Real Cooks

There are two characteristics of real cooks.

Real cooks can do more with an open flame than grill meat. Anyone can soak a steak or chicken in a marinade and slap it over coals--real cooks can take a fire and cook anything.

Real cooks keep the food coming. Dish after dish, plate after plate. No matter how many guests, real cooks make sure there are always delicious leftovers.

Lữ's cousin is a real cook. (It still amazes me how she can cook rice over an open fire, in a metal pot no less.)

Bánh tét

I've been told that in Vietnamese culture, people might not know on what day they were born. In contrast, they hold an enormous celebration to observe the day of an ancestor's death. To prepare for these celebrations, family and friends gather and cook enough dishes to feed a hundred people.

One of these dishes is bánh tét, a glutinous rice and filling mixture wrapped in banana leaves and cooked for hours. It's usually served for new years, hence the name tét. To prepare this dish requires many skills: preparing the ingredients, wrapping and binding the rolls, and boiling them--in this case, the ability to cook over a fire is another crucial skill. We got the chance to try our hands at making these savory and sweet rolls during a return trip to Vĩnh Long, to observe an annual death anniversary for the mother of the husband of Lữ's cousin.

As before, we traveled into the Mekong Delta by bus, and arrived at the house of Lữ's aunt, Dì Tư, on Friday. As before, Dì Tư welcomed us outside, hustled us into the house, and cracked open a coconut for each of us before spreading a heap of food on the table for our dinner. She made sweet grilled pork with lemongrass, and a chicken soup with bamboo shoots and green onions. Bamboo shoots happen to be in season; for the best bamboo, you have to go to the farmer, because the stuff in the market could be a few days old. For dessert, Dì Tư sliced open some yellow Thai rambutans and the sweetest longyans I've ever had. Bellies stuffed, we washed and headed for bed early, to be up around dawn and on our way to the cousins' to help make bánh tét.

In the morning, we rode scooters to the cousins' beautiful newly built house, nestled between a south-flowing cocoa-colored river and an orchard teeming with pomelo, green skinned oranges, papaya, and limes. Lu's cousin and several ladies I hadn't met before sat by the kitchen door and spread bowlfuls of a glutinous rice mixture of dried coconut, salt, sugar and green onion onto squares of banana leaf. Outside, her husband shoveled dirt from a trench, which is where he later put the footing for a wall. He looked up, saw me, smiled, and waved. Lu's cousin offered us iced coffee. I said, if it's no trouble. Her husband put down his shovel, started the kettle, cracked the ice, and assembled four mugs of coffee the color of milk tea.

Making bánh tét is a social occassion, an event that draws many helpers. Every square inch of cooking space in the kitchen was occupied by someone assisting in the preparation. The immediate reasons for all the helpers is obvious--I would estimate that it takes a skilled person about 10 minutes to fill and wrap a single roll. The ladies made more than 50, which would have taken one person an entire day to prepare. But the purpose of gathering to make bánh tét is more than pragmatic. People get together to because a common purpose instills a sense of community. Lữ observed that sense is missing in Vietnamese-American households, remembering all the times her mom would make bánh tét alone.

We sat on the floor and watched the bánh tét-making process. The rice mixture is spread on a banana leaf, then a doughy yellow stick of mung bean paste or short sweet bananas in syrup is laid on the rice. The whole banana leaf-rice-filling package is rolled up tight, bound three times, then tied up like a roast. The cord comes from a pretty little plant with a green, grassy crown. Depending on the way each bánh tét is tied, there will be either one or two braids of grass hanging from one end of the roll, which tells you what's inside--one braid for banana, two for beans.

While Mike and Lữ tried their hands at tying the rolls of bánh tét, I watched one of the ladies to pick up techniques and listened to hear what challenges met Mike and Lữ in their attempts. Apparently, it's bad to tie the rolls too loosely. Keeping this pointer in mind, I put some muscle into the task when I started to tie one up. My first couple of ties were nice and tight, and the banana leaf bulged from between the wrappings, with evenly-spaced bindings. But as I got to the middle of the roll, thick mikly coconut-rice liquid seeped from the bottom of the roll. My hands slipped from the viscousy goo, and the cords broke as I tried extra hard to keep hold. What started out as a neatly tied roll began to turn into a mess, which did not go unnoticed. My misfit bánh tét sent the ladies into fits of laughter.

