Chicken Shawarma

The Vietnam trip research continued this week, though I shifted from the logistics — flights, hotels, Mrs. Phung's travel agency — to something more personal. I started trying to find Mai's family. Not in the way that sounds, not like a detective show. More like: I sat at my kitchen table with my laptop and a cup of Vietnamese coffee and typed names I half-remembered into search engines, knowing the odds were almost zero.

Mai has mentioned her sisters over the years — Thanh and Huong — in the way she mentions everything painful, which is barely and only sideways. I know Thanh was two years older and Huong was five years younger. I know they were in Saigon when we left. I know Mai has spent forty-seven years not knowing what happened to them. I don't know if finding them is possible or even wise, but I feel like I should try before we go. If we go.

I found nothing useful online, which I expected. Vietnam in 1975 was not a place that kept tidy digital records. But I did find a Vietnamese-American community organization in Houston that helps with family reunification searches, and I wrote down their number. I haven't called yet. I'm not sure Mai would want me to. I'm not sure she wouldn't.

Work was steady this week. Three equipment consultations — a pho restaurant expanding in Bellaire, a taco truck upgrading their flat-top, and a catering company that needed a commercial convection oven. I like the variety. Every kitchen has different problems and the same goal: get the food out hot and right.

Made a batch of canh chua — Vietnamese sour soup — on Wednesday night. It's a southern Vietnamese dish, the kind Mai grew up eating in Saigon: tamarind broth, tomatoes, pineapple, bean sprouts, and whatever fish looks fresh at the market. I used catfish, which is the traditional choice in the Mekong Delta region and also happens to be cheap and available at every grocery store in Houston. The sourness of the tamarind is the star — it's bright and sharp and cuts through everything in a way that lemon juice tries to do but can't quite match. I added a handful of fresh herbs at the end: rice paddy herb, sawtooth coriander, Thai basil. The kitchen smelled like someone else's memory of home.

Lily came by Thursday evening. She was in a good mood but wouldn't tell me why. I didn't push. My daughter shares information on her own timeline, and that timeline does not respond to paternal curiosity. She ate two bowls of the leftover canh chua and talked about work — she's managing at a restaurant in Montrose and learning the business from the inside, which is exactly the kind of practical education I respect. She asked about the smoker and whether I'd tried the new pecan wood I'd picked up. I said I was saving it for the weekend. She said "Can I come Saturday?" I said of course. Something was different about her but I couldn't name it.

AA meeting Tuesday. The young guy from last month — the one with the eyes that hadn't slept — was back. His name is Kevin. He sat in the back and didn't talk. He came back. That's the thing. Bill nudged me after and said "Keep an eye on that one." I will.

Posted the canh chua recipe on the blog. I wrote about tamarind — how it's the unsung ingredient in Vietnamese cooking, overshadowed by fish sauce and lemongrass but just as essential. Several readers asked where to buy tamarind paste. I told them any Asian grocery store, and if they don't have an Asian grocery store nearby, they're living in the wrong neighborhood.

I posted the canh chua on the blog mid-week, but the recipe I keep coming back to — the one I made the following Sunday when I needed something different, something that required me to measure and mix and focus — was this shawarma. There’s something about building a spice blend from scratch that works the same way the soup did: it asks you to be present, to trust that bold flavors layered carefully will add up to something worth sharing. Lily had asked to come Saturday for the smoker, and this is what I made while I waited for the coals. If you’re going to keep an eye on someone — a daughter, a newcomer in the back row — you might as well have something good on the grill.

Prep Time: 20 min + 2 hr marinating | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 2 hr 45 min | Servings: 4–6

Ingredients

2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 1 large lemon)
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 teaspoons smoked paprika
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
Pita bread, sliced tomatoes, cucumber, red onion, and tahini sauce for serving

Instructions

Make the marinade. In a large bowl, whisk together the olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, cumin, smoked paprika, coriander, turmeric, cinnamon, cardamom, cayenne, salt, and pepper until fully combined.
Marinate the chicken. Add the chicken thighs to the bowl and toss until every piece is well coated. Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or overnight if you have the time — overnight is better.
Bring to room temperature. Remove the chicken from the refrigerator 20 minutes before cooking. This helps the thighs cook evenly all the way through.
Cook the chicken. Heat a grill, grill pan, or cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Cook the chicken thighs for 5–7 minutes per side, until deeply browned with some char at the edges and cooked through to an internal temperature of 165°F.
Rest and slice. Transfer the cooked chicken to a cutting board and let it rest for 5 minutes. Slice thinly against the grain for the most tender result.
Assemble and serve. Pile the sliced chicken into warm pita bread with sliced tomatoes, cucumber, red onion, and a generous drizzle of tahini sauce. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken Shawarma — When Cooking Is the Closest Thing to Going Home