Stealing Buddha's Dinner

Table of Contents

PENGUIN BOOKS STEALING BUDDHA'S DINNER

Bich Minh Nguyen (first name pronounced Bit) teaches literature and creative writing at Purdue University. She lives with her husband, the novelist Porter Shreve, in Chicago and West Lafayette, Indiana.
Stealing Buddha's Dinner
, her first book, was the recipient of the PEN/Jerard Fund Award. She is currently at work on a novel,
Short Girls
.

Praise for
Stealing Buddha's Dinner

“A charming memoir . . . Her prose is engaging, precise, compact.”

—
The New York Times Book Review

“[D]eftly crafted . . . Far from being a memoir or what could be described as fitting into the kitschy ethnic-lit genre, her story is at once personal and broad, about one Vietnamese refugee navigating U.S. culture as well as an exploration of identity. . . . [S]he pays equal attention to the rhythm and poignancy of language to build her story as she does the circumstances into which she was born.” —
Los Angeles Times

“Nguyen . . . succeeds as an author on many levels. She is a brave writer who is willing to share intimate family memories many of us would choose to keep secret. Her prose effortlessly pulls readers into her worlds. Her typical and not-so-typical childhood experiences give her story a universal flavor.” —
USA Today

“Hilarious and poignant, her words will go straight to your heart.”

—
Daily Candy

“Nguyen brings back moments and sensations with such vivid clarity that readers will find themselves similarly jolted back in time. She's a sensuous writer—colors and textures weave together in her work to create a living fabric. This book should be bought and read anytime your soul hungers for bright language and close observation.”

—
Star Tribune
(Minneapolis)

“It's the premise that makes the book relevant not only to anyone who's ever lusted after the perfect snack, but anyone who's ever felt different. Clever turns of phrase make Nguyen's book read quickly, and children of the '80s will be able to reminisce about pop culture along with her. The story resonates with anyone who's ever felt like an outsider.”

—
San Francisco Chronicle

“
Stealing Buddha's Dinner
is beautifully written. Nguyen . . . surely knows how to craft and shape sentences. She understands the evocative possibilities of language, is fearless in asserting the specificities of memories culled from early childhood and is, herself, an appealing character on the page. I believe Nguyen is a writer to watch, a tremendous talent with a gift for gorgeous sentences.” —
Chicago Tribune

"The story of how one young girl could absorb all these cultural influences and assimilate drives
Stealing Buddha's Dinner
and Nguyen makes the journey both fiercely individual and universal.” —
Detroit Free Press

“Nguyen is a gifted storyteller who doles out humor and hurt in equal portions.
Stealing Buddha's Dinner
[is] a tasty read. This memoir, which is also a tribute to ‘all the bad [American] food, fashion, music, and hair of the deep 1980s,' feels vivid, true, and even nostalgic.”

—
The Christian Science Monitor

“[A] pungent, precisely captured memoir.” —
Elle

“[Nguyen] makes the inability to fit in the springboard for a gracefully told remembrance that mixes the amusing and the touching to wonderful effect. She writes with Zen-like wisdom.” —
The Hartford Courant

“The author's prose is lovely and her imagery fresh. And in her re-creation of a world populated by
Family Ties
[and] Ritz crackers . . . she has captured the 1980s with perfection. . . . This debut suggests she's a writer to watch.” —
Kirkus Reviews

"'I came of age before ethnic was cool,' the author writes in her carefully crafted memoir of growing up in western Michigan as a Vietnamese refugee in the early 1980s....What seems most to have caught her eye and fired her imagination, then as now, was food, which not only provides the title for each chapter of the memoir but also serves as a convenient shorthand for the cultural (and metaphorical) differences between Toll House cookies and green sticky rice cakes, between Pringles and
chao gio
, between American and Vietnamese. It's a clever device and—like the book itself—leaves the reader hungry for more.” —
Booklist

“Only a truly gifted writer could make me long for the Kool-Aid, Rice-a-Roni, and Kit Kats celebrated in
Stealing Buddha's Dinner
. In this charming, funny, original memoir about growing up as an outsider in America, Bich Nguyen takes you on a journey you won't forget. I can hardly wait for what comes next.” —Judy Blume

"At once sad and funny, full of brass, energy, and startling insights,
Stealing Buddha's Dinner
is a charmer of a memoir. Bich Nguyen's story ranges from the pleasures of popular culture to the richness of personal history, from American fast foods to traditional Vietnamese fare. It is an irresistible tale.”

