Page 52 of A Banh Mi for Two
I nod. From what I’ve learned, street food is the soul of Sài Gòn.
“But enough about food—I could go on and on all day.” Bác Tu?n turns to me. “Con, you look like you have an important question to ask me.”
I’m almost caught off guard by his bluntness, almost, until I remember that’s just how Vietnamese people are. Straight to the point. No beating around the bush. I hand him the photograph of Mom’s family in front of Ch? B?n Thành, the question I’ve tossed and turned all night over slipping out of my mouth. “Do you… know who these people are?”
“Of course,” he says right away. “I went to high school with Hoa and Hi?n. We didn’t know each other well, but I should have more photos of them.”
My mind races with the information revealed to me: Hoa, Mom’s name, and Hi?n, my aunt’s name. Flower and Gentleness. One step closer to my family’s life in Vi?t Nam.
Bác Tu?n rummages through the back of the restaurant and returns with a photo album, smoothing out an old photograph of a group of students in front of a section of Sài Gòn unfamiliar to me.
“This was during our field trip to B?n Nghé, the Old French Quarter in District One.”
My eyes zero in on the non-Vietnamese architecture in the background. “The buildings, did you say that they’re French?”
Bác Tu?n nods. “That’s the Opera House and the City Hall, both built in the style of French colonial architecture.”
I remember what I had learned from A Bánh Mì for Two before coming to Sài Gòn: French imperialism in Vietnam.
As if reading my mind, Lan jumps in. “Even after independence, traces of imperialism remain. Not only the French, but also the Americans and the Japanese, too.”
“Like ph? and bánh mì,” I say aloud. “From the architecture to food… the cultural influences are everywhere.”
“Yes, but,” Bác Tu?n says, “it’s more than cultural influences. Vietnamese people are strong. We fought for freedom, and even if these influences linger, we’ve made them ours. We invented ph? from pot-au-feu and bánh mì from baguettes. These buildings are now a part of Sài Gòn. There’s so much history within this city.”
“I know.” I nod. “Being in this city makes me feel small but in a good way. Like my life is so tiny compared to the bigness of Sài Gòn and all of its history.”
Lan’s looking at me across the table, her gaze sending a tingling feeling throughout my body. “Because of Vivi, I’m learning how special this city is,” she says, her eyes not leaving mine.
I clear my throat and turn to Bác Tu?n. “Are these the students from your high school in the photograph?”
Bác Tu?n nods and points to the two girls in the back smiling with perfect teeth, both pointing to something out of frame. “That’s Hoa and Hi?n. They’re only a year apart, but they were best friends. They also had the biggest opinions in class, Hoa especially—she was known as the feisty girl. Pick on Hi?n? Hoa will beat you up.”
I chew on my lip—is that really Mom? Mom who never really says much? What changed? How weird it is to be looking at my aunt through a photograph, a moment captured long before I was born, and to hear about her life from a stranger. I wonder if Aunt Hi?n still talks to Mom, if she knows about me.
“How do you know Hoa and Hi?n?” Bác Tu?n asks, and I swallow.
I’m not ready to tell him, or anyone except Lan, about my mom and her story. “Someone I know is looking for Hi?n,” I say instead. “Do you… know where she might be now?”
Bác Tu?n looks at me, and I can see understanding passing through his face. Maybe he notices my cheekbones or my nose—whatever similar features I share with the women in the photo. “Last I heard, they live in District 2. Hoa and Hi?n’s mom used to sell bánh bao in Th? Thiêm. If you ask around there, I’m sure someone will know.”
If there’s one thing I know for sure about Mom, it’s that bánh bao is her comfort food. Bad day at work? She’ll sit through Little Saigon traffic congestion for a dozen bánh bao from her favorite bakery. Me leaving for “Singapore”? She’ll stuff my bag with bánh bao for the flight. Now the food that’s always been a part of my life seems way more important than it had ever been. It means something to Mom, and I wonder if it’s because she misses Sài Gòn.
“But,” Lan starts, her voice seemingly unsure, and my chest lurches. “There are so many bánh bao stalls in Th? Thiêm. We don’t even know if that one stall is still there.”
“It’s not.” Bác nods solemnly before massaging his temple in thought. “But I do remember a cathedral being by their home.”
“The cathedral from the photograph.” My heart beats faster. I could see it now, the route to Mom’s childhood home—to my answers—just waiting for me in Distict 2.
“If you ask the people around the cathedral, they should know of Hoa and Hi?n.”
“C?m on, Bác,” I say, a heavy weight in my chest. Every time we make progress and I learn more, the less I know how to feel. I’ll go to Th? Ð?c City and find my family, and then… what?
“Hey.” Lan nudges me and points to the left corner of the restaurant, where students are flocking to one another with pens and Post-it notes in their hands, scribbling something onto the sticky notes. “Why don’t we go over there?”
We excuse ourselves from Bác Tu?n and thank him for everything. I keep bowing, and Bác keeps insisting the food is on the house. I finally take in the rest of the restaurant, my eyes observing every nook and cranny. Yellow wallpaper brightens the small space. An oval bamboo light fixture glows warmly from the ceiling. Paintings of Vi?t Nam hang on the walls, some of H?i An and others of Hà N?i—places I’ve always wanted to visit. Finally, one little corner is decorated with paper flowers, lanterns, and an explosion of colorful sticky notes.
A tiny chalkboard reads Question of the Day: Where is your favorite place to eat?
