driver to take me to his office for a bowl of Pho, a beef noodle soup (he had a full kitchen staff) or just to say hello. I have been told that he was always happy to see me. If by chance my father was screaming or hollering at an employee, he would come to a complete halt whenever I appeared so as not to scare me. I was too young. I never knew the difference. I did, however, always looked forward to my father coming home on Saturdays and taking my mom and me to La Cave. My younger sister and brother, who were respectively three and two, stayed home with the nannies.

I loved the restaurant for its fancy foods served on fancy plates. I loved the starched white table cloths and crisp napkins. My mother would always put on one of her more dressier ao dai (our traditional tunic wear) and do her hair in a special chignon. BUT most of all, I loved La Cave because it was there that my parents allowed me to order Fanta Orange soda every time. It was the best thing on earth. That bubbly orangy sweet elixir - what more can a six-year old ask for? Spotting that memorable soft drink at our local Stop & Shop these days never fails to bring a smile to my face. Despite the different graphic changes on their bottles and cans, Fanta Orange to me, is still Fanta Orange from La Cave!

I can't recall the last time I was at La Cave; those memories are too vague to clearly remember. I do know that whenever I was there, I was proud and I was beaming the whole time. I used to get the seat right next to my father. My mother sat opposite us and admired us from her side of the table. To my father, who went from rags to riches and defied all the odds against him, I was the love child, the auspicious one, the one who changed his karma and brought him his fortune. I came along at the right time in their lives, and my God, he was going to do his best to take care of me and nurture me. There was never a luckier girl, people used to say.

But that was over 32 years ago. That was when life was pure and simple, and easy. I try to keep these thoughts in mind when dealing with my own three children. As their lives get more complicated with age, my husband and I do our best to keep them pure and simple. We try to teach them to take in all the goodness that is around them and spin endlessly in their youths. We wish them good health and happiness and we try to teach them a general sense of respect for their surroundings and all the people in it. We nourish and nurture their bodies and minds. It is not easy, but we try.

You must love to live, and you must live to love. You must feed your soul as well as your hunger. And SOMETIMES, you just have to have a can of Fanta Orange. I think it is time to share one with my two older boys.

Honey Honey

Did you know that a healthy and able queen bee can lay about 2000 eggs per day?

Andrew, our local beekeeper, told us that today when we strolled our farmer's market. His honey is dark and smooth; a rich amber. It is unpasteurized and so good it makes you want to put it in everything.

This morning, and for the second morning in a row, I made a simple plain yogurt lassi for breakfast. A lassi is an Indian drink. It is the creamy sweet sour mildness of the lassi that cools the body down from the excessive heat of curries and the elements. Plain yogurt, water, and some honey in a blender until smooth. Delicious! Of course you can add bananas or any other fruits you may have on hand, or if you really want to be adventurous - add some kinako.

Kinako is a fine, roasted soy bean flour. It is used to dust various confections in Japan- a delectable summer's treat. It is available year round in Japanese markets or Asian grocery stores here in my America, or in larger health food superstores. You can dip fruits into it, have it on toast, add it to smoothies - endless possibilities if you understand its taste and health benefits. This is especially true when paired with yogurt; its reaction with acedophillus is enzymatically benevolent.

It took our family almost an hour to walk down to town to the farmer's market, and almost the same time getting back home. Today we were so happy with our bee stories that we purchased a jar of bee pollen. It is dormant in our freezer right now awaiting culinary creativity to kick in. Natural untouched bee pollen looks like clumps of turmeric, its color somewhere between saffron and burnt orange.

My closest friend, who is 41 and now single, had her mind on honey as well today. Only her honey is in the form of a very nice gentleman friend. Her spirits were high when we met up with her at the farmer's market. As she awaited our family of five to make our way there, she was perusing her vegetarian cookbook (she's not one) for ideas and recipes. She was determined to come home with the freshest produce to bring palatable justice to her coming meals. Corn, tomatoes, shallots,goat cheese - she was feeling good; she was in love heaven- daydreaming as she headed from stall to stall.

When she was done and the items on her list checked, she went home first. We were still in bee-haven when she called to say she had just made a wonderful BLT sandwich with the best Ts from the farmer's market. Did we want some for lunch? I never say NO to food, especially not when someone has spent time and energy to put it all together. Especially when nothing tastes as good as a homemade meal. I'm sorry Daniel Boulud, Jean-Georges and all my chef friends...a wonderful restaurant meal is wonderful, but to me, having a good meal at home with family and friends is unbeatable. Best of all, it is MEMORABLE! My husband and I are always so honored when we are invited to friends' homes for dinners or lunches.

