12 Months, 12 Recipes: The Context, The Vision, and the Process
The Context
Growing up as a child of Vietnamese refugees, I was trained to establish goals and pursue them relentlessly until they were met. Thus, I have spent the majority of my life actively pursuing achievement. While I am happy and humbled to say that I have met a number of goals, I am often asking myself, "What next?" Typically, once I meet my goals, I would set new ones. However, what happens when it seems that you have reached as far as you can go? What happens when you reach the end of a pathway that has been paved by your primary group? Especially as the youngest child, I constrained myself to pursuing what seems achievable and safe, so where else can one climb when one feels like they have reached the highest rung of the ladder?
The frequency of how often I asked myself, "What's next?" last year sucked me into a mental and emotional black hole. I recall days in which I crumpled in the privacy of my office in the middle of the day or in my restroom when I came home, as though there were comfort in breaking down in small, restrictive spaces; I recall the inescapable devastation that I now understand is associated with being a goal-oriented perfectionist. I felt I had limited guidance of what it meant to be a young woman of color in my leadership position, and I felt that I needed to overcome the way I have been nurtured to execute my job effectively. However -- long story short -- with professional help and with the support of family, friends, colleagues, and my partner, I have been able to regain confidence in myself, and I am now conditioning myself to be appreciative of the journey, not just the destination.
The frequency of how often I asked myself, "What's next?" last year sucked me into a mental and emotional black hole. I recall days in which I crumpled in the privacy of my office in the middle of the day or in my restroom when I came home, as though there were comfort in breaking down in small, restrictive spaces; I recall the inescapable devastation that I now understand is associated with being a goal-oriented perfectionist. I felt I had limited guidance of what it meant to be a young woman of color in my leadership position, and I felt that I needed to overcome the way I have been nurtured to execute my job effectively. However -- long story short -- with professional help and with the support of family, friends, colleagues, and my partner, I have been able to regain confidence in myself, and I am now conditioning myself to be appreciative of the journey, not just the destination.
The Vision
Very few experiences in my life are certain and consistent, the best of all being the love I experience through my mother's cooking. Being in my mother's kitchen is a beautiful experience. It all begins with a welcome home: my mother taking the sides of my head into her palms, her nose sniffing against my cheek, her food-soaked fingers carefully avoiding my hair since she still had a symphony to orchestrate in the kitchen. As she navigates between counter and floor, stove and chopping board, pots and chef's knife, she effortlessly engages me in conversation: How have I been? How is work? How is [my partner]? Why is he not here? Did you hear about [insert drama about Vietnamese relatives here]?
Admittedly, I have never been a big fan of receiving the latest family gossip. However, it is a tax I am willing to pay given what comes next: the Vietnamese dish that has been prepared and perfected by the master chef. The dish is routinely first served to honored guests, and it is modified based on my mother's knowledge of guests' preferences: Emily can't have onions; Christie always gets the biggest portion due to her audible enjoyment while eating; Thao prefers more meat than noodles; Andrew enjoys having a higher broth to carb ratio; I prefer vegetarian -- what? She can't help me there. Bún Bò Huế (spicy beef noodle soup) is still the meal for the evening.
When the dish is first consumed, it is eaten as though we have never seen food before in our life. The second serving is where we calibrate our preferences to identify our favorite part of the dish: the broth, the vegetables, the meat, the fish sauce -- that's where my mother picks up our opinions through mere observation.
I have multiple purposes for writing "Cooking Like Mom." Through her, I have learned that cooking goes beyond making the meal. It's about connecting with others. It's about showing love through acts of service and quality time. It's about taking pride in this labor of love. I hope to exude similar qualities that I love about my mother through this process, I hope to learn more about my own dinner guests as we engage in this act of service, and I hope to honor my mother's legacy through my efforts.
This is also about building a deeper relationship with my mother. I am a 32-year old principal of a middle school in the Bay Area. She is a [forever 35-]years young esthetician in Los Angeles County. I have learned so much, yet so little, about her journey since she fled her hometown to Hong Kong at the age of 22*. By engaging in this journey, I hope to surface memories associated with these dishes, as well as create new ones as I collaborate with her from afar to make these dishes with and for guests.
Finally, I hope to engage in this process to redefine my self-worth. I am more than the goals that I meet. I am a continued work in progress. I am an educator. I am a friend. I am a partner. I am a younger sister. I am my father's "son." I am my mother's daughter.
Admittedly, I have never been a big fan of receiving the latest family gossip. However, it is a tax I am willing to pay given what comes next: the Vietnamese dish that has been prepared and perfected by the master chef. The dish is routinely first served to honored guests, and it is modified based on my mother's knowledge of guests' preferences: Emily can't have onions; Christie always gets the biggest portion due to her audible enjoyment while eating; Thao prefers more meat than noodles; Andrew enjoys having a higher broth to carb ratio; I prefer vegetarian -- what? She can't help me there. Bún Bò Huế (spicy beef noodle soup) is still the meal for the evening.
When the dish is first consumed, it is eaten as though we have never seen food before in our life. The second serving is where we calibrate our preferences to identify our favorite part of the dish: the broth, the vegetables, the meat, the fish sauce -- that's where my mother picks up our opinions through mere observation.
I have multiple purposes for writing "Cooking Like Mom." Through her, I have learned that cooking goes beyond making the meal. It's about connecting with others. It's about showing love through acts of service and quality time. It's about taking pride in this labor of love. I hope to exude similar qualities that I love about my mother through this process, I hope to learn more about my own dinner guests as we engage in this act of service, and I hope to honor my mother's legacy through my efforts.
This is also about building a deeper relationship with my mother. I am a 32-year old principal of a middle school in the Bay Area. She is a [forever 35-]years young esthetician in Los Angeles County. I have learned so much, yet so little, about her journey since she fled her hometown to Hong Kong at the age of 22*. By engaging in this journey, I hope to surface memories associated with these dishes, as well as create new ones as I collaborate with her from afar to make these dishes with and for guests.
Finally, I hope to engage in this process to redefine my self-worth. I am more than the goals that I meet. I am a continued work in progress. I am an educator. I am a friend. I am a partner. I am a younger sister. I am my father's "son." I am my mother's daughter.
The Process
On this blog, you will see a record of my monthly adventures with cooking a specific Vietnamese dish. This process was brainstormed with the support of my Passion Planner:
In my next post, I will provide the final list of dishes I will attempt this year.
Thank you for engaging in this journey with me!
*Edit: After reading this post, my mother corrected my earlier statement about her leaving her hometown at the age of 18 to what is currently stated. Thank you for the feedback, mom!
*Edit: After reading this post, my mother corrected my earlier statement about her leaving her hometown at the age of 18 to what is currently stated. Thank you for the feedback, mom!
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