We’ll Be Dreaming Differently

Yuck – Georgia

Before I was raised by the Internet, or even my parents, I was raised by my great-aunt. For the first six years of my life, she was the only “grandmother” I knew. Until I was 3 and entered preschool, I was dropped off in Chinatown to live with my great-aunt and her family while my mom went to work in a medical office nearby. It was her that instilled in me a very simple philosophy.

You eat. You nap. You wake up, and you eat again.

This will be a surprise to the five people who read this, but up until I was about 7, I couldn’t stand it. Eat, sleep, eat? That’s enough to drive any kid mad. Being a very elderly couple, her children were already in college, or joined the workforce. There was very little to entertain me. From age 3 to 8, my appetite for adventure and excitement outweighed my appetite for food. Yes, I was very different back then.

I can remember the days when I used to have a spring-loaded Raphael action figure from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It was the only action figure that I left at my great-aunt’s house.  When you pushed him down forward, he’d do a backflip. I never figured out the perfect bending angle, though. Nine times out of ten, I’d try to flip it, and it would land on its head instead of its feet. It was a poorly designed action figure. Other than the spring loaded action, it was impotent. A diseased one trick pony. Needless to say, it wasn’t my favorite toy. I liked my disfigured toys the most. The action figures that have limbs missing, that are flimsy from years and years of crashing to the floor and smashing into fortresses made of LEGOS. I grew accustomed to their flaws. The fact that they were still able to service my endless desire to be a transcendent fighter made them endearing. My band of injured soldiers. They couldn’t talk, and couldn’t move without my guiding hands, and yet, they were the ones who led me through my childhood. That, and my great-aunt’s philosophy.

My dread was somehow amplified by my great-aunt’s consistency with her favorite dishes. She made the same dishes, over and over and over again, like clockwork:

• Nem nuong (Vietnamese style meatloaf)
• Banh beo (Silver-dollar sized, steamed rice flour “pancakes”)
• Goi (Vietnamese coleslaw)
• Cha gio (Egg rolls Heaven on Earth)

Perhaps the only thing atoning for her absolute lack of variety was the fact that I’d be able to have her egg rolls daily. I don’t think it’s possible to explain how perfect these egg rolls are. I’ll give it a shot though.

Before I continue, these aren’t those disgusting “egg rolls” they used to serve for lunch at elementary school. The ones looking like culturally conflicted chimichangas, which are, on a primary level, a convoluted self-parody.

With that out of the way, my great-aunt have made the same type of cha gio, seemingly since Ferdinand Magellan was slaughtered by Lapu-Lapu and his army in the Philippines. (This of course, being after the Fujian brought lumpia to the natives. Lucky them. Probably had a nice snack after successfully warding off the first, but unfortunately not last, wave of Spanish conquest.)

If that wasn’t clear, these egg rolls aren’t from some horrible recipe that came up first on a Google search from about.com. My great-aunt has had the same recipe for decades. Ground pork, carrot, glass noodles, shrimp, and black fungus. Yeah, black fungus sounds gross, but don’t let it stifle your interest. It’s too glorious for that.

Oh, and it probably contains an obscene amount of MSG. I haven’t confirmed this with anyone, but no way it could taste this good without some kind of umami boost.

Compact and almost airtight in its seal, the egg roll is not airy-crisp. It is crunchy. Very crunchy. Kettle chip crunchy. As a result of tight bind, it has to be cooked at an almost abnormally low heat for the egg roll to cook thoroughly. As a result of its prolonged exposure to heat, the outer shell has some serious crunch, while the inside is cooked thoroughly and still moist. It’s the perfect snack.

You could say that these egg rolls helped define what I’ve become. Even though I still have haunting memories whenever I eat her nem nuong, I’ve never refused an egg roll. And while I’m no where near the age where this is appropriate, I think I can agree that youth is wasted on the young. If I knew that eating and napping would become a luxury threatened by extinction, I would have cherished those fleeting years of my life to no end. It’s too late for that now. All I can do is stay thankful. To the great-aunt that taught me what was/is truly important.