—Diana Abu-Jaber, author of
Origin
and
The Language of Baklava

“Bich Nguyen's
Stealing Buddha's Dinner
is an irresistible memoir of assimilation, compassion, family, and food. Who would have thought that SpaghettiOs, Nestlé Quik, and Pringles could seem as wonderfully exotic to a Vietnamese refugee as shrimp curry and spring rolls seem to the average Midwesterner, but that's part of the tasty surprise of this wonderful debut.”

—Dinty W. Moore, author of
The Accidental Buddhist: Mindfulness, Enlightenment, and Sitting Still

“Frank, tender, unsettling,
Stealing Buddha's Dinner
by Bich Minh Nguyen moves the reader with each event and image. Bich's grandparents ‘gathered up the family and fled Vietnam to start over on the other side of the world' in 1975. Her own and her family's subtle and brutal collisions in Grand Rapids, Michigan, are rendered true and palpable by the writer's candid imagination. In fiction and nonfiction, the reality of a character's life lies in how it is experienced. Nguyen's immigrant childhood resonates, as she captures the experience of two cultures' clashing smells, religions, hairstyles, clothes, habits, and, especially, foods. As she writes it, her grandmother's gathering toadstools in their backyard garden sets them apart from their neighbors absolutely but also ineffably. America's foundational story is the immigrant's tale, and, with its new citizens, the country continuously remakes itself. Similarly, Nguyen's unique writerly vision, her innovative and pungent voice, reinvents and renews this venerable theme.”

—Lynne Tillman, judge for the PEN/Jerard Fund Award

PENGUIN BOOKS
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First published in the United States of America by Viking Penguin, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 2007 Published in Penguin Books 2008

Copyright © Bich Minh Nguyen, 2007

All rights reserved

Portions of this book were published as the selections “A World Without Measurements” in
Gourmet;
“Toadstools” in
Dream Me Home Safely: Writers on Growing Up in America,
edited by Susan Richards Shreve (Houghton Mifflin, 2003); and “The Good Immigrant Student” in
Tales Out of School: Contemporary Writers on Their Student Years,
edited by Susan Richards Shreve and Porter Shreve (Beacon Press, 2001).

eISBN : 978-1-4406-3533-5

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

WE ARRIVED IN GRAND RAPIDS WITH FIVE DOLLARS
and a knapsack of clothes. Mr. Heidenga, our sponsor, set us up with a rental house, some groceries—boxed rice, egg noodles, cans of green beans—and gave us dresses his daughters had outgrown. He hired my father to work a filling machine at North American Feather. Mr. Heidenga wore wide sport coats and had yellow hair. My sister and I were taught to say his name in a hushed tone to show respect. But if he stopped by to check on us my grandmother would tell us to be silent because that was part of being good.
Hello, girls,
he would say, stooping to pat us on the head.

It was July 1975, but we were cold. Always cold, after Vietnam, and my uncle Chu Cuong rashly spent two family dollars on a jacket from the Salvation Army, earning my grandmother's scorn. For there were seven of us to feed in that gray house on Baldwin Street: my father, Grandmother Noi, Uncles Chu Cuong, Chu Anh, and Chu Dai (who wasn't really an uncle but Cuong's best friend), and my sister and me. Upstairs belonged to the uncles, and downstairs my sister and I shared a room with Noi. My father did not know how to sleep through the night. He paced around the house, double-checking the lock on the front door; he glanced sideways out the taped-up windows, in case someone was watching from the street. When at last he settled down on the living room sofa, a tweedy green relic from Mr. Heidenga's basement, he kept one hand on the sword he had bought from a pawnshop with his second paycheck. My father had showed my sister and me the spiral carvings on the handle. He turned the sword slowly, its dull metal almost gleaming, and let us feel the weight of the blade.