Mother's Day. Year five. Dim sum with Ma — the tradition holds. Same restaurant, same har gow, same chicken feet, same Ma critiquing the cheung fun ("still too thick").
This year Linh came, and Emma, and Lily. Four women and me at a round table in a noisy dim sum hall. I was the only man. I was also the only person at the table who couldn't use chopsticks to pick up a slippery dumpling on the first try (Lily has surpassed me — Ma's chopsticks gave her power).
Lily gave Ma a hand-drawn portrait. It's the best thing she's ever drawn — Ma's face, rendered in colored pencil, with the detail and patience of someone who spent hours looking at her grandmother's face and putting it on paper. Ma held it at arm's length (she won't admit she needs glasses) and said, "This is me?" Lily said, "Yes, Ba Noi." Ma said, "I look young." She does in the drawing. Lily drew her the way she sees her — not seventy-three, not old, just Ba Noi. Just the woman who teaches her to cook and gives her chopsticks and sings Vietnamese songs at Tet.
Ma put the portrait in her purse. I know it'll end up on the wall next to the digital photo frame, next to Huy's altar photo, next to the family she's built from a fishing boat and a recipe for pho.
Emma gave Ma a jar of her own nuoc cham — "Emma's Recipe," she'd labeled it, with the ratios written on the back. Ma tasted it at the table (she brought a spoon, because Mai Tran travels prepared). She tasted it and said nothing for five seconds. Then: "This is good. Different from mine. But good."
Different from mine. But good. That's the highest compliment a Vietnamese grandmother can give a granddaughter's sauce. It means: you are not me. You are yourself. And yourself is enough.
I drove Ma home. In the car, she said, "Your children are good cooks." I said, "They learned from their grandmother." She said, "They learned from their father." She paused. "Who learned from his mother." The chain, acknowledged. By the source herself.
Made myself suon nuong for dinner. The Sunday evening pork chops. The meal that means: the day is done, the people are fed, the love is distributed, and Bobby Tran is alone in his kitchen, eating well.
Ma said I learned to cook from her. I said the girls learned from their grandmother. We were both right, and the chain goes on without any of us having to announce it. When I got home that evening I didn’t want dim sum leftovers — I wanted something I made myself, something hot off the grill that smelled like ginger and lemongrass and the kind of Sunday evening that belongs only to you. This ginger lemongrass teriyaki grilled chicken is as close as I can get on a weeknight to the suon nuong energy I was after: a marinade that does the work while you decompress, a quick sear, and a plate that says the day is done and you fed yourself well.
Ginger Lemongrass Teriyaki Grilled Chicken
Prep Time: 15 minutes (plus 30 minutes marinating) | Cook Time: 14 minutes | Total Time: 59 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 boneless, skinless chicken thighs (about 1 1/2 lbs)
- 3 tablespoons soy sauce
- 2 tablespoons honey
- 1 tablespoon sesame oil
- 1 tablespoon rice vinegar
- 2 stalks fresh lemongrass, tough outer layers removed, tender inner core minced (about 2 tablespoons)
- 1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 teaspoon fish sauce (optional, adds depth)
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- 1 tablespoon neutral oil (for grill)
- Sliced scallions and sesame seeds, for garnish
- Cooked jasmine rice, for serving
Instructions
- Make the marinade. In a bowl or zip-lock bag, combine soy sauce, honey, sesame oil, rice vinegar, minced lemongrass, grated ginger, garlic, fish sauce (if using), and black pepper. Whisk or massage together until the honey is fully incorporated.
- Marinate the chicken. Add the chicken thighs to the marinade, turning to coat thoroughly. Cover and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, or up to 4 hours for deeper flavor. Remove from the refrigerator 10 minutes before grilling.
- Preheat the grill. Heat an outdoor grill or grill pan over medium-high heat. Brush the grates lightly with neutral oil to prevent sticking.
- Grill the chicken. Remove chicken from the marinade, letting excess drip off. Grill for 6–7 minutes per side, or until the internal temperature reaches 165°F and the exterior is nicely charred with caramelized grill marks. The honey in the marinade will deepen and caramelize — watch for flare-ups.
- Rest and serve. Transfer chicken to a plate and let rest for 5 minutes. Slice or serve whole over jasmine rice. Garnish with sliced scallions and a pinch of sesame seeds.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 310 | Protein: 34g | Fat: 13g | Carbs: 14g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 720mg
About the cook who shared this
Bobby Tran
Week 163 of Bobby’s 30-year story
· Houston, Texas
Bobby Tran was born in a refugee camp in Arkansas to parents who fled Saigon with nothing. He grew up in Houston straddling two worlds — Vietnamese at home, Texan everywhere else — and learned to cook from his mother's pho and a neighbor's BBQ smoker. He's a former shrimper, a recovering alcoholic, a divorced dad of three, and the guy who marinates brisket in fish sauce and lemongrass because he doesn't believe in borders, especially when it comes to flavor.