For the Love of Pork
Viet-Namese people don't look at pork as the "other white meat." I mean, there is pork, and that is it! There is nothing like pork, and in some cases, the fatter the cut, the better!!!!!!!!
The most true and primal example of course being the PORK BELLY; or bacon (for those who tread lightly in pork territory) in its raw, uncured state. Pork belly is the fattest part of the mature hog and consist of thick stripes of pure white (think hard lard) fat and thin streaks of pink tender soft meat. It is basically a side of fresh pork that contains the spareribs. The spareribs usually gets sectioned off and utilized separately. I think it is only in recent years that pork belly has been brought to the forefront of fine cuisine and consumers were treated to its richness and versatility in other forms besides bacon. I believe it was Daniel Boulud who took a thick slab of seasoned pork belly, fried it to a crisp, sliced it, and topped it over frisee and mache. Or was it Wofgang Puck who roasted the pork belly in a blanket of honey and tangerine and served it over wild rice? Definitely Emeril Lagasse has alot to do with it for at least five times during his cooking segments he would cry out "pork fat!" And the happiest person could only be my father.
My father was born into a very poor family in 1930 in North Viet Nam. His father died when he was very young leaving his mother to fend for herself and her five kids.
And when I say poor, I mean like really, really poor. They lived in a tiny hut in a town called Ky-Anh. ANH has many meanings in the Vietnamese language. It is a term of endearment that you would use to address a male older than yourself, or your older brother; a term of love and respect a girlfriend, mistress, or wife would call their lover. You see, we don't have any equivalents of YOU or ME in vietnamese (and I believe this is across the borders for all Asians) Everyone is addressed accordingly and appropriately depending on relations, age, and importance; rather proper, I think. ANH also refers to the British, and ANH DAO means cherry blossom.
My vietnamese name is Tam-Anh. Quite clever of my mother who blessed me with this for it has two separate and significant meanings in how my life began. The one meaning is - the heart of my lover, and the other meaning - the heart of the cherry blossoms. My parents were deeply in love; my mother's every breath was my father,and likewise, he was captivated and entranced by her beauty and purity (it would take a hundred paragraphs to go into details right now of the hows and whens..so I'll have to it at a later stage and in another order.)Anyway, my parents traveled back and forth together many times to Japan during 1964 to 1966; they were doing a lot of business with the various shipping companies in Tokyo, Osaka and Kobe. The first spring they were there, they happened to see the cherry blossoms in bloom for the first time in their lives and were won over; they had never seen such a sight. I guess it inspired many wondrous and romantic events since it was there and that my mother became pregnant with me, and hence it was the only possible appelation for their little baby girl who was born one hot day in July of the year 1967.
But years before that, when my father was still in his youth, he was almost always starving. Never enough food; never enough anything that makes everyday life slightly comfortable or worthwhile. The nights are cold in the North, so cold that his family had been forced to shave off pieces of the wooden posts that held up their hut in order to make fires for warmth. My father told me about a time when he and his mother had collected enough fish sauce and other knick-knacks that could be carted off to the next town to sell in the marketplace. They lugged their heavy load for miles on empty stomachs only thinking of the moment when they will earn enough to buy some food and drinks. And like all sad stories with twisted endings, the market was closed for some reason that day leaving them high, dry and stranded. They slept on a side street that night and were fortunate enough to sell everything the next day. His was a hard life. So, what kind of person did he become? When and how did he ended up in Saigon when the North and South were divided by a communist border?
The one answer I can give you now is that my father was and is a very determined man. Whether it was luck or brains or drive and a strong will or all of the above, the one thing for sure was that when he finally made it big...all he wanted was FAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Because he never had it, lacked it, was malnourished or all of the above, his desire was for all things rich and fatty. Beef bone broth with little pools of fat the size of dimes floating on the surface, boiled salted special chicken with golden yellow, plump skin enveloped in a ginger-scallion oil, and his all-time favorite until this very day - THIT KHO TAU, which literally translated is "meat stewed Chinese way." The meat used is always pork belly. The dish is of chinese origin, but every country that I know of in Asia has it in one form or another, and all known by the same description.
