A 2012 Apocalyptic Moment

I attended—and bumbled my way through—a cooking class.  Oh yes, I did!  Let the record state that this one—the one who indubitably eschews any practice of the culinary arts whatsoever—participated in a Vietnamese cooking class in Hoi An, Vietnam, on Boxing Day, 2012.  And, I had a grand time overall. 

Okay, I was nervous pretty much the entire expanse of time I was expected to actually cook.  Compared to my tablemates—Cindy and two other women—I was always awkward and generally ignorant, obviously inexperienced and gracelessly inept with basic maneuvers and strategies.  I covertly scrutinized all actions of the lady next to me and openly aped Cindy, who was situated across the table from me.  (Graciously, they both aided and abetted me in my endeavors throughout.)  Did I mention I was nervous?!  Still, I really did have a grand time.

How could I not?  First of all, Vietnamese cuisine now ranks number one on my Asian listing, Thai and Chinese falling in closely behind.  And we got to eat everything we made.  Which, in my case, would certainly not always be deemed a perk.  But which, in this case, advanced most agreeably:  I devoured EVERYTHING I created, and EVERYTHING tasted nigh unto ambrosial.  (Granted, my photo documentary below omits one course—the Hoi An crispy pancake—because I could not convince myself to photograph the visual disaster:  pancake rent in twain and in a rather unsuitable state for rolling in rice paper . . . although I dutifully attempted to do so.  Ugly and unwieldy though it was, it tasted surprisingly marvelous!)  And our teacher Lu was an engaging mingling of knowledge, expertise, fun and funny.  And we each received this cool Vietnamese peeler to keep.   And, most of all, I learned stuff! 

Class commenced about 8:00 in the morning with a bike ride to an herb farm outside of Hoi An.  Herbs are critical components in Vietnamese cuisine.  Procuring some of them in other lands could be rather daunting, I suspect.  I grew particularly fond of anise basil and various kinds of mint.  The bike ride to the herb farm, though, fell fully within my skill repertoire; the rest of our class session was definitely more of a stretch.  Other than having my skillet catch fire while cooking my crispy pancake—yeah, that pancake really was a challenge—I muddled my way through an anxiously pleasurable learning experience and ate my way through one excellent Vietnamese meal . . . if I do say so myself!  And, in the end, not a second of it was less than memorable.  Maybe an apocalypse must always be so!

This is Lu, our cooking teacher.

Here I behold the first fruits of my labors.  (I cropped off my head because my hair was way crazy from the bike ride in a tropical climate and my expression already evoked "fully frazzled"!)

 Course 1:  cabbage soup with cabbage parcels  (The cabbage parcels were stuffed with shrimp mousse!)

 Course 2:  fresh spring roll with dipping sauce  (These are one of my favorite foods!)

Course 3:  Hoi An crispy pancake  (Sorry, no photo.  See above for the pitiful excuse!)

Course 4:  green mango salad with marinated barbeque chicken on skewers

For the website of the cooking school I attended in Hoi An and information on the cookbook available for purchase (yes, I did buy one), go here.

These next photos are from our bike ride to the herb farm.

Vietnam--Winter Break, 2012: A Preface

The Vietnam War pretty much encompassed my childhood.  Hanoi, Saigon, Hue, Danang, Gulf of Tonkin, Mekong, Ho Chi Minh Trail—these are words I knew about even in elementary school, and I learned they were places in a land called Vietnam, where there was a war, and in that war there were soldiers from my own country fighting in it also.  On television I viewed footage filmed in this far-away place, and in magazines I saw photos—most all of it war related but set in an exotic landscape framed by mesmerizing tropical beauty. 

My family lived in New Jersey when I was in junior high, and I remember some of the girls my age attended an anti-war rally one weekend.  I overheard their discussion Monday morning before the tardy bell rang in first period English, and one of them wrote a poem about it.  It was in her notebook and I listened to her read it aloud to them.  Boys my age were never drafted, but I recall how controversial the issue of the draft became.  In my twenties I saw the film version of Hair—with my brother Phil, by the way—in a theater with a bent for showing artsy movies.  Later on I watched Apocalypse Now, Platoon, and The Killing Fields.  I also met my friend Tien.

During the summer of 2002, after completing my master’s degree in Thailand (at an overseas campus for Michigan State University), I had the chance to travel in both Cambodia and Laos.  We had no time left to fit in Vietnam that summer, but I realized then that Vietnam now occupied a premier position on my very fluid list of places I needed to see. 

Finally, this past December, I entered the nation of Vietnam:  Noi Bai International Airport in Hanoi—the city of “the enemy” back in that war of my childhood.  And—technically speaking—there is no city named Saigon anymore; it is Ho Chi Minh City, named after a now revered leader, one lovingly referred to as “Uncle Ho.”  And, by the way, in Vietnam, there never was a Vietnam War; there was an American War.  Still, a rather fascinating twist in this ongoing evolution of all our lives post-war is that today, in the country of Vietnam, American dollars can often be used as payment in lieu of Vietnamese currency.  What would Uncle Ho think?!!

The two weeks I spent in Vietnam added both color and a narrative for the light and shadow images of childhood memories.  It introduced me to a land of magical beauty and such amazing people.  I would return in a heartbeat.