I remember my first Tet (Vietnamese/Lunar New Year) with my BF's family, when I cluelessly scanned over the wide array of food. I picked up a piece of what looked like a kind of ham, put it in my mouth, and probably said something along the lines of, "Sweet Jesus, this is good." I asked the BF what it was, and he thought for a second about how to describe it to a white boy from rural Pennsylvania and said, "Uh...Vietnamese bologna?" It sort of does look and feel like bologna.
Ever since, I've used that description, but I'm not sure it's fair to call cha lua (or gio lua, as they call it in northern Vietnam) bologna, since it brings to mind that nasty crap from the supermarket. Let's just call it sausage (I know, I know, bologna
is a sausage). Whatever you want to call it, I've been obsessed with cha lua since my first experience with it that Lunar New Year. This past Tet, I apparently got carried away with loving the cha lua, judging by the way an aunt glared at me as she silently picked up a plate of it and removed it from my vicinity. Okay, maybe I was going a little overboard, but in my defense, it's impossible to just eat one or two pieces. Now, whenever I find myself at an Asian market, I always feel compelled to buy a roll or two of my own, either to eat myself or give away--I've found it makes an awesome and well-received gift. The BF's mom actually sent me home this week with two rolls of it (one of which is pictured above), which is what inspired this diary.
So what is it? I actually know the answer to this, since I foolishly attempted to make it using my wok as a steamer. While I failed miserably and ruined my wok in the process, I did learn a thing or two about what goes into cha lua. There are many variations, and everybody's Vietnamese mother has a different way of doing it, but it is essentially ground pork mixed with fish sauce, tapioca flour, single-acting baking powder, and a few other things (perhaps whole peppercorns). This pork base is called gio song, and it can be used to make other things, such as pork pate. When it is wrapped in banana leaves (for added flavor) and steamed, it is called cha (or gio) lua.
I know I've developed a reputation as a pho fanatic, but cha lua just might be my favorite Vietnamese food. It is incredibly versatile--you might even call it ubiquitous in Vietnamese cuisine. It plays a particularly special role during Tet, when it is sometimes placed on the ancestral altar in the home and offered to relatives who have passed on. Aside from that, there are many, many things that can be done with cha lua. You may recall when I wrote about the spicy soup bun bo Hue, in which pieces of cha lua can be found. Or it can be put on a baguette with pickled carrots and daikon, mayonnaise, and cucumber and be made into a sandwich (banh mi cha lua). Or, for Tet, it can be used as a filling for banh day, or a sticky rice cake with a backstory and tradition that deserves a diary of its own. Or it can go with banh cuon, a kind of steamed rice roll or crepe. Or you could just fry it and call it cha chien. And that's just scratching the surface. It can be eaten with plain steamed rice (one of my BF's favorite childhood dishes was steamed rice mixed with cha lua and dill pickles). My typical way of eating it, though, is cold and plain, straight out of the refrigerator. I haven't seen a wrong way to eat cha lua yet.
So that's a little introduction to cha lua. Now, if you find yourself in an Asian market anytime soon, be sure to look for those pretty green rolls. You won't be sorry! (Or maybe you will be, if steamed pork rolls aren't your thing...)
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Kitchen Table Kibitzing is a community series for those who wish to share part of the evening around a virtual kitchen table with kossacks who are caring and supportive of one another. So bring your stories, jokes, photos, funny pics, music, and interesting videos, as well as links—including quotations—to diaries, news stories, and books that you think this community would appreciate. Readers may notice that most who post diaries and comments in this series already know one another to some degree, but newcomers should not feel excluded. We welcome guests at our kitchen table, and hope to make some new friends as well.
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