My mom was born July 4th. Before coming to America, that month and date meant nothing. Since being here in the US, she jokes about the whole country celebrating her birthday every year.
In Vietnam she was a teacher working alongside my dad who was the principal of the school. When she came to the US, like most immigrants, she cannot find a job doing what she was doing in her homeland. She found a job working as a cook for a Vietnamese restaurant. She was earning less than minimum wage and (definitely) not compensated for overtime. She worked 12hour days, every day of the week. I don’t remember seeing much of her when I was growing up. She did love working but it was exhausting.
She told me stories of carrying heavy boiling pots of soup from one stovetop to another. She recounted stories about the tyrant owners who would watch over every penny and movement of their employees. For lunch or dinner, the employees would have their meals on the house. The owners rationed how much meat or seafood everyone can have. For the bus boys, the cooks would hide pieces of meat or seafood between layers of rice so the owners would only see the rice and not the protein.
One of her restaurant stories makes me think twice about ordering soup. The last restaurant she was working at had a rodent problem. One day, the owner came into the restaurant and wanted to have pho. They served him up a bowl. He ate it and left. Around that time, one of the cook fished out a couple of dead rats in the soup. I asked her if anyone ever said anything to the owner. She chuckled and said: NOT a Word. The rodents ultimately became the demise of the restaurant. They chewed through the faulty wiring and caused an electrical fire. Unfortunately, just around that time, one of the owner did not pay for the insurance. The restaurant was never re-built. That was the end of my mom’s career as a cook.
Don’t get me wrong, she continues to cook for her family and friends. She makes Chinese, Hong Kong style and our native Hawkenese style food. Anything Asian, she can do. Every Chinese New Year, my father and her would make elaborate meals with “exotic” ingredients like sea cucumbers, tripes, and birds’ nest. Nian gao, the Chinese New Year’s cake, was always tasty and my favorite.
That reminds me, I should sit down with her and get the recipes onto paper…
