My paternal grandma was an amazing cook. Like many women of her generation, she cooked simply by feel, taste, and approximation. She never measured out anything, unless you counted pouring things into rice bowls as “measuring.” She made endless Cantonese delicacies like a professional chef, yet I don’t think anyone in my family truly appreciated that about her until she was gone. I was only nine when she passed away, but I have so many fond memories of dishes she would make, from her labor intensive zongzi (dong, or Chinese tamales), savory Toisan style tang yuan (a chicken/shrimp/radish based thick soup studded with chewy plain mochi-like balls, napa cabbage, dried shrimp, and Chinese sausage; to her simple steamed chicken and mushrooms flavored with salted fish.
While I love my mom and my mother-in-law, I will be honest and say that if the two of them had one thing in common, it’s that neither really ever enjoyed cooking; they kind of got forced into it because of the men they chose to marry. My dad does not really think cooking is something a man should do every day; Chris’s dad can barely boil water on his own. So both mothers cooked out of necessity and were never truly passionate about it. Now that my mother-in-law has both her kids grown and out of the house, she does do more experimental cooking and some pretty good baking. And my mom, to her credit, makes a handful of dishes extremely well that I love, from her loaded jook, several variations of pork bone and vegetable soup, Vietnamese fried egg rolls, to her very rarely made Vietnamese braised pork belly and whole shrimp dish. But regardless of these things, I do not really look at either of them and think they have a signature dish or style that I’d necessarily want to replicate.
I was thinking about a basic Vietnamese condiment, nuoc cham, the popular dipping sauce today. And annoyingly enough, even though I’ve made it endless times, it’s never been a consistent result. I think it’s ultimately because my limes are inconsistent in how sweet/sour/bitter they are, and I don’t always remember to taste the “limeade” base before adding the fish sauce. So I texted two of my Vietnamese friends for their mom’s recipe. Of course, their mom had no recipe and went by feel. But she did confirm tasting the “limeade” concoction before adding in the fish sauce, garlic, and chilies first. If the lime is too bitter, it needs to be evened out with a touch of unseasoned rice vinegar — this is a key step, the tasting to see if the limeade is balanced; would you actually want to drink this as a beverage? That’s an easy addition, especially since I always have that on hand. My friends are trying to gradually document all of their mom’s recipes so that they can replicate it on their own. While that would be a labor of love, I think that’s one of the best ways to honor those who come before us — to continue the food traditions that they lovingly shared with us, so that our children after us can hopefully continue to enjoy and make these dishes. After all, food is culture, and culture is food.