The pop-up returned. August 29, 2020. One hundred people in a brewery parking lot. Masks on. Tables apart. Food in containers instead of on plates. And it was, somehow, the most emotional pop-up we've ever done.
Because the people came back. The people who ate our food in January, who watched our videos during lockdown, who followed the story of Ma's COVID and recovery on Instagram — they came back. And they were grateful in a way that was visible. They said thank you not because the food was good (it was) but because the pop-up existing meant something. It meant: things come back. The things you love, the things you lost — they come back.
A man in his fifties waited in line for forty-five minutes. When he got to the front, he said, "I read about you in the Chronicle. I watched your videos during lockdown. I learned to make pho because of your daughter." He was wearing a Bobby Tran BBQ t-shirt that Lily sells online. He was crying. "My wife died in April," he said. "COVID. She was forty-eight. Your pho video was the first thing I watched where I didn't feel alone."
I stepped around the serving table and I hugged that man. I hugged a stranger in the middle of a pandemic because sometimes the rules don't matter and sometimes a person needs to be held.
Emma saw it and she didn't say anything. She served the next customer. Tyler kept slicing. Lily kept running the register. The team held the line while I held a grieving man.
The food was excellent. The brisket was possibly the best I've ever served at a pop-up — maybe because the stakes felt higher, maybe because the fire burned cleaner, maybe because everything tastes better when you've almost lost it.
Revenue: $3,200 (100 covers at $15 plus sauce sales). Not the highest number. But the most meaningful.
Ma's spring rolls were on the table even though she wasn't. Her hands made them. Her recipe filled them. She was there in every bite, even from her kitchen in Alief.
I drove home at 10 PM. Empty parking lot. Cleaned smoker. The smell of post oak in my clothes. The weight of a stranger's grief in my arms.
This is why I cook. Not for trophies. Not for money. Not for Instagram followers. For the man whose wife died and who learned to make pho from my daughter's video and who stood in line for forty-five minutes to eat food made by a half-Vietnamese shrimp boat dropout who almost didn't make it either.
This. This is why.
The man in the Bobby Tran BBQ t-shirt came for brisket, but he stayed in my heart because of pho—and the thread connecting those two things is fresh basil, the herb that lives in both worlds, the one that perfumes a Vietnamese bowl just as naturally as it chars sweet and smoky over a hot grill. After that August night, I couldn’t stop thinking about a dish that holds that duality: the fire of a Texas cook-off and the bright, healing green of the herb my má keeps in her garden in Alief. This grilled basil chicken and tomatoes is the recipe I keep coming back to when I need to feel both grounded and alive—which is exactly how I felt driving home that night, smelling of post oak, with a stranger’s grief still warm on my shirt.
Grilled Basil Chicken and Tomatoes
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 6 oz each)
- 3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, torn, plus more for serving
- 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
- 1 teaspoon honey
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
- 2 cups cherry tomatoes, halved
- 1 medium shallot, thinly sliced
Instructions
- Make the marinade. Whisk together 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, the garlic, balsamic vinegar, honey, salt, black pepper, and red pepper flakes in a small bowl. Reserve 2 tablespoons of the marinade in a separate bowl and set aside.
- Marinate the chicken. Place chicken breasts in a zip-top bag or shallow dish. Pour the remaining marinade over the chicken, turning to coat. Let marinate at room temperature for at least 10 minutes, or refrigerate up to 4 hours.
- Prepare the tomato mixture. Toss the halved cherry tomatoes and sliced shallot with the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil and a pinch of salt. Set aside.
- Heat the grill. Preheat a gas or charcoal grill to medium-high heat (about 400°F). Clean and oil the grates well.
- Grill the chicken. Remove chicken from the marinade and discard used marinade. Grill chicken 6—8 minutes per side, until an instant-read thermometer reads 165°F at the thickest point and grill marks are deep and well-defined. Brush with the reserved marinade during the last 2 minutes of cooking.
- Grill the tomatoes. In a grill-safe skillet or on a piece of foil, grill the tomato and shallot mixture alongside the chicken for 5—7 minutes, stirring once, until the tomatoes have softened and begun to blister.
- Rest and serve. Let chicken rest 5 minutes before slicing. Arrange on a platter, spoon the warm tomatoes and any accumulated juices over the top, and finish with a generous handful of fresh torn basil.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 310 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 13g | Carbs: 8g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 390mg
About the cook who shared this
Bobby Tran
Week 229 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.