My time at the retreat center began with a Thai-style hot pot where small groups communally created a fire and then a delicious soup to share. This experience set the tone for my time in the mountains, and offered me a small taste of new and familiar flavors of Thai culture and community.  

I had never had hot pot before, and was nervous when first approaching the small Thai-style barbecues. I wished that I already knew the customary way to use the barbecue; how to season the meat and when to tend to the fire. Feeling clueless about something I desperately wanted to understand felt humiliating, especially when surrounded by Thai students who watched in amusement. This meal quite literally brought me to tears, and I left feeling like a reject from Thai culture. 

Much to my surprise, breakfast the next morning was a Thai style rice porridge that my mom always made for my brother and I as a midnight snack. My mom’s preferred version – Jok – is slightly creamier and typically served with ginger and other aromatic condiments. I ladled porridge into my bowl proudly and knew how to season the dish to my liking. Excitedly, I told others of my familiarity with it, feeling warmed by memories of waking up on a sick day to find a pot of Jok waiting for me on the stove. 

This rejection and then comfort from Thai food and cooking is not unfamiliar to me. My Thai mother rejects me because of the ways in which I symbolize her assimilation to US culture. Quite a literal experience, as she didn’t even realize she had immigrated until she was married and pregnant with a child that would be born American. At the same time, we find kinship in the foods that we eat together. A sharp sour taste of lime, potent garlic, fish sauce, and home grown Thai chili peppers were used to season almost every dish we ate growing up. My mom added the flavors of nam pla prik in every form imaginable, from powdery seasonings for mango and guava, to bits of salt and chili in our smoothies. Comfort is freshly steamed lotus seed buns in the morning, and chrysanthemum tea at night. The complexities within my own identity as a Thai woman scare and confuse me. I shy away from parts of myself, fearing that I do not truly own or deserve these experiences and memories. 

Furthermore, cooking dinner in the kitchen in Maesalong reminded me of many other comforts. While pounding ginger in the mortar and chopping up Thai peppers, I found myself almost shouting random Thai words as they came back to me. Prik, pet, glua, mai ow, eem. I remember sitting on the ground in my family’s kitchen, helping my mom to pound prik. I hung onto her every word in the kitchen, wondering how she knew when the peanuts were pounded enough or when the ginger was tasty. Cooking next to Karn and Kianee, I realized I had some of this intuition too. Maybe it’s being Thai, or maybe it’s just being a cook. I don’t know how I’ve come upon this knowledge but I cradle it as my most precious belonging. 

Being grounded in memories I forgot I had felt comforting in such an intimate way. I have sometimes felt like I’m trying to balance on a beam, or that I’m getting lost underwater. I know how to find my way, and I can nurture this knowledge with the friendships and adventures from Maesalong. I might steam my lotus seed buns in the microwave, but they still taste of Sunday mornings, just my mom and I.