Sometimes you find old memories of home in the most unlikely places.
Tonight I went to T's house for dinner and to hang out with him. (I am writing this while sitting on his bed. No, we are not naked). I arrived, as I often do, just at the start of dinner. I sat down and T showed me how to assemble the meal. It started with a slice of bread, then some fish sauce and sautéd scallion in oil. The on the top was ground pork cooked with onion and what I think was some rice. It all came together in an open faced sandwich.
I was very good, but there was something about the pork that was familiar.
One of the reasons I like eating at T's house is that everything is new and different to me. It is an adventure of new tastes. I also like that T is there to show me the right way to eat everything. I think it is cute that his parents worry that I will be able to eat their food.
But today was a little different. Even through the fish sauce, I could taste to pork and it reminded me of home. The pork mixture was very similar to the filling of a pork pie that my grandmother, and my mother used to make. I am comfortable eating with T's family, but today it was even more.
I thought how flavors and food really have a strong pull on my memory. Tonight, even though his house is not my home, I felt at home.