By Chong Ntxoo Moua
Servings: Home
Total Time: Displaced
Ingredients
- Fresh cooked Jasmine rice
- Soda
- Bowl
- Spoon
- Memories
Recipe Notes
When I was growing up, every now and then, there would be a bowl of red tinged rice in the refrigerator. These were the leftovers of my father’s rice with red soda or punch. He was the only family member I recall who ate rice with soda.
Rice is an integral part of Hmong life–from birth to being an ancestor in the spiritual realm. One of the first solid foods Hmong mothers introduce to their babies is rice. The soft, puffy pillows of cooked rice and its gentle aroma teach babies that rice is love and rice is home. For families like mine, who practice Hmong animist beliefs, rice is often offered in ritual ceremonies to ancestors.
Hmong people say that as long as you have rice, you will never go hungry. In the aftermath of the U.S.’s secret war in Laos (1962-1975), when Hmong people had to escape Laos due to persecution from the communist government, rice and a cooking pot were essential among the few items they carried with them. As many made their way to refuge in Thailand, mostly on foot, they tried to make the rice last as long as possible on the long journey. When rice ran out, they dug for roots and tubers in the jungles. Even then, many still died along the way from starvation.
This belief in the sustenance power of rice is why Hmong elders, during the coronavirus pandemic, rushed to the stores to buy as much rice as they could. Award-winning Hmong American writer Kao Kalia Yang framed this by asking “How do you brace for a coming pandemic? You buy rice…When there is nothing else, if you have rice, your children will not starve.” Hmong people know that rice is life.
In my family, rice with soda is a Hmong American thing. Prior to resettling in the U.S. as refugees, it was not something we ate. Rice with soda is also not just Hmong American. Acclaimed Filipino American chef Dale Talde shared a recipe of Pepsi Rice, from his grandmother that represented “the intersection of fast food with home cooking.” Before rice with soda, there was rice with water–a meal well-known in all Hmong homes. Of rice and water, Hmong American writer Kou B. Thao writes, “Every Hmong child grew up eating mov ntse dlej (rice mixed with water), whether they were raised in Chiang Mai, Thailand, or Milwaukee, Wisconsin.”1 Hmong elders like to eat rice with water with slices of ginger on the side. Or a side of fresh chili peppers dipped in salt. If they crave something sweet, they will have a small side dish of sugar. A bowl of fresh cooked rice swimming like a school of fish in an ocean of cold drinking water is a favorite meal of mine. The perfect spoonful is equal parts rice and equal parts water. At the end, when only the water is left, resembling a lighter version of horchata, I pick up the bowl and drink the rice-flavored liquid. It never fails to quench my nostalgia for home. Hmong people know that when there is nothing else, rice with water is all you need.
My father is the only one in my family that eats rice with soda. I did not care for rice with soda because I did not like soda. I was not a fan of the texture of the bubbly carbonation in my mouth–the airy, slightly salty effervescence felt strange. My father, on the other hand, has always loved sweet drinks. There is not a soda, punch, juice, or sweet tea he meets that he does not like. Growing up, we did not often have soda or punch or juice at home. As a refugee family of 11 (my parents had nine children) and living on government welfare, there was not a lot of money for luxuries like candy, junk food, or soda. The rare occasions when we did have soda, it was not the individual cans or bottles in a tidy six-pack or 12-pack, but rather the big, clunky 2-liter bottles because they were cheaper for more quantity. And we rarely bought name brand Coke or Pepsi products. Instead, on the front of our 2-liter bottles, written in generic font were store brand names like Dr. Thunder, Signature SELECT Cola Soda, or Great Value Twist Up.
The other occasions where we had soda was when we had parties or attended parties. These were often family gatherings to celebrate birthdays, the new year, babies, graduations, or weddings. There was always plenty of soda leftover, and we would bring a few home. I don’t remember my father being picky about a particular type of soda or juice he preferred with rice. What stands out in my memory are the times when he had rice with red or orange soda and would leave the uneaten portions on the kitchen table or in the fridge. My father is much older now and age has started to make his mind hazy. He still has a sweet tooth for soda, but I haven’t seen him eat it with rice for many years. I wonder if he still remembers rice with soda.
In my memories, rice with water is home.
And rice with soda will always be my father.
Chong Ntxoo Moua (PhD) is a refugee daughter of Yaj Mim Hawj and Npuag Looj Muas. Her expertise in Hmong history and community-based research has contributed to numerous arts- and community-based exhibits, public history, and public humanities projects. She has a co-authored piece on HMoob/HMong Indigeneity and Peoplehood. She is also part of a community-based exhibit and digital archive called HMoob Stories Project.
- What We Hunger For: Refugee and Immigrant Stories about Food and Family, 2021, 107 ↩︎