There must be a special kind of connection amongst us, from person to person, that intertwines our appetite for food and our appetite for life.  The food we gather, share, and devour triggers the outpouring of our memories, both haunting and humorous, harrowing and humbling.  So many of my family’s stories are dished out only in the kitchen, at the stove or upon the table, and only at designated hours: breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Some of them I swallow, others I digest, and others I remember only faintly.  

At that very moment, when our stomachs grumble with hunger… is when my parents or elder relatives slip into nostalgia.  And their hearts become ajar.  

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A feast of raw beef topped with an uncooked egg, baskets full of fresh vegetables, and a plate of rice noodles awaited us as the flat iron grill began to heat up.  Being Thanksgiving, my cousins did not forget the turkey, and they brought it out hot from the oven, steam rising from the tin foil serving platter.  Rather than the usual breadcrumb stuffing, it was stuffed with ginger, lemongrass, and other Southeast Asian herbs, of course.  Continue reading →