I felt my face flush in my embarrassment. My first chance to do something in front of all these new people, and I screwed it up. I know I'm not supposed to take getting laughed at too seriously. I also know that the laughter wasn't scornful or mocking. If anything, it was supposed to be supportive, in a weird and unfamiliar way. But I'm hardwired by childhood tragedies to see getting laughed at as anything but supportive. I still have demons of public failure and ridicule to overcome.

Not everyone took notice of my mess-up with the bánh tét. The slapping sound of small feet on tile announced the arrival of a four-year-old boy who sprinted into the kitchen. With a buzz cut and bright orange polo, he crouched to slurp a strawful of iced tea from a thermos bucket among the grasslike strands on the floor. The kid was naive and clumsy, which made him fun to watch. I have to admit--actually, I hate to admit it--but the joy I felt in watching this little plodding kid probably wasn't much different from the joy the ladies felt in watching my blundering with the bánh tét binding. And, it kind of helped to drive the lesson home, too.

All the rolls, both one-braided and two, went into a 50-gallon pot to boil over a fire. Eight or nine hours later, the bánh tét was cooked, hanging to cool, and ready for the death anniversary on the following day. We got a preview taste, and sliced open a banana one to find the sugars had carmelized to a rich maroon color, and the rice had taken on a hint of green. It was absolutely beautiful. And now, we'll be taking home the recipe to cook them ourselves. For me, however, my first order of business when I get back will be to post pictures first.

Early Vietnam - Sa Huỳnh

The union of the Âu Việt and Lạc Việt cultures led to the rise of the Âu Lạc civilization. This merger marked a significant era in early Vietnamese history, because Âu Lạc is considered to be the first civilization that eventually became Vietnam. However, another civilization existed during the same time period in what is now southern Vietnam. This contemporaneous culture was the Sa Huỳnh. It preceeded Âu Lạc by about 800 years, and lasted half a millenium longer.

Artifacts of the Sa Huỳnh culture were found in the Mekong Delta region. These include glass and jade jewelry, particularly double-headed-animal earrings, as well as weapons and tools made of iron. Sealed jars with cremated ashes and offerings inside give us a clue as to how the Sa Huỳnh interred their dead.

The Sa Huỳnh culture had tremendous influence on Vietnamese history. Not only was it a trade center that drew Chinese traders through early Vietnam, they were also a channel for directing early Vietnamese products such as the bronze drums of the Đông Sơn throughout Southeast Asia. However, the Sa Huỳnh's most major contribution to Vietnamese history was its successors, the Champa. Vietnam's conflicts with the Champa lasted throughout the centuries, and the Champa's eventual defeat and assimilation shaped Vietnam's past and demography--a subject to be discussed at a later time.

As significant as Sa Huỳnh and its legacy was, no civilization shaped the course of Vietnamese history, or the nature of its society, as much as its northern neighbor. By the time Âu Lạc was only a few decades old, China had witnessed its most dramatic political and geographic change of all time. The first Chinese emperor brought all of the ancient states under a single authoritative power. With the establishment of a unified China, the Qin emperor's attention turned to conquering the trade routes and agriculturally productive lands to the south beyond the limits of his empire, and a new era in Vietnamese hisory began.

We'll leave history alone for now, and pick it up again in a few days.

Early Vietnam - Âu Lạc

The word Âu Lạc is exceptionally interesting. It's an amalgam of the words Lạc Việt and Âu Việt, the two major cultures that existed in northern Vietnam during the bronze age. But there's more to the name if you consider Vietnam's origin myth. The 100 children of the dragon lord and the daughter of the faeries were separated. Fifty accompanied their father, Lạc Long Quân, to the coast. They were called Lạc, after the dragon lord. The other fifty went to the mountains with Âu Cơ, their mother, and were thereafter called Âu. When these two groups merged and formed Âu Lạc, the cultural significance means that the descendants of the dragon and the faery were once again reunited.

For eighteen generations, the Hồng Bàng dynasty ruled the Lạc Việt people near modern day Đông Sơn, which is considered to be the first Vietnamese civilization. Meanwhile, a confederacy of tribes called the Âu Việt lived in the northern mountains, where Vietnam, Guangdong and Guangxi meet.