Once again, everybody's mother has their own recipe and technique, and different little secret ingredients, but the one that is the best, and I say this without bias, is my mother's. Oh my God! Out of this world! There is nothing more simple than Thit Kho Tau and a hot bowl of rice; nothing more comforting and soothing; nothing more rich and satisfying!
I have tried to make this dish countless times. I have my mother's instructions on paper; I have it commited to memory; I have had her telling me what to do on the phone as I set out making it; I have watched her. But it never comes out the way it does when my mother prepares it. I sadly realize that when my mother is gone from this world (and I hope it is a day far, far away from now) all the tastes of her foods will be gone too, and we will be left with just the memory of all her love and devotion to us.
Cooking is about love. Something special that was prepared for you to nourish you, to show you that you are special. Something that was created to fill your hunger; satiate your appetite; replete your soul and enabling you to go further. Food is happiness. The reasons we are happy when we dine in a fine restaurant; when we come home for Thanksgiving; when we gather with friends and families. Think about it. Everything revolves around food.
My father is so emotionally attached to thit kho tau that sometimes my mother has packed it in his carry-on luggage along with a separate tupperware of rice. Hours later, in his hotel room in San Francisco, or Houston, or Carthage, Missouri, he would unpack them from his bag, release the fork and spoon my mother had rolled up in Bounty, and begin to ingest all that it represents. When we were kids, my sisters and brother and me would find this embarassing and hilarious. Why doesn't he just order room service? Now, when I look back, it all makes sense of course. LOVE! Love is all it is, and it is so humbling that I almost always feel a tear edging the corners of my eyes and a tightening in my throat when I think of it. My oldest son loves thit kho tau too (well, he loves rice and the stew gives him greater incentive and reason to have plenty of it) "Grandmother's pork stew" he calls it. Sometimes my mother would make a batch and have it sent to my husband's workplace in New York City to be toted back to Connecticut.
"I made rice too, so you don't have to cook" she would call and tell me on the phone (seconds after the stew leaves her hands)
or,
"I didn't put too much white pepper so the kids can enjoy it more. Call me after you've eaten!"
(sigh) My mother..what would I do without her? What would any of us in my family do?
For now, I must try to master THIT KHO TAU.
My mother's recipe and instructions are as follow:
(and I must say that despite how good it is..her's is the most simple and uncomplicated version)
THIT KHO TAU
You'll need (and it is never in lbs. or oz. or grams)::::
sugar
vegetable oil
pork belly
fish sauce
soy sauce
oyster sauce
salt
white pepper (much more bite than their black pepper sister)
cut the pork belly into two or three inch cubes depending on your preference and toss it with a little salt.
put equal amounts of sugar and oil in a pot and heat up being careful not to burn the sugar.
when the sugar starts to caramelize and becomes a golden tawny color, add the pork and turn the heat to very high.
add all the seasonings and a good amount of the pepper to cover the pork.
keep stirring and tossing the pork in the pot.
when all the pieces of pork look about coated and sizzling, lower the heat to medium and cover the pot for about ten minutes (depending on how much pork you've used and how big the pot)
when the pork looks about done, take the lid off and turn the heat a little higher to reduce the liquids that have accumulated in the pot.
The desired color of the pork should be between dark honey to a light mahoghany.
add more pepper if you would like and serve with a bowl of hot rice.
*There are versions where you would marinate the pork with coconut juice or 7-up (if you can believe it..it is supposed to make the pork even softer) Vietnamese in America even use Coco-Rico (do you know what it is? it is a latin coconut soda which you can find easily in NYC supermarkets and in chains like Shop-Rite) Some people boil the pork first before caramelizing them (the Japanese always do this step) to take the "porkiness" out of it..OK! Some people use honey instead of sugar..it goes on. And you don't have to use pork belly..my mother also makes a chopped spareribs version of this and it is awesome!
