Morning Crossroads

Morning Food Walk:

It's all-too exciting, my morning walk. So many possibilities lie at the crossroads of The Bum Bum Salon...if I go right, I pass the woman who is always skinning fish to find the jello-custard lady. If I go another block straight and then turn right (after getting the pomelo guy to peel one for me), I can find the woman who grills bananas and rice cakes, puts them in a plastic bag and pours tapioca sauce on top.

If I turn left at her corner-where jumbo prawns are still wriggling for their lives-I can find the Rice Lady (this picture is not her...she stands and has much more selection...but these women are all over the city. I still can't bring myself to take many pictures in my alley, my most favorite place). The Rice Lady offers eight kinds of sticky rice, among them: purple, red, white with red beans, white, yellow hominy, and plain yellow. If you choose the white with red bean, she puts it into the same same plastic bag and pours a sweet cream sauce on it. If you choose the hominy, she puts it in a square of newspaper lined with plastic and sprinkles sugar on it. If you choose the white, she puts a green onion sauce, chinese sausage, some kind of meat, a quail egg, shredded dried onion, dried something else (can't figure it out but it's good and crunchy) and some soy sauce. This is also assembled in a newspaper square (pictured). This last is my favorite...wait, no...the white rice with red beans with sweet sauce...wait, um, no, it has to be the hominy...as long as I have already purchased the grilled banana and rice...

If I make it past her and take another left, I pass the pork lady and her huge chunks of meat and see the rice noodle lady who will cut up a deep fried egg roll and barbecued pork and place these on a bed of rice noodles with a side of fish sauce. Vietnamese people don't seem to differentiate too much between breakfast and all the rest -- it's all same same. They eat just as many carbs in the morning as they do at lunch and dinner. And- I am still committed to my sandwich lady and buy from her whether I need one or not. I may give it to someone at school - everyone agrees they are the best in they city (even my principal, Mark, he loves them and always asks about them). When I pass her, there is always the rice ribbon lady who lays her ribbon noodles in a to-go container, tops them with a deep fried savory doughnut-like thing that she cuts into fourths, tops that with greens, and adds a side of fish sauce.

On Monday morning, Katherine follows me on my journey. She buys all of the above, including a sandwich at the street where I meet Nam (she tells me to do the ordering). That evening, she's all bubbly about her morning buffet. "I'm going to order a sandwich every day," she says, and I don't want to sound too smug, but I tell her "Well, that sandwich kind of evolved over a period of a few weeks so you may want to go with me and we'll make it clear that you want my style of sandwich."

And I can't seem to get through a post without mentioning Nam. Today, again, he hands me a bag and shows me what is in it: green rice layered with custard and topped with sugar. Because he faked me out last time, I'm hesitant; however, he makes the same gesture I have seen more often lately: no, this is for you, from my heart. I eat it when I get to school and it's yummy. When he drops me off this afternoon, he asks if I want it again. What can I say to that but 'yes, thank you!' My driver is now bringing me breakfast.

Go back to oatmeal? I bought some a few weeks ago, but guess what...it is still in a tightly secured container...