As Scorpios who share the same birthday, Joe and I spent quality time together sipping wine and port, gobbling up Stilton cheese layered with honeycomb, watching "I {heart} Huckabees" and dining at Blue Hen in Joe's barrio on Sunday. Eating out with Joe can be a case study for protocol directors at the United Nations. He occasionally transgresses tradition and etiquette by mixing ingredients that are best off left alone. Last month, at the Japanese spot Torafuku, he dipped his onigiri in soy sauce. (He later explained that he did it on purpose.) This time, at the vegetarian-friendly Vietnamese restaurant Blue Hen, he squeezed the hoisin sauce brought out for his pho noodle soup on his vegetarian egg roll. In the split second that took Joe to chomp on the crispy cylinder stuffed with tofu, I saw centuries of Vietnamese history flash before my eyes. My Viet identity was restored when my chao ga (chicken porridge) arrived. Chock full of scallions and shredded chicken, the porridge reminded me of the comfort food that my mom made when I was sick as a child. Joe later reclaimed his multicultural street cred by lending me a copy of the Colombian drug-mule movie "Maria Full of Grace" and telling the story why he gave his brown Volvo the Indian name of Ashok.
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