Bánh mì, the mirror of my soul
Originally published in The Ubyssey Homemade bánh mì (noun): The embodiment of heaven The rusty motorcycle took a sharp swerve, slightly tossing my damp backpack. Sitting in the backseat under the poncho flap extending from my father’s back, I tried to guess our location through the thick curtain of monsoon rain. It wasn’t long before I could smell the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked baguette, signalling my arrival at the bánh mì stall near my elementary school in Saigon, Vietnam. “A sausage bánh mì with all veggies, please,” said my father to the middle-aged woman behind the stall. Her calloused hands started to perform magic — a ritual I never failed to watch with fascination. She split a golden baguette in half, spread pâté all over the fluffy white insides of the loaf, then added sausage slices and cilantro, green onion and daikon pickles, finally topping the marvellous creation with a dash of chili sauce. At 7 a.m. sharp, I got off the motorcycle in front of the school gat...