Stealing Budda's Dinner

In chapters 1-9 of Stealing Budda's Dinner, the author begins her compelling, almost tragic childhood tale where being Vietnamese in 1970s Michigan, means more than just learning to eat with a knife and fork.  Labeled an outsider by other Americans, yet deemed Americanized by Vietnamese standards, protagonist Bich Minh Nguyen embarks on a heart-wrenching journey in search of her true identity. Through her exploration of food, place, and time, Nguyen balances precariously on the edge of two conflicting societies, leaving her readers awed, inspired, and hungry for more.

From Jiffy brand blueberry muffins, to Toll House chocolate chip cookies, to Pringles, and Kit-Kats, Orange Fago and everything in between, Nguyen's exploration of American food reveals her desperate desire to identify with American culture.  The importance of the "right" food constantly reinforced by TV Commercials, the demands of having a perfectly packed lunch at school, and the pressures to be liked by all the Jennifers and Hollys she meets along the way, Nguyen's relationship with American food turns into an obsession.  To live without the fancy, expensive brands, her young mind concludes, is a disgrace and will prevent her from ever being truly American.  Sad as it is, Nyugen has no idea that she too is supplementing the criteria for being accepted into American culture.  By perpetuating the inherent power hierarchy of food by putting name brand food on top and store brands or traditional Vietnamese foods on the bottom, Nguyen only reinforces the cycle that she longs so desperately to beat.  Unable to beat the system or let it go, the poor girl is left lingering in a zone of cultural void--too American to be considered Vietnamese, and too Vietnamese to be an American.  The stress of her bifurcated life weighs on her shoulders and excludes her from fully identifying with either culture. On page 116, we can see the guilt Nguyen feels at her father's party when she takes a bite of banh chung cake, knowing her American friends would not approve.  "I bit into the rice cake," she said,"its sticky sweetness scenting my tongue.  It tasted like a secret long kept, old and familiar and unspeakable."  On the other hand, when given the Kraft Macaroni, chicken nuggets, and Chef Boyardee, Nguyen finds she cannot eat it.  The fight with Rosa weighing on her mind, and the strangeness of seeing these foods on her kitchen table diminishes her appetite and the food just sits there until someone throws it away.  

My heart goes out to the seven-year-old Nguyen as I too understand the horrors of not having the "right" food.  Growing up, these brands that Nguyen loved so dearly rarely, if ever, existed in my house.  At times, I will admit, my lack of "good" food was embarrassing as my house was known as the healthy house among my friends.  However, it was not traumatizing to me like in some ways I think it was for Nguyen.  Unlike her, not having these brands did not somehow forfeit my American identity.  

I do understand the dire need to fit in, however.  When I was living in Japan, my lunchbox was the focal point of all my classmates during the lunch hour.  Everyone would sneak looks at the American girls lunch to see if mine lived up to their Japanese standards.  I can tell you that a lot of times it didn't.  My obento box was far from the perfect lunches my classmates had, prepared by the practiced hands of stay-at-home mothers.  Although I was significantly older than Nguyen at this time and my imperfect lunches did not bother me as much, I still understand the stares, the quick judgements, and the need to please.

Although we've only read half of Nguyen's tale, our protagonist has already given us a lot of material to digest.  It's hard to say where the story will go from here, although one can only hope that Nguyen will learn she can have her banh chung cake and eat it too.