Mui Ne, Vietnam
“You are special,” said the woman sitting across from me.
I held up the wet
wipe and responded with a smile, “I know.”
There was no
sarcasm. In a country where some restaurants don’t supply napkins
and others slip a small package of wet wipes at your place setting
before you meal and then charge you for them once they’d been used,
I knew my treatment was not the usual.
It started with my
nosy gaze falling on the vendor’s small station, she cooked over a
coal pot and as always I wanted to know what it was. Before I had an
answer she motioned for me sit and have one and so I sat on the tiny
plastic stools in front of her.
When she handed me
the bahn trang it was wrapped in paper. More specifically, it was
wrapped in used notebook paper. I smiled immediately upon recognition
because the packaging was familiar. When I lived in rural South
Africa it wasn’t uncommon for me to get a fat-cake (an appropriate
name for deep fried dough) or curry-fish (which might have had a
hint of curry but definitely had no fish) I similar wrapping.
Faster than I
anticipated I attempted to hold the cylindrical dish and rummage for
my money- about 35 cents- to no success. In that moment I was
reminded that I would not be pressed for money until I motioned that
I was ready to go. With that, I settled into my food.
Crunchy and chewy,
savory and sweet, I picked up hints of cinnamon which seems bizarre
from what I know of the flavor palate of Vietnam (of course that is
limited but growing daily). Halfway through, I realized I was
dripping oil down my leg (I never saw her add oil t the dish) and
attempted to wipe it off with my hand. That is when the vthe woman
across from me reached for another piece of used notebook paper from
the vendor ad handed it to me. As I cleaned myself up the vendor
smiled as she handed me the wet nap.
And I smiled in
return. Because beyond a courtesy of vendor to patron, I know that
wetnaps are a luxury
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