Ma turned seventy-three this week. Her birthday is March 27 — two days after my writing anniversary, which means I spend the last week of March alternating between self-reflection and cake.
Except Ma doesn't do cake. She doesn't do birthdays, officially. "Vietnamese people celebrate the new year, not the birthday," she says, which is true for her generation but which my American-raised children reject entirely. So we compromise: no party, no fuss, but a special dinner at Ma's house with the family.
I cooked. Not Ma — me. She protested. She said, "This is my kitchen." I said, "It's your birthday. Sit down." She sat down. This may be the only time in history that Mai Tran has been told to sit down in her own kitchen and complied.
The menu: Ma's favorites, made by my hands. Pho (the twelve-hour version, because on her birthday, shortcuts are disrespectful). Goi cuon — fresh spring rolls (I'll never be as fast as her but the flavor was right). Ca kho to — the caramelized catfish in clay pot, her clay pot, with the cracked lid and the rice paste seal from 1992. And for dessert: che chuoi — banana in coconut milk, warm and sweet and the thing Ma's mother used to make in Saigon.
The kids came. Tyler brought flowers — carnations, because Ma likes carnations (she told him once, two years ago, and he remembered). Emma brought the recipe book she'd compiled, now with a second volume in progress. Lily brought a card with a drawing of Ma standing at the stove, surrounded by steam and stars. The artistic license is forgivable.
We ate in Ma's kitchen. The digital photo frame scrolled through family pictures. The altar glowed with incense. Ma ate my pho — slowly, tasting — and said, "Your broth is getting closer." Closer. After twenty years of making her recipe, my broth is getting closer. At this rate I'll match her by the time I'm seventy-three, at which point she'll be ninety-five and still cooking and still saying it needs more fish sauce.
Happy birthday, Ma. Seventy-three years of surviving, cooking, and being right about everything. The world is better for your stubbornness.
The knee: holding. Physical therapy is maintenance now — once a week instead of twice. Darnell says I'm a "model patient," which I suspect means I'm the only patient who brings him brisket.
Che chuoi — Ma’s banana coconut milk dessert, the one her mother made in Saigon — was the final course of her birthday dinner, and it was the one that quieted the whole table. The next morning, with leftover bananas on the counter and the memory of that stillness still on me, I made these banana pancakes for the kids: same sweetness, different form, the kind of thing you make when you’re still carrying a good night and don’t want it to end. It’s not che chuoi. But ripe bananas mashed into batter, cooked slow on a griddle while the house smells warm — Ma would understand the impulse.
Banana Pancakes
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 2 ripe medium bananas, peeled
- 2 large eggs
- 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/2 cup whole milk
- 1 tbsp granulated sugar
- 1 tsp baking powder
- 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
- 1/4 tsp salt
- 1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1 tbsp unsalted butter, plus more for the pan
Instructions
- Mash the bananas. In a large bowl, mash the bananas with a fork until smooth with only small lumps remaining. The riper the bananas, the sweeter the pancakes.
- Mix the wet ingredients. Add the eggs, milk, vanilla extract, and melted butter to the mashed bananas. Whisk until well combined.
- Combine the dry ingredients. In a separate small bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon.
- Make the batter. Fold the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients using a spatula. Stir just until no dry streaks remain — a few small lumps are fine. Do not overmix or the pancakes will be tough.
- Rest the batter. Let the batter sit for 5 minutes while you heat the pan. This lets the baking powder activate and gives you a lighter texture.
- Cook the pancakes. Heat a nonstick skillet or griddle over medium-low heat and add a small pat of butter. Pour about 1/4 cup of batter per pancake. Cook until bubbles form across the surface and the edges look set, about 2–3 minutes. Flip and cook for another 1–2 minutes until golden brown.
- Serve warm. Stack and serve immediately with maple syrup, a dusting of powdered sugar, or sliced fresh banana. A drizzle of sweetened condensed milk is a nod to the Vietnamese dessert table.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 210 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 34g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 210mg
About the cook who shared this
Bobby Tran
Week 157 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.