We’ve now been in Vietnam for well over a week. And while I continue to be, well, pretty much disgusted by the way animals are treated (today we saw a common site here; two live pigs tied to the sides of a motorbike — photos will have to wait until I’m home), I am also partially awed by the Vietnamese willingness to see food as it really is before they eat it.
As I mentioned before, it is nearly impossible to keep kosher here, or for me to remain a vegetarian. I was doing a pretty good job of it so far, but this morning, when served noodles for breakfast with bits of pork in it, our guide reminded our host that I don’t eat meat. We were staying at Ba Be Lakes in a “home stay,” with a family that is incredibly poor, and makes extra money by taking in tourists. Food is plentiful, though, here, even with the poor. Anyhow, after the reminder, he promptly made me my own noodles — in a bowl of chicken broth.
Talk about dilemma — with a family that poor, I didn’t feel I had the right to object. I fished out the noodles and didn’t say a word, while my husband gave me sympathetic glances.
Later, I told our guide what had happened, and he said “Why didn’t you tell me?” The truth is, I didn’t have the heart to say anything. I felt to complain in a house built on stilts with a tin roof and cement floor where four generations sleep in the same room — where nothing goes to waste, it would be incredibly wasteful. I ate the noodles.
We’ve had the most amazing food though, in spite of all that. We’ve finished at least five meals now by saying “That was the best dinner we’ve had so far.” But the faces or body parts of what we’re eating are never far away. At one meal a bowl of chicken was served with a claw sticking out. Fish are often served whole, with the head still on.
I’m beginning to get used to it, and as I said, even admire it in some ways.
The only thing I truly miss is salad; since our Western systems cannot handle the water here, eating any fresh fruit or vegetables is forbidden, unless they can be peeled. This is the same wherever you go in a developing country, and it’s part of the territory (like squat toilets) but like eating the occasional piece of meat or whatever, it’s all part of the experience, which I wouldn’t give up for anything.