羅美香 (La, Lien Anh) ; July 4th
My mom was born July 4th. Before coming to America, that month and date meant nothing. Since being here in the US, she joked 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 could not 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 loved her work but she cherished most the comradery with the kitchen staff.
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 could have. For the bus boys, the cooks hid 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, one of the owners 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. There was no insurance. The restaurant was never re-built.
She was going to partner with one of her co-worker to open up a restaurant in Vegas. However, she became caregiver to my dad and her cooking career ended.
Don’t get me wrong, she continued to cook for her family and friends. She made Chinese, Hong Kong style and our native Hawkenese style food. Anything Asian, she was able to 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.
I was able to get my hands on her little black book of recipes…
