Sabaidee Everyone,

Below is my collections of words about this month's topic.  Please feel free
to bite off a big chunk and send critiques about the taste of my little dish. 

Bon appetit,
Toon
P.S.  Alisak, could you please forward this piece to Phab and Kabe?  Thanks
______________________________________________________________________

Forbidden Fruits
By Toon S. Phapphayboun

In writing about food, I sat for many days trying to recollect my memories to
share with the group.  I started thinking about the format, the style, and the
basically doing all I could to find my muse to start writing, but after many
scrunched-up balls of paper, I was still clueless on what I wanted to share.
But then at 1 am on June 13th, it hit me.  I realized that I was looking in
the wrong place; the fondest memories about food were buried deep down. You
see, the food that fed my soul lived across the Mekong River.  Here, my
friends, is where my story actually begins:

The time was 1978-1979, a couple of years after the sudden government change
in Laos.  Among the many changes were the new school rules.  My school,
Matthayuom Sikhay (Sikhay Junior High School) was no exception.  All students
must abide by the rules, one of which is uniform.  We must wear a white top
and a black/blue bottom; all boys must wear their hair short, and all girl
must wear their hair long and tie in a pony tail.  Boys must wear a black/blue
trousers, and girls must wear a black/blue siin (a traditional Lao wear for
women)  And, all students must tug in their shirt.  Even with all the
restrictions, the uniform rule was easy to follow, but there was one rule that
was hard to obey-no food or drink was allowed on campus.  Hence, our schedule
was broken into two sessions: the morning session was for academia, such as
Writing, History, Social Etiquette, and the afternoon session was for extra
curricular activities, such as gardening, peer evaluation, classroom
decorations.  These two sessions were divided by our two-hour lunch break.  As
you can see, it was hard not to bring edible items for the afternoon session,
especially when some of us decided to take a quick swim in the Mekong River
instead eating lunch.  Since we had to rush right back to school after our
little swim, we had to bring something to snack on in order to keep our young
mind active and awake.  Since no vivirins and no McDonald's were available for
a quick bite, we turned to nature to keep ourselves awake in the afternoon
sessions.  Specifically in my classroom, we organized the student body into
two groups: one would be bring jeo (the sauce) and the other would bring maak
muaang diep (green mangoes) or maak kaam diep (green tamarinds) to campus.
This perfect combination of revival pills and our own version of gourmet lunch
must be smuggled into our battle field-our campus for if caught all would be
confiscated, and the smugglers would be strictly and publicly punished as a
reminder, a threat to deter students from committing the same crime.  Even
with such risks and struggles, we somehow managed to unite our jeo with its
allies-maak muaang and maak kaam diep.  We were brave and efficient soldiers;
no one in our classroom ever got caught, and nothing was ever confiscated.
So, regularly before parting each other after the morning session, the
designated person in the two group would utter these words, "Ya leum aan naan
der!" (Don't forget the thing!)  Employing careful strategies, we were able to
enjoy our perfected lunch daily.

Nowaday, it is so easy for me to make jeo to dip my mangoes and tamarinds in,
but this dish does not taste the same.  Is it because the mangoes and the
tamarinds are on American soil?  Or, is it because the ingredients for my jeo
too foreign?  At first, I thought so, but when I visited Laos in 1988, I tried
to create the same jeo, and I tried to find the just right tamarinds and
mangoes, but I never to found it, that perfect combination that I had in
1978-1979.  My tongue continues to salivate for that perfect mix-the spicy
sweetness of jeo and the just right sourness of the fruits.  My taste buds
search on for the illegal jeo and the forbidden fruits that I luxuriously
enjoyed at Matthayuom Sikhay.  

I still vividly see the equally sliced-in-half maak kaam diep with their seeds
removed, and the jeo filled each of the compartments where the seeds used to
be; I clearly see the thickly chopped slices of maak muaang diep being dip in
the condense, syruppy jeo.  

Is it possible that such an unforgettable, flavorful cuisine could only be
found one moment in time?  My seach continues!