Translations : The Vietnamization of Paula

Having grown up in an Italian-American home, I believed that love would strike with the intensity of a thunderbolt, at first sight. That very clearly describes my first meeting with my Vietnamese husband, Lac. That is, the thunderbolt struck after I realized he was a man.

It all began with a decision to take karate lessons. I had trained for approximately four months, long enough to contract the dreaded “dojo princess” syndrome, a malady that often afflicts females in this male-dominated sport. Oh, yes, I was serious about the training--so long as I didn’t have to cut my fingernails and no one actually touched me.

One night before class, I entered the office of the instructor to greet him. He sat at his desk, puffing on asphyxiating Korean cigarettes and talking quietly with a youngster, whom I assumed to be a new class member. Smiling, I directed my attention toward him--or was it her? I really wasn’t certain: Shoulder-length hair, softly dimpled baby face, and an untied karate uniform offered no clues to the sex of this newcomer. Not even the instructor’s introduction settled this matter: the name came out in one long, indecipherable word. “This is Chranvanlock.”

“Perhaps,” I thought, “I’ll befriend this little novice, help him get the feel of dojo life. Maybe I could work privately with him, introduce the first form.” Bowing, I left the office to enter the dojo.

After greeting my classmates, I set about warming up on the mats. I was so absorbed in my stretching that I missed the undercurrent rippling through the large gym. “He’s here!” I overheard a senior brown belt exclaim. “Tonight! The Grand Master from Vietnam. Former Southeast Asian Champion.” The room buzzed with excitement.

Then the door swung open, and the clamor suddenly fell silent. All eyes riveted on the entrance. Briefly, nothing. Then he appeared. The Grand Master paused, surveyed the group--was that disgust I read in his eyes?--then strode into the room, resolutely tying his gi with the wide black belt, symbol of a master.

The transformed Oriental doll--the youngster I had planned to introduce to dojo experience--signaled the senior student to prepare us for bowing in. Within minutes all the students in the room knew they were indeed in the presence of an extraordinary force.

I kicked higher than I had ever kicked, punched harder than I had ever punched, and screamed the karate scream kiai louder than I ever wish to again. I caught him watching me out of the corner of his eye. Was he impressed?

He started toward me, threading a path among the students. As he passed me, without breaking stride, without even acknowledging me, he whispered, “You’re doing it wrong.”

The first words of the man I had by then determined to marry. The only words he spoke to me for three months. But he’s been saying them to me ever since!

About six months after our first meeting, Lac invited me to dinner at his home--a major breakthrough, or so I thought. After changing clothes five times and redoing my hair, I set out, determined to impress his family. Little did I know what that would entail.

Several Americans were there, including the couple who had sponsored Lac’s family out of the refugee camp. Delightful people, they befriended me and spent the evening making polite conversation. I followed their lead, for I knew nothing of civilized behavior in Vietnamese households.

Dinner started with a clear, piquant soup studded with tiny Vietnamese meatballs and was followed by chicken with black bean sauce, a Chinese-style stir-fry of shrimp, pork, beef and vegetables, huge servings of Vietnamese barbecued pork and, finally, fried rice. It was great food and, to a bumpkin like me, really exotic. I felt I was doing something very international.

Finally, the other couple rose to leave. I, too, stood up, bowed and began my profuse thanks. “No,” Lac stated flatly. “The real meal is just starting. You must stay to sample our food.”

Sample our food? What did he think I had just done? Having found the flavors strange but mouth-watering, I had gorged myself to the point of humiliation, I thought. My confusion must have registered clearly on my face, for Ha, Lac’s younger sister, laughed and said, “Oh yes, feasting will go on for hours. You must not leave now.”

I stayed but felt totally out of place. The change in atmosphere when all of the Americans left was palpable. Conversations among the family and guests reverted to Vietnamese only, and they swirled around me like swarms of bumblebees.

The women gathered in the kitchen to prepare the “second” serving--foods I could not even identify at the time: cellophane noodle and octopus soup; bitter melon stuffed with ground pork and more cellophane noodles; pickled fresh vegetables; sow’s ear sausage and Vietnamese-style pressed turkey; octopus stuffed with ground pork and, finally, plain rice and fruit.

No longer were we served on fine china plates with silverware. Before me appeared a small rice bowl and chopsticks (which someone thoughtfully exchanged for a fork). For a woman whose most exciting culinary experience had been adding Heinz 57 sauce to her hamburger patties, this dinner proved an amazing preview of coming events.