The most true and primal example of course being the PORK BELLY; or bacon (for those who tread lightly in pork territory) in its raw, uncured state. Pork belly is the fattest part of the mature hog and consist of thick stripes of pure white (think hard lard) fat and thin streaks of pink tender soft meat. It is basically a side of fresh pork that contains the spareribs. The spareribs usually gets sectioned off and utilized separately. I think it is only in recent years that pork belly has been brought to the forefront of fine cuisine and consumers were treated to its richness and versatility in other forms besides bacon. I believe it was Daniel Boulud who took a thick slab of seasoned pork belly, fried it to a crisp, sliced it, and topped it over frisee and mache. Or was it Wofgang Puck who roasted the pork belly in a blanket of honey and tangerine and served it over wild rice? Definitely Emeril Lagasse has alot to do with it for at least five times during his cooking segments he would cry out "pork fat!" And the happiest person could only be my father.
My father was born into a very poor family in 1930 in North Viet Nam. His father died when he was very young leaving his mother to fend for herself and her five kids.
And when I say poor, I mean like really, really poor. They lived in a tiny hut in a town called Ky-Anh. ANH has many meanings in the Vietnamese language. It is a term of endearment that you would use to address a male older than yourself, or your older brother; a term of love and respect a girlfriend, mistress, or wife would call their lover. You see, we don't have any equivalents of YOU or ME in vietnamese (and I believe this is across the borders for all Asians) Everyone is addressed accordingly and appropriately depending on relations, age, and importance; rather proper, I think. ANH also refers to the British, and ANH DAO means cherry blossom.
My vietnamese name is Tam-Anh. Quite clever of my mother who blessed me with this for it has two separate and significant meanings in how my life began. The one meaning is - the heart of my lover, and the other meaning - the heart of the cherry blossoms. My parents were deeply in love; my mother's every breath was my father,and likewise, he was captivated and entranced by her beauty and purity (it would take a hundred paragraphs to go into details right now of the hows and whens..so I'll have to it at a later stage and in another order.)Anyway, my parents traveled back and forth together many times to Japan during 1964 to 1966; they were doing a lot of business with the various shipping companies in Tokyo, Osaka and Kobe. The first spring they were there, they happened to see the cherry blossoms in bloom for the first time in their lives and were won over; they had never seen such a sight. I guess it inspired many wondrous and romantic events since it was there and that my mother became pregnant with me, and hence it was the only possible appelation for their little baby girl who was born one hot day in July of the year 1967.
But years before that, when my father was still in his youth, he was almost always starving. Never enough food; never enough anything that makes everyday life slightly comfortable or worthwhile. The nights are cold in the North, so cold that his family had been forced to shave off pieces of the wooden posts that held up their hut in order to make fires for warmth. My father told me about a time when he and his mother had collected enough fish sauce and other knick-knacks that could be carted off to the next town to sell in the marketplace. They lugged their heavy load for miles on empty stomachs only thinking of the moment when they will earn enough to buy some food and drinks. And like all sad stories with twisted endings, the market was closed for some reason that day leaving them high, dry and stranded. They slept on a side street that night and were fortunate enough to sell everything the next day. His was a hard life. So, what kind of person did he become? When and how did he ended up in Saigon when the North and South were divided by a communist border?
The one answer I can give you now is that my father was and is a very determined man. Whether it was luck or brains or drive and a strong will or all of the above, the one thing for sure was that when he finally made it big...all he wanted was FAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Because he never had it, lacked it, was malnourished or all of the above, his desire was for all things rich and fatty. Beef bone broth with little pools of fat the size of dimes floating on the surface, boiled salted special chicken with golden yellow, plump skin enveloped in a ginger-scallion oil, and his all-time favorite until this very day - THIT KHO TAU, which literally translated is "meat stewed Chinese way." The meat used is always pork belly. The dish is of chinese origin, but every country that I know of in Asia has it in one form or another, and all known by the same description.
