Italian Cheese Wontons

My daughter got married on Saturday and I did not ruin anything. That is the headline. The details follow.

I started the briskets at 3:45 AM Friday. Four prime-grade packers, fish sauce lemongrass marinade soaking for twenty-four hours, the smoker already holding at 225 degrees when I loaded the first two. The predawn quiet of Alief is one of my favorite things — no traffic, no neighbors, just the hum of the smoker and the smell of oak smoke drifting across the yard like a slow, deliberate fog. I stood there in my shorts and my Oilers shirt with a cup of Vietnamese coffee and I thought: today I start cooking for my daughter's wedding. And then I thought: I am not going to cry right now because I have fourteen hours of fire management ahead of me and tears impair visibility.

The cook went perfectly. First two briskets came off at 6 PM, internal temp 203 degrees, wrapped in butcher paper and nestled into the cooler. Second pair went on at 2 PM and came off at 4 AM Saturday. By Saturday morning, I had fifty-eight pounds of resting brisket and a level of exhaustion that was either profound or spiritual. James showed up at 7 AM with coffee and took over the smoker while I showered and tried to look like a man who had slept.

Mai arrived at noon with Linh and immediately commandeered my kitchen. A hundred and fifty spring rolls. She moved through the process with the efficiency of a woman who has done this ten thousand times: shrimp poached and halved, vermicelli cooked and cooled, herbs washed and laid out like surgical instruments. Linh tried to help. Mai assigned her the least important task — folding the wraps — with the gentle authority of a general managing a volunteer. I stayed out of the kitchen. The kitchen was Mai's territory. The smoker was mine.

The ceremony was at 5 PM in the garden venue in Montrose. Live oaks draped with string lights. A hundred and twenty people in folding chairs. Emma walked toward me — I was standing at the back, waiting to walk her down the aisle — and she was wearing a white dress and she looked exactly like her mother did twenty-two years ago, which was something I was not prepared for and will never be prepared for. She took my arm and whispered, "Don't cry, Dad." I said, "I'm not." She said, "You're already crying." She was right.

I walked my daughter down the aisle and I gave her away to a good man and I sat down and I breathed. That's it. That's the whole thing. Twenty-three years of raising her, every soccer game and recital and Wednesday dinner and all the years I wasn't there and all the years I was, compressed into a sixty-second walk on a June evening in Houston. I have never been more present for anything in my life.

The toast. I stood up and said: "Emma, you are the best thing your mother and I ever did. Daniel, you're getting the best woman I know. Take care of each other. Be patient with each other. And eat well — because a family that eats well together stays together." I sat down. It was thirty-seven seconds. Emma said later it was perfect. Lourdes was crying. Daniel's father Ernesto gave me a nod. That was enough.

The food. The brisket was the best I've ever made — the fish sauce lemongrass bark crackling, the meat pulling apart in ribbons of smoke and fat. Mai's spring rolls disappeared in thirty minutes. Lourdes's lumpia were magnificent. James's jollof rice was a revelation — smoky and tomato-bright and peppered with habanero. Daniel's aunt made turon — banana spring rolls with caramel — and they were so good I ate four. The table was Vietnamese and Filipino and Nigerian and Texan and it was the most beautiful table I have ever seen.

Mai sat in her chair and watched her granddaughter dance with her new husband and she smiled in a way I have not seen in years. Quiet. Complete. I sat next to her and neither of us said anything. We didn't need to.

I have been thinking about wrapped things ever since the wedding. Mai’s spring rolls, Lourdes’s lumpia, Daniel’s aunt’s turon — every one of them a little parcel of care folded by hand and dropped into hot oil. There is something almost meditative about that process, and watching the women at that table move through it with such quiet confidence made me want to try my own version at home. These Italian Cheese Wontons are not Vietnamese and they are not Filipino, but they are crispy and golden and filled with something rich, and when I made them the week after the wedding, standing alone in the kitchen that had gone quiet again, they felt exactly like the right thing to cook.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 24 wontons

Ingredients

8 oz cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 cup finely diced sun-dried tomatoes (oil-packed, drained)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
24 wonton wrappers
1 small bowl of water (for sealing)
Vegetable oil, for frying (about 3 cups)
Marinara sauce, for dipping

Instructions

Make the filling. In a medium bowl, combine the softened cream cheese, mozzarella, Parmesan, sun-dried tomatoes, garlic, Italian seasoning, red pepper flakes, and black pepper. Mix until fully combined and smooth.
Fill the wontons. Lay a wonton wrapper flat on a clean surface. Place about 1 teaspoon of filling in the center — do not overfill or the edges will not seal. Dip your finger in the bowl of water and run it along all four edges of the wrapper.
Fold and seal. Fold the wrapper diagonally to form a triangle, pressing firmly along the edges to remove any air pockets. Press the two bottom corners together, dabbing with a little water to help them stick. Set on a parchment-lined tray and repeat with remaining wrappers and filling.
Heat the oil. Pour vegetable oil into a heavy-bottomed pot or deep skillet to a depth of about 2 inches. Heat over medium-high until the oil reaches 350°F. A small piece of wonton wrapper dropped in should sizzle immediately.
Fry in batches. Carefully lower 5 to 6 wontons into the hot oil at a time. Fry for 2 to 3 minutes, turning once, until deep golden brown on both sides. Do not crowd the pot or the temperature will drop and the wontons will absorb oil rather than crisp.
Drain and rest. Remove with a slotted spoon and transfer to a wire rack set over a baking sheet or a plate lined with paper towels. Allow to rest for 2 minutes before serving — the filling will be very hot.
Serve. Arrange on a platter and serve immediately with warm marinara sauce for dipping.

Nutrition (per serving)

Italian Cheese Wontons — The Roll That Reminded Me of Mai’s Spring Rolls