April: Chả Giò

What do chả giò (eggrolls) mean to me? Why chả giò?

Here is the finished product, accompanied by Vietnamese and Filipino dipping sauces.

Traditionally, eggrolls in Vietnam are fried versions of the spring roll -- wrapped in rice paper instead of a flour-based wrapper. I actually did not know this until I had bún chả in Hanoi back in 2012, where the pork and rice vermicelli noodle bowls are accompanied by a plate of fried spring rolls and fresh vegetables to wrap them in. (No, bún chả is not on the menu for this year. Yes, I will definitely consider it for next year.)

Chả giò typically have these main ingredients: black fungus, glass noodles (formally known as “bean thread,” but not quite sure if it’s more bean or more noodle), and pork. My mom’s version of the Vietnamese eggroll has evolved after multiple iterations. Eventually, carrots, Korean radish, and sauteed onions entered the mix. However, taro became the gamechanger; she distinctively remembers my pleasantly surprised reaction when I first tried it as a child, and she has kept it in her recipe ever since.

The concept of fast food is foreign to Vietnamese food culture -- as witnessed with dedicated time for coffee and meals, and dishes that demand intentional preparation and consumption. Chả giò would be the closest thing to fast food we have.

When I think of eggrolls, I think of my road trips back and forth between home and Berkeley. I think of my mother getting up early in the morning to fry up some to-go food for me and my carmates to eat on the ride back north. I think about the fragrance of chả giò filling up the car, to the point that it becomes unbearable to resist and reserve the eggrolls for the halfway point of the ride. I think about the reflections, laughter, music playlists, and food shared over the 5.5-hour car ride. While the eggrolls are consumed quickly, the memories of the experiences linger beyond the trip.

I decided to make chả giò this month because 1) I have spring break this week, and this is the perfect time to engage in this time-consuming endeavor; 2) I have been craving comfort food; 3) I wanted to the perfect portable dish to present to others that is shelter-in-residence friendly.

How did I make chả giò?

Cooking Playlists: DAMN. - Kendrick Lamar (it was the album’s third year anniversary) and “k.dot,” a playlist I compiled based on BooTrinity + partners favorites.

Linked is a Google Document with my mother’s recipe. I added comments based on my own experience and edits.

I initially balked at the project. I didn’t yet have a food processor. If I ordered one from Amazon, it wouldn’t be shipped until May (because Amazon is currently prioritizing shipment of essential supplies). Also, I pondered how much time it would take to do the project on my own; this was a project that I initially wanted to engage in with guests. However, as any person should do for challenging projects, I took time to chunk and chew the task and asked for help:

• I focused first on making the nước mắm for dipping the eggrolls. Given that the same recipe can be used as a companion for fish sauce, I got a fried tilapia for dinner toward the end of my grocery shopping journey at Ranch 99. (I will focus on frying my own fish at one point this year.)

Nước mắm ingredients

Halfway through the fried tilapia from Ranch 99, doused in nước mắm

• I researched where I could get a food processor within a few days and had one shipped from Target. (Cuisinart is the way to go, folks.)
• I spent some time categorizing the processes of preparing the ingredients.

• I enlisted Andrew halfway through the process of preparing the ingredients; he was excited to wrap the eggrolls with me.

Andrew using his math skills to divvy up the portions. 

Wrapping the chả giò

• I decided to prep eggrolls one day and cook them the next day.

The chả giò must be golden brown prior to extraction. 

The chả giò prep journey started at 4pm with me peeling and deveining shrimp and ended at 10pm with me placing all the eggrolls in the freezer. When I reflected on this process with my mom, she laughed and said she was initially surprised that I requested her chả giò recipe because even she, as an expert in the kitchen, dedicates half a day to the endeavor. She was impressed with my commitment and was joyous about Andrew sharing the responsibility.

Who tried my chả giò?

Eggrolls are meant to be shared, and I was able to do so with a number of key folks:

• Rabiah: We have the pleasure of exchanging food with each other as “neighbors” (more so friends who reside in the same city). When she came over to pick the chả giò and to drop off more guava-cheese Porto rolls, we spent some time chatting from a safe social distance about our learnings from Brene Brown’s work (The Gift of Imperfection, Dare to Lead).
• Doug: As my mentor/forever-boss/county-neighbor, I wanted to express my appreciation and share the wealth by dropping off some eggrolls, recommended literature (They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us), and Antoine’s cookies (best cookie shop ever) for him and his family. Hearing his youngest daughter ask for another one immediately after taking a bite of her first one was the sweetest of compliments.
• Antoinnae: -- Let me break away from the bullet point format for this one. 

