Vegan Banh Mi Ginger Lime Hummus — Ma’s Kitchen Lives in Every Vietnamese Flavor

Tet. Vietnamese Lunar New Year. Year of the Rooster. In the Tran household, Tet was always the biggest event of the year — bigger than Christmas, bigger than Thanksgiving. When I was a kid, Ma spent a week preparing: cleaning the house top to bottom, cooking enough food to feed an army, setting up the altar with incense and fruit and photos of ancestors. Huy wore his good shirt. Linh and I wore ao dai — the traditional Vietnamese garment. Neighbors came. Food was everywhere. Red envelopes with money for the kids. Firecrackers in the driveway (back when that was legal). Now it's smaller. Huy is gone. Linh has her own family. The neighborhood has changed. But Ma still does Tet. She still cleans the house. She still sets up the altar — Huy's photo is front and center now, next to his parents' photos and a stick of incense that Ma lights every morning. I brought the kids to Ma's on Saturday for the Tet celebration. Just us — Ma, me, Tyler, Emma, Lily. Small. But Ma had cooked for three days. The spread: banh chung (sticky rice cakes stuffed with mung bean and pork, wrapped in banana leaf), gio lua (the pork sausage), dua hanh (pickled onion), thit kho (the caramelized pork), and a dozen other dishes that filled every surface of her small kitchen. I gave the kids red envelopes with twenty dollars each. Ma gave them red envelopes with fifty dollars each, because grandmothers always outbid parents. Tyler said, "Thank you, Grandma." Emma said, "Cam on, Ba Noi," in Vietnamese that made Ma's face light up. Lily said, "Can I have more?" She has no shame and I respect it. We ate for two hours. Ma told stories about Tet in Saigon — the flower markets, the noise, the fireworks that lasted all night. She described the house she grew up in, the kitchen where her mother made banh chung every year, the specific way the incense smelled mixed with the jasmine outside the window. She was talking to the kids but she was somewhere else. She was twenty years old in Saigon and the war hadn't happened yet. Tyler listened. Emma listened. Even Lily, who has the attention span of a goldfish, sat still and listened. They don't hear these stories enough. I don't ask for them enough. Someday I'll ask Ma to tell me everything — every memory, every name, every dish from that kitchen in Saigon. I keep saying someday. I need to make someday soon. Chuc mung nam moi. Happy New Year. The rooster crows.

Ma’s spread that Saturday — the banana-leaf banh chung, the pickled dua hanh, the layers of pork and jasmine and incense — reminded me that Vietnamese food is built on bright, sharp, layered contrasts: salty and sweet, rich and acidic, soft and crisp. I can’t make banh chung on a Tuesday night, but I can keep those flavors alive in smaller ways. This Vegan Banh Mi Ginger Lime Hummus is exactly that — a quick, everyday nod to the bold, gingery, citrus-forward flavors that define the Vietnamese table Ma set for us, year after year. Make it for a crowd, set it out like she would, and let people eat for two hours.

Vegan Banh Mi Ginger Lime Hummus

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 2 cans (15 oz each) chickpeas, drained and rinsed (reserve liquid)
• 3 tablespoons tahini
• 3 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
• 2 tablespoons rice vinegar
• 1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tablespoon soy sauce or tamari
• 1 teaspoon sesame oil
• 1/2 teaspoon sriracha or chili garlic paste, plus more to taste
• 1/4 teaspoon white pepper
• 3–4 tablespoons reserved chickpea liquid (aquafaba) or water, to thin
• 2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, chopped, for garnish
• 1 tablespoon thinly sliced scallions, for garnish
• 1 teaspoon sesame seeds, for garnish
• Sliced baguette, cucumber rounds, or fresh vegetables for serving

Instructions

1. Blend the base. Add the drained chickpeas, tahini, lime juice, rice vinegar, grated ginger, garlic, soy sauce, sesame oil, sriracha, and white pepper to a food processor. Process for about 1 minute until the mixture begins to come together.
2. Adjust consistency. With the processor running, drizzle in aquafaba or water one tablespoon at a time until the hummus reaches a smooth, creamy consistency. Scrape down the sides as needed and process for another 1–2 minutes until very smooth.
3. Taste and adjust. Taste and adjust seasoning — more lime juice for brightness, more sriracha for heat, more soy sauce for depth. The flavor should be bold, tangy, and slightly spicy.
4. Plate and garnish. Spread the hummus into a wide, shallow bowl, creating a well in the center with the back of a spoon. Top with fresh cilantro, scallions, and sesame seeds. Add an extra drizzle of sesame oil and a dot of sriracha if desired.
5. Serve. Serve immediately with sliced baguette (a nod to the banh mi), cucumber rounds, sliced carrots, or any fresh vegetables you have on hand. Store leftovers covered in the refrigerator for up to 5 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 165 | Protein: 8g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 280mg