Last week, Miguelito and I flew to Virginia to perform the traditional Vietnamese engagement ceremony at my parents' house. It was a rough red-eye ride for me. Miguelito kept jabbing me with his elbow as he thumb-zapped trolls and zombies on his iTouch. Waiting for our luggage to roll down a creaky conveyor belt at Washington Dulles Airport, he asked if we would have pho for breakfast. I predicted that my dad would suggest that we get breakfast at McDonald's. Sure enough, my dad did just that. Somehow, a sausage McMuffin and hash brown patty helped ease our transition to suburbia.
After a nap, we woke up to a lunch of my mom's pho.
Vietnamese food would play a significant role in our weekend. It was not just because it's the only thing my mom cooks. But much of my family's socializing centers around a table overflowing with food. On our first night in Virginia, we would schedule the first meeting between Miguelito's mom and my parents at Four Sisters, a Vietnamese restaurant run by a classmate of my mom's from Vietnam.
At its previous location at Eden Center, Four Sisters, or Huong Que (translated in English as "scent of the homeland") to Vietnamese speakers, was quite popular with a wide variety of people, including Pres. George H.W. Bush. My family went there partly out of loyalty to the owner, who would scrummage for Vietnamese-language newspapers in the back and bring them to my dad at our table. At Four Sisters' new location at the Merrifield Town Center, the decor was much ritzier, with plush cloth banquettes and softly abstract paintings of maidens dancing in silky ao dai. The gentrification and removal from the Viet-concentrated Eden Center explained why our table was one of two occupied by Vietnamese folks. The rest were filled with non-Viets.
Miguelito's mom and mine didn't notice our neighbors. They were too busy getting to know each other.
The bottle of Relax Riesling helped loosen us up.
The tamarind soup would appeal to Southerners in both Vietnam and the U.S. -- it was sweet and filled with okra, in addition to tomatoes, shrimp, pineapple chunks and a spongy Vietnamese vegetable called bac ha.
The next day, Miguelito and I acted as guinea pigs for the beef ragout that my mom made for the lunch reception to follow our engagement ceremony. There were three primary ingredients: beef, carrots and tomatoes.
Miguelito liked the chunks of meat, but not the translucent tendon. He kept dumping the chewy bits into my bowl.
On the day after our engagement ceremony, my parents hosted a BBQ. I would have thought that they'd be exhausted after spending more than three days cooking and preparing for the engagement ceremony. But they called up my aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings to congregate around the table for more noshing.
They got help from the Korean grocery store, which had pre-marinated the thin strips of beef, my sister, who manned the grill, and my aunts, who brought over some dishes.
One aunt made conch soup.
We poured the tart soup over vermicelli noodles and garnished it with herbs, bean sprouts, red onions and a spritz of lime. Miguelito's friend from Minneapolis said it was the best soup he ever had.
Desserts aren't a forte for my Vietnamese clan. An acquaintance once asked why Vietnamese sweets had to be so slimy and phlegmy. Though the confections inherited from the French colonialists are quite tasty, the flan and cream puffs seem to be too heavy and rich to finish a Vietnamese meal enhanced by herbs, fresh vegetables and a subtlety that bridges the distance between China and Thailand. Miguelito and I satisfied our sweet tooth at Hook in Georgetown. The chef, Heather Chittum, who was named pastry chef of the year, filled a chocolate cake sandwich with marshmellow fluff. Dubbed Makin' Whoopie, the treat was a gourmet Oreo.
The $8 price tag didn't deter me from playing with my food. I decided that, from now on, the more the dish costs, the more fun I will have with it.
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