The Âu Việt were not the most powerful group in Vietnam. They did not enjoy the privilege of location that the Lạc Việt had. The trade-route between China and Southeast Asia passed through the flat coastal plains where the Lạc Việt held their kingdom. To be situated along this route was a very advantageous position for trade and prosperity. We know that the Lạc Việt engaged in far-reaching trade. Their bronze artifacts have been unearthed as far away as Java and Bali.

In 258 B.C.E. the Âu Việt seized control of Lạc Việt. A man named Thục Phán led an army from the mountains against the civilization on the coastal plains. Where Thục came from is still a matter of scholarly debate, whether he was ethnically Chinese, or native Vietnamese. In either case, historians agree that he defeated the 18th Hùng king, and he merged the Âu Việt and Lạc Việt cultures into one, called Âu Lạc. Whether his primary goal was the reunification of the descendants of the dragon and faery, or if it was to gain the advantageous position along the Southeast Asian trade-route, I can't say.

The Thục dynasty ruled Âu Lạc in Cổ Loa, just north of present day Hanoi. It lasted fifty years, until conquered by an army under the first emperor of unified China, and became Nam Việt under China's Qin Dynasty.

Far to the south, the Sa Huỳnh culture remained relatively isolated from Chinese influence. The cultural contributions that they and their successors made upon Vietnam are considerable, although less significant than the influence of the Chinese. We'll explore this culture a little bit tomorrow.

Early Vietnam - Đông Sơn

The other day, I posted about the dragon lord, Lạc Long Quân, the legendary father of Vietnam. In the post, I mentioned how Lạc Long Quân destroyed a monstrous fish that had plagued the early people of Vietnam. Lạc Long Quân took metal, melted it, molded it into the shape of a man, and threw the hot metal lure into the water. The fish swallowed the burning hot metal, which seared its throat. While it was distracted by the pain, the dragon lord attacked the giant fish with his sword and cut it into three pieces.

It's interesting to note the tremendous role that metal plays in Vietnam's origin myth. The story tells us that power belongs to those who can wield metal. This story belongs to the ancient Vietnamese, called the Lạc Việt. They were named after the dragon lord himself, and were descended from fifty sons that the dragon lord took with him to the coastal plains. The other fifty were sent to the mountains with their mother--I mention this because it will play a role a little later. Today, the people of Vietnam consider the Lạc Việt to be the beginning of Vietnamese culture. The Lạc Việt are believed to have founded a civilization called Văn Lang, sometime around 3000 B.C.E. Their relics are found near Đông Sơn in Northern Vietnam.

The Đông Sơn culture embodied the best of bronze-age technology. Their remains include a variety of iron and bronze tools, weapons, and musical instruments. Most of all, the Đông Sơn are world renowned for their masterful design of bronze drums. Highly embellished and elaborate, these drums were manufactured by lost-wax casting. Although China was a contemporary civilization that shared bronze-casting technology, some scholars believe the ancient Vietnamese borrowed the lost-wax casting technique from the ancient Thais. I'll let the scholars battle it out.

The Lạc Việt kings were called Hùng, their dynasty was the Hồng Bàng, and they are believed to have ruled for more than two and-a-half thousand years. Their rule ended when the Hùng were defeated by and then assimilated into another contemporary Vietnamese civilization, who were the descendants of the remaining fifty sons of the dragon lord. I'll discuss them and the final civilization that coexisted with the Lạc Việt over the next few posts.

The Stone Age

In a partially-excavated archaeological dig, in the northern Vietnamese province of Hòa Bình, a squirrely archaeologist's intern brushes caked Red River sediment off a piece of flaked cobble. The stone's sharp edge indicates that a prehistoric human has knapped, or shaped, one side of the stone into a sharp blade-like edge. This stone shares its single-edge characteristic with many other stone pieces found here and at 120 other sites. The edge is worn down, which suggests ancient hands put it to work. Perhaps the tool was used to open shells or comb coiled clay into pottery, because traces of both were also found at the site.

The rock tool is tagged, bagged, then dragged into a lab. An arcane carbon-dating procedure reveals that this knife sliced through organic material roughly 8,000 to 10,000 years ago. This tool dates back to roughly the same time period as many other tools in the region. Their discovery suggests that the culture that made them was widely distributed around the Red River delta toward the end of the last ice age. We might never know what word these people used to refer to themselves. We simply call them Hòa Bình, because that's the name of the region where we find their artifacts.

