Mother’s Signature Cuisine: A Cherished Favorite Among Her Children

“My mother’s culinary skills are exceptional.”

“My mother recently sent me some homemade food.”

“Occasionally returning home to enjoy my mother’s home-cooked meals is an unparalleled experience.”

These are common expressions I hear from my friend. His roots are in Binh Dinh. At the age of 18, he independently left his family to pursue higher education in Saigon, and subsequently decided to establish his life there. He expressed that residing in Saigon offers a more comfortable lifestyle, perhaps due to the busy lives of its inhabitants who tend not to intrude on others’ affairs, and their acceptance of individuality amidst the city’s towering skyscrapers and dazzling lights. He feels that he can truly be himself here. He often wonders how he would survive if he were to return to his rural hometown. Yet, in all his text conversations with friends and social media statuses, there is a recurring theme of homesickness, particularly a longing for our mother’s home-cooked meals.

I once asked him: “What would you consider to be our mother’s signature dish?”

His response was: “Mother’s signature dish is the one I enjoy the most.”

This response elicited laughter from me. It was a revelation. I had always assumed that a mother’s signature dish would be the meal she cooks best and takes the most pride in, so much so that she would prepare it nine out of ten times she cooks. However, I had never contemplated why a mother would derive joy from cooking these signature dishes. The reason is quite evident and straightforward. The ultimate satisfaction for all mothers worldwide is undoubtedly seeing their beloved children relishing their meals.

Following our conversation, he demonstrated the preparation of a raw oyster salad, incorporating banana blossom and a spicy, tangy fish sauce. He emphasized repeatedly the importance of the fish sauce. I prepared the oyster salad with shredded banana blossom as directed, augmenting it with onions and crab grass. The fish sauce for the salad had a sour note from vinegar and a hint of lemon; a spicy kick from garlic, chili, and ginger; a salty undertone from fish sauce; and a sweet aftertaste from sugarcane. As I cooked, I envisioned his mother, affectionately referred to as “fat mom”, preparing this dish with love for her son who is far from home. She would tell him: “Stop working, Chut, come home and live with mom, mom will take care of you!” His aunt, a resilient woman who seldom sheds tears (as he informed me), experiences moments of heartache when she contemplates her nephew in Saigon, alone and struggling to make ends meet. She wonders if he is eating adequately and taking proper care of himself.

The technique of transforming my friend’s signature dish into a new culinary creation was a skill I acquired from my grandmother. My grandmother is the family’s culinary maestro. Born into a family with a father who held a local official position and raised under the tutelage of a stepmother, my grandmother excelled in domestic chores. Her meals were always meticulously prepared, luxurious, and stylish, reminiscent of the feudal court style. Her culinary creativity was further enriched by the influence of French colonial cuisine. I consider myself fortunate to have lived with my grandmother since childhood, to have been the recipient of her boundless love, and to have savored all the delectable dishes she prepared. My passion for food likely took root at a very early age, a realization that dawned on me only after I reached adulthood.

The majority of the dishes my grandmother prepared for us were “fusion” dishes, a culinary approach that amalgamates various national cuisines. She frequently prepared beefsteak marinated in soy sauce, garnished with a sprinkle of burnt garlic, and topped with a layer of butter. She stewed chicken with vegetables, enhancing the sweetness with sugarcane juice. She incorporated cabbage into the ragout dish. Among other things, I recall her fondness for sending me to pick pepper elder to add to the salad dishes. She mentioned that this type of vegetable requires little care and proliferates in the pots on the balcony during the rainy season. Pepper elder was also used to accompany or garnish other dishes.

Take, for instance, the stuffed tomato dish that I am presenting to you. The tomato is halved, hollowed out, and then stuffed with minced meat mixed with shiitake mushrooms and spices, and fried in a pan over low heat to ensure the meat inside is evenly cooked. The tomato pulp is used to prepare a sauce. The completed stuffed tomato dish is presented with a sprinkling of pepper elder freshly picked by the young grandchild, drizzled with a bit of tomato sauce, and dusted with pepper. This dish is best served with soy sauce and a few slices of chili. My grandmother has ingeniously harmonized a dish imported from the West with the familiar dipping sauce of our hometown to accompany rice.

Prior to becoming my grandmother, she was first a mother. Whenever my father and uncles reminisce about the meals my grandmother prepared, they invariably express their admiration. My childhood is inextricably linked with memories of my grandmother. The daily routine of us walking from our home to the Ben Thanh market every morning, returning by cyclo laden with fresh ingredients, the image of her cooking in the kitchen with a clumsy child playing with toys nearby awaiting her instructions, the instances of her chiding me for wearing my slippers backwards, and the times she would seek me out to call me home for dinner when I had wandered off to the neighbor’s house, all remain vivid in my memory.

In contrast, my recollections of the meals my mother prepared are somewhat hazy, primarily because she had to return to work shortly after my birth, leaving my grandmother to assume the role of a secondary mother, attending to my every need. Nevertheless, my mother remained a dedicated mother. Her love for motherhood was so profound that she never once considered relinquishing that role. She welcomed me into the world and raised me with gentle care. On the rare weekends when she was not preoccupied with work, she enjoyed preparing delectable dishes for her daughter. At the age of 30, she married my father, and a year later, I was born. Prior to this, she had little experience in caring for others and was somewhat inept in the kitchen. However, perhaps her maternal instincts and deep love inspired her to learn to cook.

As my friend once mentioned, my mother’s signature dish is the one that I favor. One such dish is the tamarind crab. Even now, at the age my mother was when she first gave birth to me, I often express my craving for tamarind crab, urging her to prepare it for me. The tamarind crab dish my mother prepares is consistently the same. Although I have sampled tamarind crab at various places – some might add onions, or fry the crab until golden before adding the sauce – the flavor of my mother’s simple tamarind crab remains unparalleled. Typically, she will fry garlic until it releases its aroma, remove the garlic, prepare a tamarind sauce by stir-frying a mixture of diluted tamarind and filtered water, add a touch of sugar, chili, garlic, and finally add the crab, stirring until the tamarind sauce thickens. When serving the crab, she garnishes it with the fried garlic. The sauce is thick, and the harmonious blend of sour, salty, and sweet flavors is simply exquisite.

In the past, when the economy was challenging, my mother made extraordinary efforts to procure crabs to prepare tamarind crab, a fact I was unaware of as a child. Each time our family gathered to enjoy this dish, I savored the succulent crab meat. My mother, seated beside me, would content herself with the smaller claws. I often queried why she didn’t partake of the crab meat. She would always respond with a smile, encouraging me to eat, stating that she preferred the smaller parts. As a child, I naively believed her preference was genuine. It was only upon maturing and gaining a deeper understanding of life that I questioned whether my mother’s preferences were shaped by her habit of offering the choicest portions to her child.

I recently read “The Art of Loving” by Erich Fromm, which posits that a father’s love is conditional, while a mother’s love is unconditional. This conclusion, based on numerous studies, may hold true for the majority. I am uncertain about the conditional aspect of a father’s love, as my own father has always loved and accepted me, regardless of my stubbornness and mischief. However, I wholeheartedly concur with the concept of a mother’s unconditional love.

Whether it’s my mother or yours, I believe that all mothers worldwide love their children in their unique way and sincerely desire the best for them. The signature dishes of mothers may differ, but invariably, they are the dishes most favored by their children! The recipes for these dishes? I observe that all mothers intuitively estimate the ingredients. Perhaps the most crucial ingredient that contributes to the deliciousness of a mother’s dishes is her boundless love for her children.

|This article was published in Dep Magazine in May & June 2021|