The one and only Antoinnae!

Antoinnae is another one of my ride-or-die’s. We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same high school, college, and now work in the same county; we have been friends for nearly two decades.

Our friendship began sophomore year of high school, around the time that she joined KIWIN’S, a service club that I was also a part of. I had always seen her as this beautiful, unflappable woman who seemed to be too mature to be bothered with high school. Back then, we knew each other tangentially through mutual friends and having the same teachers, but different classes. At one point in time, my sophomore-year boyfriend even hit on her while he was with me. I only discovered this because he accidentally left his attempted love letter to her in a geometry book that he borrowed from me.

That didn’t stop Antoinnae and I from getting close. We shared similar passions: service to the community, dance-worthy hip-hop, dancing to said hip-hop (less eloquently known as “freakin’” and “grindin’” during my generation), and being hella real. Some of my favorite high school memories are our car-rides from high school to the site of a service project, where we would blast Ciara’s “Goodies” album in the 1990 Toyota Camry that we would both eventually drive until the wheels fell off.

Antoinnae and I were two of five high school classmates who went to UC Berkeley from my high school. To my benefit, the four of us -- Antoinnae, Chavonne, Christie, and I -- were already close friends. And so began the Narbonne-Cal camaraderie that helped me survive the academic life and college culture that I was nowhere near prepared for.

A poignant aspect of our relationship during the university years was that -- in a seemingly individualistic and cutthroat setting -- Antoinnae helped foster a community of care. This was made evident during our time living together: She always made enough food to share with me, Chavonne, and house guests. I grew as a cook, cleaner, caregiver, and overall housemate mostly because of her. I felt truly loved through her acts of service, especially given that this reminded me of how my mom demonstrated love, and she inspired me to reciprocate.

Another couple of reasons why I wanted to dedicate this specific post about chả giò to Antoinnae:

• My mother recalled that Antoinnae wasn’t able to eat a pork-based dish that she made once when she was over for dinner. Much like my mom adjusted her phở gà recipe to meet Biah’s dietary restrictions, she adjusted her eggroll recipe to accommodate to Antoinnae’s by including chicken instead.
• Antoinnae was my most consistent LA-Bay Area roadtrip companion, and she would often be the person I shared chả giò with.
• It was her birthday on Tuesday, and we originally were supposed to celebrate it wine-tasting on Saturday. (We did have a Zoom wine-tasting hour in her honor!)

On Thursday, I dropped off a bag of frozen eggrolls, prepared nước mắm in a jar, and a box of Antoine’s cookies for Antoinnae. (She gave me her own delicious homemade oatmeal cookies in exchange!) As it is for almost everyone during this time, it was challenging not to hug her hello and goodbye; we often spend our time sharing space and meals with each other and our partners. However, I have a couple more bags in the freezer awaiting the next time we can eat together again in person.

How was it?

Damn good. (Or, DAMN. GOOD.) I mean, I know most fried food tastes good, but this chả giò filling is stuff dreams are made of.

Other than the filling, the best part of the Vietnamese-American eggroll is the flour-based wrapper. There’s nothing like seeing golden brown hues of the cooked wrapper in the fryer - an indication that the eggrolls have arrived. The wrapper provides a delicious, crisp crunch that rice-flour wrappers lack. Also, the way it retains heat is impressive as it is deceptive; when crunching through a seemingly cooled-down chả giò, be careful not to burn your mouth from the escaping steam.

The food project was a bookend to a productive spring break. Andrew and I had weeded and mowed our unkempt backyard, and we had cleaned out our shed for the first time since we moved in and made it a presentable social space by including furniture with cushions and stringing up lights along the interior perimeter. So when we sat down together to enjoy the meal, we soaked in the fruits of our labor.

Our dinner with a perspective of our ambience

Andrew and I initially laughed at the idea of finishing a bunch of chả giò together. However, by the end of the night, two remained on the plate. The experience was reminiscent of nhậu-ing, a Vietnamese social ritual that is best described by Lac Su, author of I Love Yous are for White People:

“It is a party where my parents’ refugee friends come together to share and cope. It isn’t anything formal, but there is always lots of drinking, eating, and storytelling. The stories inevitably grow in depth and intensity as the night wears on [...] Nhậu is a rare moment when these new Americans can share what they’ve been through with like-minded souls. Pa always says people drink to forget, but at the nhậu I see them drink to remember.” 

That night, we remembered our culture and our cuisine. We remembered the values and practices our mothers have instilled in us. We remembered who we were and how understanding that history helps us identify milestones in the progress we have made to who we are now -- and who we could be.