Foods and Memories

Many humans, writers skilled with words and ordinary folks alike, have been known to rhapsodize in the twilight years of their lives about certain foods, of how the mere sight, not to mention the taste and the texture of the foods bring back fond memories of times long past, especially childhood memories. In my case, two dishes and a snack always evoke peaceful, pleasant memories. The first two have their connection with my Mom while the last one has special personal meaning to me.


I was very fortunate to have a wonderful mother in every sense of the word. She was 36 years old when she brought me into this world. She, my elder brother, and I shared the zodiac sign of water buffalo. But I resembled her the most in temperament and looks while my only brother (I had three others, but they all died in childhood) took after my father.I was very attached to my mother at a very early age. I slept snuggling close to her until kindergarten age. Even after I started elementary education, I still liked to take a nap close to my mother. She took me with her every summer to spend time with my maternal grandmother until 1963 when the war got too intense. I followed her everywhere she went. The bond developed betwen us was deep. She was the first woman I loved. When I reached adulthood, every woman I felt attracted to always in one way or another reminded me of my mother. Despite all sufferings and heartaches at the hands of scheming, calculating women, I always love and trust women because of my mother. She was proud of me and I of her. She was virtuous, intelligent, daring, imperious, impulsive, and fond of salty and colorful language when she was upset. If I may say so, I am the same way. She kept the family together and even started a thriving business after the VC took Saigon. One of her talents was cooking. And of numerous dishes she prepared, I loved most the crepes (banh xeo) and che xoi nuoc. In fact, I always order these two dishes whenever I eat out in a Vietnamese restaurant, and so far, not a single restaurant would even come close to making them as my Mom did. Still, when I eat them, I remember my mother and I visualize her preparing from scratch as I stood around watching her. When they were served, she always asked for my opinions if how they tasted because she knew I always told the truth. Nine out of ten, they would be wonderful and I was transported to Paradise. I would say: "Mom, this is wonderful. This is so good." And she would beam, looking at me devouring the dishes. If they were not up to par, I would tell her so. She wouldn't say anything; she just nodded her head with solemnity.

The snack which had special significance to me ever since I was a kid was roasted peanuts with the skin on. I always liked to dry roast them myself on a frying pan. I would stand in the kitchen and stir them until they were golden brown and the aroma began wafting in the air. I remember one afternoon the rain was falling down and I was in the loft, eating freshly roasted peanuts and looking out the window at the falling rain. I experienced peace and pleasure that afternoon. So even to this day, I still buy raw peanuts with the skin on and I would roast them in the oven (300 degrees Fahrenheit for 20 minutes). Afterwards when I eat them, just as I just did about 15 minutes ago, the falling rain in that distant afternoon would come back to me, and I would experience pleasure and peace.

Wissai