Hundred and two degrees on Tuesday. Hundred and two. I had a sales call at a new restaurant being built out in Katy — a steak place, because what Katy needs is another steak place — and by the time I walked from my truck to the front door I was soaked through. The restaurant owner, a guy named Darren who looked like he'd never sweat a day in his life, offered me water and I drank three glasses before we started talking about commercial ovens.
Sold him a full kitchen package — range, oven, hood system, prep tables, walk-in cooler, walk-in freezer. That's a sixty-thousand-dollar sale. My biggest this quarter. I shook his hand and didn't show on my face what I was feeling, which was: that commission is Tyler's college fund. That commission is a new roof if I need one. That commission is proof that the C-student shrimp boat dropout can close a deal.
I've been in this business for almost twenty years. Started when I was twenty-four, right after I got off the boats. A buddy from the docks — a guy named Louis, Cajun, knew everybody in the restaurant world — told me a restaurant supply company was hiring. I walked in knowing nothing about commercial kitchen equipment and walked out with a sales territory and a company car. I learned the rest by showing up and paying attention, which is how I've learned everything in my life.
Kids are at Christine's this week. The heat makes solo dinners easy — I'm not cooking anything that heats up the house. Tonight: goi cuon — Vietnamese fresh spring rolls. Rice paper, shrimp, rice vermicelli, lettuce, mint, basil, a slice of pork belly. You dip them in peanut sauce or nuoc cham or both. No cooking involved except boiling the shrimp and noodles. The kitchen stays cool. The food is cold and fresh and exactly what a hundred-degree day demands.
Saturday pho with Ma. I asked her how she cooks pho in the summer, when the broth has to simmer for twelve hours in a kitchen with no central air (she has window units, which is a whole other battle I've been fighting for years). She looked at me like I'd asked how she breathes. "I open the window," she said. "The heat doesn't bother me." This is a woman who crossed the South China Sea on a fishing boat while seven months pregnant. A Houston summer is nothing to her.
She's right. Perspective is everything. I complain about a hundred-degree day in an air-conditioned truck. She survived things I can't imagine and she makes pho in a hot kitchen and doesn't flinch. I need to complain less.
The goi cuon I made that night reminded me why I keep coming back to Southeast Asian flavors when summer gets brutal — rice paper, shrimp, peanut sauce, mint, the whole thing takes twenty minutes and the kitchen stays cool. This Thai Peanut Chicken Salad hits every one of those same notes: the crunch, the herbs, that sharp-and-rich peanut dressing that makes you feel like you earned something, even if you didn’t stand over a stove to make it. After closing a sixty-thousand-dollar deal in a hundred-degree parking lot and spending the drive home thinking about my ma making pho in a kitchen with no central air, the last thing I wanted was to add more heat to the day — but I still wanted a meal that meant something.
Thai Peanut Chicken Salad
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 2 cups cooked chicken breast, shredded or thinly sliced
- 3 cups shredded green cabbage
- 1 cup shredded purple cabbage
- 1 cup shredded carrots
- 1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
- 1/2 cup thinly sliced cucumber
- 3 green onions, sliced
- 1/4 cup fresh cilantro leaves
- 1/4 cup fresh mint leaves
- 1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, torn
- 1/4 cup roasted peanuts, roughly chopped
- 2 tablespoons sesame seeds (optional)
- Peanut Dressing:
- 1/3 cup creamy peanut butter
- 3 tablespoons soy sauce or tamari
- 2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
- 1 tablespoon rice vinegar
- 1 tablespoon honey or brown sugar
- 1 teaspoon sesame oil
- 1 teaspoon sriracha or chili garlic sauce, or to taste
- 1 clove garlic, minced
- 1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
- 2–4 tablespoons warm water, to thin
Instructions
- Make the dressing. Whisk together peanut butter, soy sauce, lime juice, rice vinegar, honey, sesame oil, sriracha, garlic, and ginger until smooth. Add warm water one tablespoon at a time until the dressing reaches a pourable consistency. Taste and adjust heat or sweetness as needed.
- Prep the vegetables. Shred the cabbages and carrots, slice the bell pepper and cucumber, and trim the green onions. Combine all vegetables in a large mixing bowl.
- Add the chicken. Add the shredded or sliced chicken to the bowl with the vegetables. Toss gently to distribute evenly.
- Add the herbs. Add the cilantro, mint, and basil. These are best added just before serving so they stay bright and don’t wilt.
- Dress and toss. Pour about two-thirds of the peanut dressing over the salad and toss to coat. Reserve the remaining dressing for drizzling or passing at the table.
- Garnish and serve. Transfer to a serving platter or individual bowls. Top with chopped peanuts and sesame seeds. Serve immediately, with extra dressing on the side.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 385 | Protein: 32g | Fat: 19g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 680mg
About the cook who shared this
Bobby Tran
Week 18 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.