Phone Photo Flashbacks

I found a couple dozen photos on Dan's phone that I didn't realize/remember existed. Their discovery comes with some lovely food memories of the recent past.



Hey! Remember that awesome bánh mì we ate in Chinatown with Kate and Luke and Melissa near the bike polo and soccer fields? I think those are shrimp chips to the right of the sandwich.




(photo by Dan)

Ooh! And remember the pretzels I made for H's first birthday?



(photo by Dan)

And how she wouldn't eat the blueberries, but really enjoyed squishing them with her fingers? And spilling them?



(photo by Dan)

Those were some good pretzels. I should make more.

Photo Essay: At the Vietnamese French Bakery

So many croissants! This isn't quite half the case of flavors available.



Raspberry Croissant!



Coconut Croissant!



Young coconut water. My 3 1/2 year old nephew is fond of this beverage. Not bad at all.



Wobbly coconut chunks at the bottom of the coconut water -- to be fished out and eaten using the fork that comes with the bottle.

This place looks like nothing special from the outside (it's in a converted fast food restaurant building on University), but the pastries were fresh, flaky and flavorful. I recommend it. I only wish I'd thought to check if they could make me a Vietnamese coffee.

A belated Poetry Tuesday comes on Saturday.

Vietn is over halfway to Vietnam

Mirrored walls reflect our hands, these crumbs,
a camera, our waiting poses at Baoguette,
this paper towel left on flashing silver counter space. I find
- my face perhaps presciently drawn - a paper towel drawn upon
by a girl I've never seen. Or have seen now.
Her hands reflected, too. Did her hands just now
prepare my iced coffee, inexpertly melting the plastic cup
with the heat of fresh-dripped brew poured too hot
over sweetened condensed milk?

Did she step, abandoning youth
and napkin drawings, taking only the knit hat she wears
(wearing being the most effortless sort of taking),
to the other side of the other counter?
When we entered as customers, blind - and before we existed as such-
did she remain for a moment as artist and fortune teller?







Bright herbs crunch in clumps, fresh bread cradles catfish,
a heat fills me. Mirrored walls shimmer and bend.
I am reflected towards, reflecting on
that country she began to spell under her hat
with the work of her hands. Around me,
unadorned napkins crumple with spicy sauce.
Plastic cups crumple where heat met ice.
Noses drip. Sandwich fillings slide. Have we made a mess of things,
Vietnam? Next to me, Eva's sandwich wrapper passes judgment,
mirroring my reflection.