WHILE exotic, Far East dishes - fragrant with lemongrass, ginger,
and coriander - intrigue mainstream America, Laotians new to the
United States are becoming enamored of an all-American vegetable:
corn on the cob.
"My mother grows corn in her garden," says Ly Kue, a Hmong social
worker from Laos. "When it is fresh from the fields, we cook a lot
in a big pot and put it all on the table to make a real feast of it
with plenty of butter," she says.
There are some 15,000 Southeast Asian immigrants living in Rhode
Island today, 2,500 of them Hmong. All but a handful of these Asian
immigrants - Vietnamese and Cambodians, too - arrived in the late
'70s, at the close of the Vietnam war. Xang (Sam) Xiong, Miss Kue's
fiance, is a manager at the Socio-Economic Development Center for
Southeast Asians. Sam came to Providence with his parents and two of
his five brothers in 1976, at a time when there were only five other
Hmong families in the state. Today, his parents and three brothers
(now married) still live nearby.
The Hmong, rural people who eat simple, well-balanced food, are
too hardworking, perhaps, to follow in the footsteps of their
immigrant forbears. Chinese, Indian, and other ethnic groups
popularized their cuisines by opening restaurants intended to serve
their own populations. The Hmong, however, don't seem to eat out.
Their contribution is more likely to be in the production end: They
are prodigious farmers. Meanwhile, the Hmong seem quite happy to
adapt American habits and foodstuffs, contribute to the larger
community, and preserve their culture.
Mr. Xiong's mother, Song Xiong, grows corn. But more important,
she grows vegetables native to her country that are unknown or
scarce in local markets. The Hmong raised many of their own foods in
Laos, and most brought seeds with them or had them sent from home.
Snow peas, coriander, onions, and Oriental greens are easy to spot
in the small community garden plot near her home.
A visitor here is greeted by the pungent, sweet, aroma of fresh
coriander mixed with the sharp tang of freshly pulled scallions.
Xiong waves to several women weeding with hoes - her cousins, she
In a second, larger community garden plot in nearby Cranston,
R.I., she has interplanted corn with a climbing bean or cucumber -
for each plant, a corn stalk to climb. Between each corn and bean
combination she has planted a special, leafy Hmong green that is
somewhat like a combination of lettuce and mustard green.
This leafy green is the main herb-vegetable in Hmong cooking and
is called zaub ntsuab. Xiong gave me a small plate of pickled zaub
to taste. It has a pleasant, lemony-sour flavor. "It's a fine dish
for hot summer meals," says Nhia Xiong, Sam's father. It is often
prepared as a bowl of zaub ntsuab, literally, "vegetables without
salt." The broth or cooking water is reserved for drinking.
Song was expecting relatives on this day, and her son Xia is in
the kitchen wrapping rice paper around a filling for spring rolls
while his wife Maly cooks them in hot oil.
Short-grain rice cooks in a steamer made of straw. Song, who
tends her grandchildren as carefully as her garden, carries her
youngest grandchild on her back in a handsome, hand-embroidered back