Once again, everybody's mother has their own recipe and technique, and different little secret ingredients, but the one that is the best, and I say this without bias, is my mother's. Oh my God! Out of this world! There is nothing more simple than Thit Kho Tau and a hot bowl of rice; nothing more comforting and soothing; nothing more rich and satisfying!
I have tried to make this dish countless times. I have my mother's instructions on paper; I have it commited to memory; I have had her telling me what to do on the phone as I set out making it; I have watched her. But it never comes out the way it does when my mother prepares it. I sadly realize that when my mother is gone from this world (and I hope it is a day far, far away from now) all the tastes of her foods will be gone too, and we will be left with just the memory of all her love and devotion to us.
Cooking is about love. Something special that was prepared for you to nourish you, to show you that you are special. Something that was created to fill your hunger; satiate your appetite; replete your soul and enabling you to go further. Food is happiness. The reasons we are happy when we dine in a fine restaurant; when we come home for Thanksgiving; when we gather with friends and families. Think about it. Everything revolves around food.
My father is so emotionally attached to thit kho tau that sometimes my mother has packed it in his carry-on luggage along with a separate tupperware of rice. Hours later, in his hotel room in San Francisco, or Houston, or Carthage, Missouri, he would unpack them from his bag, release the fork and spoon my mother had rolled up in Bounty, and begin to ingest all that it represents. When we were kids, my sisters and brother and me would find this embarassing and hilarious. Why doesn't he just order room service? Now, when I look back, it all makes sense of course. LOVE! Love is all it is, and it is so humbling that I almost always feel a tear edging the corners of my eyes and a tightening in my throat when I think of it. My oldest son loves thit kho tau too (well, he loves rice and the stew gives him greater incentive and reason to have plenty of it) "Grandmother's pork stew" he calls it. Sometimes my mother would make a batch and have it sent to my husband's workplace in New York City to be toted back to Connecticut.
"I made rice too, so you don't have to cook" she would call and tell me on the phone (seconds after the stew leaves her hands)
or,
"I didn't put too much white pepper so the kids can enjoy it more. Call me after you've eaten!"
(sigh) My mother..what would I do without her? What would any of us in my family do?
For now, I must try to master THIT KHO TAU.
My mother's recipe and instructions are as follow:
(and I must say that despite how good it is..her's is the most simple and uncomplicated version)
THIT KHO TAU
You'll need (and it is never in lbs. or oz. or grams)::::
sugar
vegetable oil
pork belly
fish sauce
soy sauce
oyster sauce
salt
white pepper (much more bite than their black pepper sister)
cut the pork belly into two or three inch cubes depending on your preference and toss it with a little salt.
put equal amounts of sugar and oil in a pot and heat up being careful not to burn the sugar.
when the sugar starts to caramelize and becomes a golden tawny color, add the pork and turn the heat to very high.
add all the seasonings and a good amount of the pepper to cover the pork.
keep stirring and tossing the pork in the pot.
when all the pieces of pork look about coated and sizzling, lower the heat to medium and cover the pot for about ten minutes (depending on how much pork you've used and how big the pot)
when the pork looks about done, take the lid off and turn the heat a little higher to reduce the liquids that have accumulated in the pot.
The desired color of the pork should be between dark honey to a light mahoghany.
add more pepper if you would like and serve with a bowl of hot rice.
*There are versions where you would marinate the pork with coconut juice or 7-up (if you can believe it..it is supposed to make the pork even softer) Vietnamese in America even use Coco-Rico (do you know what it is? it is a latin coconut soda which you can find easily in NYC supermarkets and in chains like Shop-Rite) Some people boil the pork first before caramelizing them (the Japanese always do this step) to take the "porkiness" out of it..OK! Some people use honey instead of sugar..it goes on. And you don't have to use pork belly..my mother also makes a chopped spareribs version of this and it is awesome!
posted by cream cheese dreams at 9:29 PM
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