We find similar stone tools in other regions. In Phú Thọ province, the artifacts represent a much older culture than Hòa Bình. The people of the Sơn Vi culture lived between 12,000 and 20,000 years ago. Their remains have been found at 160 sites in northern Vietnam. Their knives are distinctly different from the ones in Hòa Bình. They are smaller, and the knapping is more rough.

Elsewhere, in Thanh Hóa, which is the same province where Hanoi is located, the evidence suggests a more recent stone-age culture. Called Đa Bút, they thrived about five to six thousand years ago. Their pottery is more advanced than the earlier cultures, and their stones tools are polished. The midden piles at these sites tell us that the people hunted and fished, and they probably had livestock and grew rice.

All of these cultures were stone-age, and yet they were quite different from one another. This difference is because the stone age is a gradient of humanity's shift from hunter-gatherer societies into agrarian ones. We see this shift manifested in the artifacts. The middle period knives of the Hòa Bình are larger, sharper, and more refined compared to the earlier Sơn Vi period. The finely polished tools in Thanh Hóa are more advanced still.

These tool advancements over time reflected a change in the way people lived. During the early stone age, humans migrated about the land on the hunt for megafauna. As they found fewer and fewer large animals to hunt, they also discovered the little, fast ones were quite difficult to catch. So they began to domesticate animals, grow plants, and sculpt heavy earthen vessels, with which to store food. There was an advantage to staying in one place, and so, human society became agricultural. Toolmaking skills became more finely honed, and toolmakers made more sophisticated tools.

This change from hunter-gatherers to agriculturalists happened gradually over millennia. However, whenever people settled in Vietnam remains a mystery. Our only option is to look at the things they left behind and make a guess. The tools of the Sơn Vi culture reveal to us that people were living in the Vietnam region at least 12,000 years ago, and as far back as 20,000 years. Whether they became the people we call the Hòa Bình, and eventually the Đa Bút people, the ancient tools cannot say.

Artifacts tell us some of what we want to know about their cultures, but not all. A stone knife or a midden of shells might give us a clue about what kind of food people ate. But the artifacts cannot give us details about the culture such as table manners, or how they used to say "please pass the clams."

The relics from the stone age give up few secrets about the transition into the bronze age. Perhaps the stone-age people learned about metal from a nearby civilization, but whether it was ancient Thailand to the west, or China to the north, scholars are still in disagreement. Or perhaps advanced foreigners settled in the rich river delta and shared bronze technology as they intermingled with the established stone-age cultures. It's also possible that the stone-age people were simply displaced by an aggressive, superior force. The artifacts don't say. The only thing we can say for certain is through their eventual disappearance--sometime around 5000 B.C.E., the stone-age gave way to the era of bronze.

Digging in the Dirt

Good scholars, honest scholars, will continue to differ about the interpretation of archaeological remains simply because archaeology is not a science. It is an art. And sometimes it is not even a very good art.

-William Dever

Reassembling the past from the archaeological record is like trying to piece together the last chapter of a novel when all the earlier chapters of the book have been torn to shreds; all you have to go by are have a mere handful of page scraps. To make sense of the ending, we analyze these scraps, categorize them, catalog them, and make an inference. But in the end, much of what we think we know is little more than an educated guess.

No matter how deep a hole you dig, you can always dig deeper. When digging into history, I have to ask myself: how deep is deep enough? Or, back to the tattered novel analogy, if the final chapter is the present, how many scraps and snippets will I need before I can make a reasonable statement about how we arrived at the final chapter?

We know the Vietnamese culture began about 3000 B.C.E., but I want to dig down a little deeper, to find out more about the people who became the Vietnamese. I have to look even farther back. But how far? Hominids have been living in Eastern Asia for the last 1.5 million years. These hominids may have been Homo erectus. And they could have been Homo eragaster. Just to make things interesting, these two could be the same species anyway--we just don't know. Such is the difficulty with anthropology.

Regardless, I'm sure I don't need to go back as far as 1.5 million years. Let's just dig down to, say, 40,000 to 60,000 years ago. That's about when the first humans migrated to Asia. From the moment of people's entrance into Asia, all the way to the beginning of the Hồng Bàng dynasty, this period is called the stone age. That's where (or rather, when) we'll pick up tomorrow.