My friend's BLT was out of this world. Simple, yet well-made. My husband and children greedily ate the salty, crispy, juicy, creamy sandwiches (we were pretty ravenous too from our walk.) I exaggerate not when I confidently say that I felt her passion. I always tell people that you've gotta have passion when you cook. Everything just tastes better! I mean, if you are feeling lousy, you are probably not even going to bother cooking. BUT, if you ARE cooking, then by all means, do your best!!! Taste, and then taste again. Adjust your salt and spice, squeeze a little more lime or lemon! Make the effort!

So we are talking about a BLT sandwich, what's the hoopla? I think that my friend made a great tasting sandwich because SHE was feeling great. It was reflected in her sandwiching (is this a real word?) Who knows if she would have made anything if she weren't feeling so content?

Life casts a shadow on food, and food is a reflection of love and life.

Today Is The Day

How far back can one travel? What comes to mind when you think of the word childhood? Where does it begin and when will it end?

I had two very different childhoods; one that ended when I was about six and a half years-old in a country that was crushed by the fall of communism, the other began when my family and I jumped aboard a ship that took us to a place far, far away - to freedom, to the United States, to where I am today.

In childhood there should always be peace and happiness. I was a quiet and happy child in the country where I was born. Maybe I was too young to realize that there was a war in Viet Nam. Maybe I belonged to a more privileged class and was sheltered from the rage. I never knew hunger. I never knew sadness or fear.

Upon my return from Regina Mundi, a private school for girls, I would run right into the kitchen and asked our nanny for a treat. Anything, please! Ta Hu, a soybean custard drenched in sweet sugar syrup, or Che Ba Mau, literally pudding with three colors. I loved its taste. The pudding is a concoction of sweet cooked yellow mung beans, pink tapioca balls, and strips of green agar-agar; all of this atopped crushed ice and coconut milk. To eat the pudding, you would stir all the ingredients in the glass until they are enveloped in their own goodness and then spoon away! Mind you, I didn't always get what I wanted. Sometimes, in retaliation, I would sneak some ice cubes and sugar in a glass and stow away into a corner and devour my own little creation. Little did I know, I was cooking up something even then. Life was sweet again.

It is interesting how food is remembered most. I don't remember early childhood friends' names, or a lot of events, but I do remember all the tastes of my younger years with fondness and longing. A simple glass of sugar and ice becomes nostalgic and engraved forever in my mind.

My oldest son, who is eight, went on a fishing derby with his dad and the Cub Scouts back in April of this year. They came home with five fairly good sized trouts. A couple of rainbows, browns and one brook. The joy on their faces- both father and son. That evening, I cleaned the prized catches and drenched them in flour. In a hot pan with olive oil they fried and were served with a simple squeeze of lemon and topped with PONZU, a Japanese citrus soy sauce made with yuzu, a special Japanese citron. Its fragrance is intoxicating and refreshing all at once.

Although we thoroughly enjoyed our meal that evening, I never thought too much about it again until a few days ago when our son brought up the trouts. He said, "remember those fishes we caught? that was so delicious, wasn't it?" I agreed with him that yes, they were indeed delicious.

If you know me, which you soon will, you would know that I went to the seafood store the very next day, which was yesterday, and came home with two large trouts, and some skate. Couldn't help myself, the skates looked so fresh and they were beckonning to be bought.

When my son asked me what was for dinner, and I told him we were going to have a double fish meal which included the trouts, his eyes just lit up (is it me? or is it perfectly normal for an eight year-old to get excited over trout for dinner?) All I can say is we feed our kids everything, AND they love to eat everything.

I must explain that having a Viet Namese mom and a Japanese dad means pretty good eating!!! Last week we were at the beach with some friends. Our second son, who is heading into kindergarten next month, picked up a strand of strayed seaweed and asked if he could eat it. I had to laugh. After all, Konbu, is a major part of the Japanese diet!

I made the store-bought trouts in the exact same manner that I did when my son and husband came home with the fishes in their cooler box in early spring. I pan fried the skates and when they were nearly done, tossed in a handful of shallots and cooked them til they were caramelized. Then they were served over a pile of shiso leaves, picked fresh from our patch, with a semi-sweet tonkatsu sauce. I love how the heat of the fish wilts parts of the leaves when they land on the dish. What is tonkatsu sauce? that is a whole different story for another entry. Until then, think worcestershire with a kick a la Japonaise.

We had a wonderful dinner. Our youngest baby girl, who is almost 16 months old, kept saying "more!" I kid you not. I promise! Her first official word was CRACKER, and her second official word was MORE. She sat in her chair, shirtless, messily spooning baby brown rice cereal mixed with miso soup, and pointing to the skate. "MORE!" As good a cook as I am, she was, in actuality, most likely, referring to the tonkatsu sauce.

They are all asleep now. Well-fed with trout and skate; this evening's meal filed away in their special memory box.

Life, love, and food. What else is there? How can you have one without the other?