If I have learned anything in my decade as wife to a Vietnamese refugee-boatperson-karate champion-turned-systems-analyst, it’s that all Asian men should come equipped with an instruction manual. My first lesson introduced me to the degree of male dominance in the Vietnamese community.

A prime example is taxes. From the first year of our marriage I inherited the responsibility of all bookkeeping, including the computation of taxes. In short order, my in-laws’ accounts also became my responsibility.

To this day, every time I deliver the completed forms for their approval and signatures, Ba, my father-in-law, very studiously reviews my figures, then hands the forms to Lac for confirmation. Lac, this same man who would rather pet a rattlesnake than consult an instruction booklet for Form 1040A; this same man who once seriously suggested deducting our dog’s vet fees as medical expenses; this same man who believes a debit is a small, fluffy creature with big eyes. This man sees nothing odd about assuring Ba that my figures seem to be in order.

Another point to ponder in the Vietnamization of Paula is the divergent philosophies of child-rearing. As military brats, my siblings and I were taught “sir-yes-sir” obedience from our infancy. My parents’ word was never open to challenge. In their world children had a place, but that place was designated by parents.

That approach would not sell in Saigon. In all my years in the culture, I have never seen a child younger than 10 being disciplined--not even so much as scolded. On the contrary, I was once chided for attempting to prevent my 5-year-old son from dismantling the toilet at his Ong Noi’s (grandfather’s) house.

The amazing paradox is that at some point in their development, these unrestrained little demons metamorphose into obedient, polite youngsters. One day tiny terrorists; the next, adolescent exemplars. How that transition occurs remains one of the seven great mysteries, but I continue to burn incense in the hopes that the conversion will occur in my sons’ lives as well.

After 10-plus years, I find I am still adjusting, still accommodating to a difficult but intriguing mind-set. I am challenged to think, communicate--and to cook--as a Vietnamese.

Fortunately for me I have the most patient of teachers, and one of the most accomplished cooks as my culinary mentor: Lac’s mother, Ma.

On family occasions, Lac and I always arrive early at his parent’s house, ostensibly for me to help prepare for the guests. At first Ma kindly assigned me innocuous, Paula-proof tasks. I set the table, filled glasses with ice, ladled food into serving bowls--hardly responsibilities that require an accomplished cook.

Later, as Ma became more comfortable with me, she began my conversion to “Oriental wife” by teaching me to cook. Ma and I have collaborated on the following recipes for inexperienced cooks--or for more sophisticated chefs with limited time. Don’t let their simplicity fool you; they are tasty, attractive, nutritious, and as Ma says, “Paula-proof.”

This is an excerpt from “Living and Cooking Vietnamese,” Corona Publishing, $10.95 .

GOI GA

Vietnamese Chicken Salad

1 large chicken

4 teaspoons salt

1 very small head cabbage, finely chopped

2 teaspoons oil

1 medium onion, finely chopped

1/4 cup vinegar

2 teaspoons sugar

2 serrano chiles, finely chopped

2 teaspoons chopped cilantro

Steam chicken until very tender. Remove meat from bones and shred. Discard fat and skin.

Sprinkle 3 teaspoons salt over cabbage and set aside.

Heat oil in small skillet over high heat. Add onion and cook until browned and crisp but not burned.

Mix vinegar, sugar and remaining 1 teaspoon salt in small bowl.

Wash cabbage and drain on paper towels or in colander. Pour vinegar mixture over cabbage, then add chiles and cilantro. Stir in chicken pieces and onion. Serve salad cold or hot. If desired, serve over rice or noodles. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

HEO SOT CA

(Fried Pork With

Tomato Sauce)

1 tablespoon oil

2 pounds pork chops, cut 1-inch thick

1/4 cup fish sauce

2 tablespoons soy sauce, optional

1 cup water

1/4 cup sugar

1 tablespoon tomato paste

2 to 3 cloves garlic, chopped

Heat oil in large skillet over medium heat. Place chops in skillet and cover. Cook until browned on 1 side, then turn and brown other side, keeping skillet covered.

When pork is fully browned, about 30 minutes, combine fish sauce, soy sauce, water, sugar and tomato paste. Push all pork chops to 1 side of skillet, then add garlic and cook until tender. Pour in sauce mixture and simmer, uncovered, 20 minutes, or until sauce thickens.

