Justin Nguyen

Professor Li

ENG 101-005

1 September 2016

            Why would a person ever eat food that’s older than them? I would almost never eat 50-year-old fish, or eat congealed blood. In any source of Western sensibility, how can I eat a dish that taste like ammonia. Mr. Zimmern must be brave, insane, or both. Under the familiar yellow arches of any fast food joint, I dip a French fry into the most artificial ice cream ever. Heart attack bliss.

            In the grand scheme of discovery, weird is delicious, if simply put. The taste of the sweet and salty creates a symphony of flavor. This is only the beginning of an obsession with unique food. At the instant of discovery, the TV’s glow beckoned me to the light. A white Caucasian man visited the land of my forefathers, where Pho is home and French food is everywhere. This man is eating a beating organ that continues to beat outside the body. A local delicacy that is. As a minor in the great West, I did not react with disgust, but interest. My people eat this? As the clock winds away, my brain seemed to be sucking the experience through every desire I had, but not hunger. After the show passed, I lounged across the kitchen to discover what great masterpiece to make. A peanut butter, jelly, and chip sandwich tasted delightful even it was a mess to eat.

            If only a matter of time later, I’m sucked into a family gathering with recent immigrants of my own. I have never had fresh goose before, or seen one actually butchered in front of my young eyes. “Interesting”, I say. In the supermarket, food is packaged with gleaming plastics and vibrant colors. From the basement of Grandma’s house, I saw the real work behind eating meat. Everything was used even the life flowing through out veins, a rare occurrence in my land. My native side revolts at the sight, but my heritage shows a tradition beyond my family, but among families. A dash of lemon, salt, and pepper is all that’s needed. A peculiar sight for me, but a familiar sight for myself. I did not need to taste the dish to understand the essence of it.

            For the end of the party, another dish appeared out of thin air, or out of the work of 10 people in the kitchen. Cá lẩu! Fish hot pot! As I scurry along to my seat in the grand table, I noticed an odd detail. In the hot pot, a fish head lies cooking in the broth. Disgusting may have been the first word I said, but my uncle explains the dish as a cultural blending of France and Vietnam. Vietnam loves the herbs and freshness, while France loves flavor from all sources. A cultural combination of deliciousness and discovery as I lean how to eat as another of my own.

            In all the thoughts that plague my mind, I involuntarily missed cuisine that coursed through the very veins I see from every trip to the ER. I now understand the importance of food, not just for nourishment, but as a connection to the very DNA that has been passed down from the beginning.