Sen - The Lotus

The Trojan War hero Odysseus sailed his army home to Ithaca when vicious north winds sent by Poseidon blew his ship off course, out to sea, and far from home. The hapless ship floated for nine days, and may have drifted forever if they hadn't landed on an island off the coast of Northern Africa. On the island lived a people who ate a food made from the flowers of the lotus. These wave-weary warriors were welcomed by the peaceful people, and were fed the lotus that made them immediately forget all desire to return home. If it hadn't been for the integrity of Odysseus, who dragged his men to the ship, locked them to their oars, and led them back to the sea toward Greece, than Homer would've told a shorter, somewhat less-epic story.

Homer's seminal work is a double-edged trimming shears for the poor lotus. On one hand, the plant is praised for providing some sort of scrumptious sustenance--a real rib-sticker. On the other hand, the innocent flower is portrayed as a demon of apathy, lulling the eater into losing all sense of responsibility and desire. Not only does this portrayal give the lotus an unfair shake, we're not even sure which lotus these Greeks were munching on with their gyros and dolmas. There are many dozens of plants in the genus Lotus, a type of terrestrial legume. Some other plants with the name lotus aren't lotuses at all, but are actually waterlilies. Yet all are much maligned by their nominal association with the plant from Homer's epic yarn.

The Vietnamese word for lotus is sen.

There's a plant called lotus that perfectly fits the description for the story in one esteemed respect--tasty cuisine. The Indian lotus does more than just sit and look pretty. Its roots, seeds, flowers, and leaves are all delicious. Steep tea from the petals, leaves, and stamens. Eat the seeds raw, pop them in a pan like popcorn, boil them in a fruit tea, or mash them up and stuff the paste into mochi or pastry. Peel the roots, slice them thin, and boil them in chicken broth until tender; serve with rice. Or pickle them, then slice, toss with herbs, cooked shrimp, shredded pickled carrots and daikon, and dress with fish sauce, peanuts and fried shallots. Tie it all up in a lotus leaf for convenient packaging, then unwrap, and you have your own plate--environmentally friendly, too.

The Taipei Botanical Garden

Perhaps another grace that might save the Indian lotus from being implicated as the lotus in the Odyssey is the fact that the Indian lotus is not a lotus at all, technically. Real lotuses are legumes, a.k.a. bean plants. And it's not a waterlily either, but it's very similar. The lotus grows in the same kind of soil as the lily: mud. Please excuse the rather non-technical term. This mud, as messy as it sounds, contributes to one of the most important aspects of the lotus. Many cultures place deep symbolic meaning on the unspoiled splendor that rises from its inauspicious bed of muck. The Hindus associate the lotus with their most divine gods. The Buddhists equate the elegant lotus with Buddha, who himself became enlightened beneath a tree on the muddy shores of a river. From mud, the lotus blooms. Out of the crude, perfection.

Our lotus pond

On our patio, we have a lotus plant. It lives in a five gallon clay pot brimming with mud, water, and flecks of floating yellow-green duckweed. Eight rigid stalks, the color of emerald, rise above the water to chest height. Each stalk terminates in a single broad leaf like an elephant's ear. All stalks begin underwater, all curled up like a rolled tongue. They pierce the surface of the water and rise at a rate of nearly half a foot a day. So too does the teardrop shaped bud, which unfolds into a bloom with a canary yellow seed cup tucked away among the petals. From the time they emerge from the water, the lotus flowers grow to full height of five feet, blossom, and drop all their petals within 10 days, leaving only the stem and iconic seed cup. The petals are so heavy and full of body that you can hear them hit the ground when they drop from the flower.

Our lotus bears white flowers. The pure white lotus is the national flower of India; for Vietnam, it's the pink. The pink ones can be found in gardens and fountains all over the place in Saigon. Lữ says it's hard to find a white lotus plant here. The person who sold it to her must have thought it was pink--otherwise it would have cost much more. Of course, expense is a relative term. A bouquet of ten lotuses, cut in 30-inch long stems and wrapped in its own leaf, costs less than two dollars. Taken home, trimmed, and placed in a vase with water, they bloom overnight. And if you nuzzle your nose between the petals for a sniff, you'll find a spicy-sweet, tropical flavor. To me, it's faintly reminiscent of anise, which Mike confirmed in a blind sniff test. Lữ is not sold on the comparison, and prefers to describe them as having a fresh, green scent, which I also find to be true.

Our bouquet is already falling apart. With every pass of the oscillating fan, another white petal drops to the ground with a heavy tap. Like so many things in life, lotus blossoms do not last long. Soon after they bloom, they are gone, leaving you with a lovely memory and all of its trappings, like appreciation, wonder, and loss. Perhaps that's the reason why the lotus is a symbol for non-attachment. It invites us to admire its growth, appreciate its unstained beauty, watch it fade, and let it go. Although the lotus-eaters in Odysseus's story lost their desire to return home, they were still attached. They lusted for their lotus food. So, obviously, it was not the sacred lotus. And besides, I seem to remember the lotus in the story was a tree.