What can we learn from the Banh Mi
Today, I want to talk about a sandwich. But not just any sandwich—the banh mi. Every culture has its sandwich: Cuba has the Cuban, Mexico has the torta, and Philadelphia has the cheesesteak. In Vietnam, we have the banh mi. If you've never had the pleasure, let me take you there. Picture this: a crispy baguette, slathered with creamy mayo and pâté, stuffed with savory meats, pickled daikon and carrots, fresh cilantro, and slices of spicy jalapeño. It’s a harmony of flavors—sweet, savory, spicy, and fresh—all in one bite.
My parents immigrated to the States after the Vietnam War, without anything or anyone else with them. They craved the foods that they grew up with. One of my most vivid childhood memories was our family’s regular 45-minute drive to Chicago’s Northside, Argyle Street, to the nearest Vietnamese grocery store. We’d spend hours gathering ingredients: fish sauce, lemongrass, rice paper, and sometimes live chickens—everything needed to make Vietnamese dishes like pho, chao, and of course, banh mi.
To be honest as a child, I resented my mother’s cooking. The amount of time it took to get the groceries, the time to make the food, and the smell it exuded throughout the house. I hated it all.
The prep seemed endless, —the pounding of lemongrass, the careful dicing of garlic, the smell of the fish sauce, the time to stew, marinade, roll, and cook, I always had to help with whatever my mother needed. I felt 90% of my childhood was spent in the kitchen. It seemed like so much work for something I wished could be as simple as a three-ingredient Betty Crocker mix.
Even with all of that effort. I just wanted what my classmates had: Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, turkey sandwiches, anything made by Betty Crocker . I didn’t want to explain to anyone why we ate differently, why we looked differently, even smelled differently, but that was my reality, in a world that I wanted to conform it was not a reality for me.
As a first-generation Vietnamese American, I grew up straddling two worlds: the Vietnamese culture I was raised in and the American culture that surrounded me. These two worlds often felt in constant conflict, never quite blending together—just like the grocery stores, the American one down the street, while Arglye was separated by a 45-minute drive, each representing a different side of my identity.
Food is as nostalgic as it gets
Life comes in funny ways. As I got older, the very food I rejected was what I started to crave. After college, when I felt lost or homesick, I sought out banh mi. It wasn’t just because it’s a great sandwich; it brought me comfort, a taste of home. In my culinary adventure, I began doing what my parents had done. I’d drive to the nearest Asian market, gather the ingredients, and set out to make the perfect banh mi.
For most people, the banh mi is just a sandwich. Over time I’ve seen people refer to Vietnamese food as “trendy”. Chefs like like Anthony Bourdain (RIP) stating how he loved Vietnamese food, and Banh Mi shops even make the best sandwich states on Yelp (Hawaii, Nebraska, New Jersey, New Mexico).
This sandwich, the banh mi, is evolving, but it is also a product of history. It’s a symbol of French colonization in Vietnam. The French are the ones that brought the baguette to Vietnam. Not just the baguette, the pâté, and cured meats, they all come from the French style. The pickled vegetables and herbs are distinctly Vietnamese flavours. The Banh Mi is a blend of cultures that seem like they don’t belong together, but the result is extraordinary.**
This is the lesson that I’ve learned from the Banh Mi. The Banh mi is a connection. It links us to our past, our families, and our culture. It’s constantly evolving. It’s a reminder that I’m not a clash of two worlds. I’m a blend of influences, experiences, and backgrounds and evolution. I can embrace both parts of myself and create something even greater.
So today, I challenge you to think about the different pieces of your life. The parts that may feel like they don’t fit. The things that make you feel different, or separate, or out of place. Don’t reject them. Don’t hide from them. Because those are the very things that make you unique.
Embrace all the pieces of who you are. Blend them. Meld them. Create something new and extraordinary from the contradictions, just like the banh mi.
**Bread making Nerd Alert: Even how the baguette is made is different from French. The Vietnamese baguette uses instant dry yeast instead of an active yeast, because of the environment. The proof time is also quicker.