Remove chops from pan and slice across grain into strips. Serve pork over rice on serving plate and pour sauce over entire dish. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

This is one of my favorite soups, but it looks overwhelming to prepare. Thus, I suggest some shortcuts I have adopted when I don’t have a full day to cook. The barbecue slivers can be bought. Most Oriental restaurants and many groceries prepare this pork daily. And the shrimp can be added to the soup without being deep-fried in batter. Simply clean and boil for approximately two minutes.

HU TIEU

(Barbecue and

Shrimp Soup

4 to 6 pork soup bones (about 4 pounds)

1 (8-ounce) package dried squid

2 (4-ounce) packages dried shrimp

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 large onion, chopped

1 tablespoon canned preserved cabbage

1/2 teaspoon MSG

1 tablespoon salt or to taste

1/2 teaspoon sugar

2 tablespoons sesame oil

1 (1-pound) package rice noodles, cooked and drained

Thin slices Lac’s Pork or char siu pork

Batter-Fried Shrimp

Chopped cilantro or parsley, bean sprouts and thinly sliced small hot chiles, optional

Wash bones carefully. Combine bones with 2 gallons water in stockpot and boil gently 1 hour. (Skim foam as it develops to keep water clear.) Rinse dried squid and shrimp and add to pot. Boil 30 minutes longer.

Heat 2 tablespoons vegetable oil in small skillet until very hot. Remove from heat and immediately toss in onion. Stir quickly, but do not fry. As soon as onion changes color to pale yellow, pour into soup. Boil 15 minutes, then add preserved cabbage, MSG, salt to taste and sugar. (Broth smells very fishy while cooking, but tastes fine.) Strain broth. Prior to serving, stir in sesame oil.

To serve, half-fill large soup bowls with cooked noodles. Place several pieces pork on noodle bed. Fill with soup broth. Add fried shrimp as desired. Garnish with cilantro, bean sprouts and hot chiles, if desired. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

Lac’s Pork

1 (2 1/2-ounce) packet Noh’s char siu powder (available in Oriental food stores)

1/2 cup sesame oil

1 tablespoon fish sauce

2 cups water

2 finely chopped green onions

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1 teaspoon Mei Yen or MSG, optional

3 pounds center-cut pork chops or lean spareribs

Combine char siu mix, sesame oil, water and fish sauce. Stir in water, green onions, garlic and Mei Yen. Cut meat from bone and trim fat. Add pork to marinade, thoroughly coating each piece. Refrigerate at least 2 hours, preferably overnight. Barbecue over charcoal grill or broil in oven until well done. Serve very thinly sliced over soup or bed of crisp lettuce and cucumbers. Excellent with steamed rice or on French bread. Makes 4 servings.

Note: Heat remainder of marinade to boiling and pour over pork immediately before serving, if desired.

Batter-Fried Shrimp

12 to 16 shrimp

1/2 cup self-rising flour

1 to 1 1/2 cups water

1 green onion, finely chopped

Oil for deep-frying

Peel shrimp, leaving on tails. Clean and devein.

Combine flour and enough water to form batter. If desired mix in green onion.

Heat oil to 375 degrees. Holding shrimp by tails, dip into batter and deep fry until golden brown, about 2 to 3 minutes. Drain on paper towels. Makes 12 to 16.

THIT BO CUON LA LUOP

(Beef in Grape Leaves)

25 canned grape leaves

1 pound lean ground beef

3 to 4 cloves garlic, minced or pressed

2 teaspoons fish sauce

2 teaspoons minced ginger root

1/2 teaspoon sugar

Dash black pepper

1/4 cup finely chopped green onions

Dipping Sauce

Rinse grape leaves in hot water, then drain. Combine ground beef, garlic, fish sauce, ginger, sugar, pepper and green onions in bowl. Mix well.

Place leaf on cutting board, vein side up, stem end toward you. Snip off stem. Place generous tablespoon meat mixture close to stem, patting into log-shape. Fold sides of leaf over mixture, then roll leaf away from you. Repeat with remaining leaves and meat mixture.

Skewer several rolls together through center. Place about 6 inches from medium hot coals 10 to 12 minutes. Serve with Dipping Sauce.

Dipping Sauce

1/4 cup fish sauce or soy sauce

1/2 cup water

2 tablespoons vinegar

2 teaspoons sugar

1/2 to 3/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 to 3 tablespoons finely shredded ginger

2 tablespoons shredded carrot

Combine fish sauce, water, vinegar, sugar, red pepper flakes and garlic in small bowl. Stir in ginger and carrot. Cover and refrigerate until ready to use. Makes 3/4 cup.