Strawberry Cookies

Late April. The blog readers have started getting wind of the cookbook. The Houston Chronicle ran a small "coming soon" piece this week. Vy's publicist sent me three interview requests — a podcast (declined), a regional food magazine (accepted, by phone), a national Vietnamese-American culture publication (accepted, by phone, conducted in Vietnamese, which I had to do with Linh in the room helping with the more technical vocabulary).

The Vietnamese magazine interview was — interesting. The interviewer was a young woman in her twenties, second-generation Vietnamese-American, born in Boston, who had grown up reading my blog. She asked me questions I had not been asked before. About what it was like growing up between two cultures. About what I would tell my younger self. About what it means to lose a parent's recipes. About the silence around the war. I answered honestly. I told her about my brother (Mai's brother — my uncle, the one who was killed in 1973, two years before the family fled). I told her about the Vietnam trip and the cemetery and Mai's parents. I told her about Bao and Bobby being the same person and also being different people.

The interview ran an hour. After we hung up, Linh sat with me at her kitchen table and said, "Bao, you said things you don't usually say." I said, "I know." She said, "It's good to say them." I said, "I know." She said, "The book is going to bring more of this." I said, "I know." She said, "Are you ready?" I said, "Probably not. But I will be." We had tea. The afternoon settled. The book is going to expose a private family to a public audience. The exposure is the point. The exposure is also the cost. We pay it because the gain is bigger.

The small backyard grill is the small Houston-cooking-engine. The small Vietnamese-grilled-pork (thit nuong), the small grilled-shrimp (the small irony of the small ex-shrimper still grilling shrimp), the small bo nuong (grilled-beef), the small ga nuong (grilled-chicken). The small charcoal-grill in the small backyard of the small Bellaire-bungalow runs almost every weekend.

The small Houston-summer-heat-and-humidity is the small weather-reality. The small grill outdoors at five-AM-on-the-weekend trick is the small same trick the small Phoenix-firefighter Marcus uses but for different climate-reasons. The small Texas-Gulf-coast humidity is the small constant. The small Vietnamese-summer-cooking traditions are the small adaptation.

The three kids are now adults. Tyler is the small oldest, Emma is the small middle, Lily is the small youngest. The small divorce in 2015 (after Bobby’s affair) had been the small marriage-end. The small kids have been the small slow-rebuild of the small father-trust. The small Linh (Bobby’s older-sister, the small pediatrician in Houston) has been the small adult-presence the small kids look to.

The small Houston Restaurant Supply sales-job continues to be the small post-shrimp-boat career. The small fifteen-years-on-the-Galveston-Bay shrimp-boat had ended in 2018 when the small back went out and the small bending-and-hauling work became the small impossibility. The small restaurant-supply role is the small forty-hour-week-with-benefits the small post-shrimping life rests on.

The small Vietnamese-American community in Houston is the small social-spine. The small Bellaire-area is the small Little Saigon district. The small Hong Kong City Mall is the small Saturday-grocery-trip destination. The small Vietnamese church (Our Lady of Lavang) is the small Sunday-worship. The small community is the small refugee-and-immigrant-descended network that has been Bobby’s small lifelong-place.

Bobby’s parents came over from Vietnam in 1981 as the small boat-people-refugees. The small mother (Bich) lives in the small adjacent neighborhood. The small father (Hung) passed in 2020 from COVID. The small mother-visits are the small Sunday-afternoon-rhythm. The small pho-and-com-and-banh-mi heritage continues through the small mother-cooking-with-Bobby Sunday afternoons.

After the Vietnamese magazine interview ended and Linh said, “You said things you don’t usually say,” we stayed at her kitchen table longer than we planned — tea going lukewarm, the afternoon sitting heavy and also somehow lighter than it had been in a while. Later that week, when I wanted something to bring to her place that matched that mood — quiet, spring-bright, not too complicated — I made these strawberry cookies. They’re not Vietnamese, they’re not dramatic, they don’t carry history. That was exactly the point. Some afternoons, after you’ve said the hard things, you just want something soft and a little sweet to finish on.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 32 min | Servings: 24 cookies

Ingredients

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup packed light brown sugar
2 large eggs
1 1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract
1 cup fresh strawberries, hulled and finely diced (patted dry)
1/2 cup white chocolate chips
1 tbsp cornstarch (helps absorb moisture from berries)

Instructions

Prep your strawberries. Hull and finely dice the strawberries. Spread them on a paper towel and pat dry thoroughly — excess moisture will make the dough too wet and the cookies spread flat. Set aside.
Whisk dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda, baking powder, cornstarch, and salt. Set aside.
Cream butter and sugars. In a large bowl using a hand mixer or stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the softened butter with the granulated sugar and brown sugar on medium-high speed for about 2–3 minutes, until light and fluffy.
Add eggs and vanilla. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Mix in the vanilla extract until fully combined.
Combine wet and dry. Reduce mixer speed to low and gradually add the flour mixture, mixing just until no dry streaks remain. Do not overmix.
Fold in strawberries and chips. Using a rubber spatula, gently fold in the diced strawberries and white chocolate chips until evenly distributed. The dough will be soft and slightly sticky.
Chill the dough. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes (up to overnight). This firms up the dough and prevents excessive spreading.
Preheat oven. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350°F (175°C). Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
Scoop and bake. Using a medium cookie scoop or two tablespoons, drop rounded balls of dough about 2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets. Bake for 11–13 minutes, until the edges are just set and the centers still look slightly underdone — they will firm up as they cool.
Cool. Let cookies cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. Serve at room temperature. Store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 3 days, or refrigerate for up to 5 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Strawberry Cookies — The Afternoon We Sat with What Had Been Said