McAsian cuisine

I hereby give the world notice that I am trademarking the terms “McAsian cuisine” and “McAsian food.” Hell, I'll just take all of "McAsia" and "McAsian" for good measure. Anyone, anywhere who uses that term from now on has to pay me a glass of bia hơi each time they use it. Except if you’re in Somalia. I suspect not even Walt Disney's trademark department could enforce this in Somalia.

Seriously, I know that the second you read the header, you went “SNAP!” You knew exactly what I meant, even though you’d never thought about it that way. It’s that strangely generic “Asian” food that has populated food courts and airport waiting areas from Singapore to Seattle and is now even making its way into places like – the horror, the horror – the American Midwest. It’s a cuisine that takes a couple typical dishes from every country in Asia, dumbs them down and sweetens them up, and if at all possible, deep fries them for good measure. You’ve got your “Cantonese” fried rice, your “Singapore” fried noodles, some “Vietnamese” spring rolls, a Pad “Thai”… Just top it off with some shockingly bad sushi, and your McAsian menu is complete.

Now that the term is out there, it’s going to be pretty much impossible not to use it. “Hey, wanna go grab some McAsian food?” “What do you feel like tonight? – How about McAsian?” “I know this great little place that serves the best McAsian in the whole Tristate area.” Just remember, each time, that’s one more glass of bia hơi for me. And who knows, I just might have to order some real Vietnamese food to go along with all that bia hơi.

Have we killed the áo dài?

I should start this by pointing out that I’m as aware as the next human about the invented nature of “tradition” in general and “traditional dress” in particular. I know of the áo dài’s questionably “Vietnamese” roots (looks kinda Khmer now that you mention it), its recent invention (at best a bare 200 years, but really only since the 1920s), and above all how national costumes of any sort tend to promote the objectification if not commodification of women. But all that aside, the áo dài has undeniably become a symbol of Vietnam, ranking up in the top three along with the nón lá and phở. I mean, what else do we have? Honking horns?

Truth be told, there are a lot worse national symbols. If we allow ourselves to put political correctness to one side for just a moment, I think we all can admit that a woman wearing a well-tailored áo dài can be strikingly beautiful. To compare, a young woman in Korea’s national costume, the hanbok, to my mind at least, looks vaguely comical and more than a little uncomfortable. A young woman in an áo dài, on the other hand, looks graceful, demure, and sexy all at the same time. Throw in a Huế accent and she’s pretty much irresistible.

Which is why it saddened me to hear that one of my Vietnamese students had advised her American classmates not to have áo dài made before returning home. As the student explained it, in Vietnam today, áo dài are worn almost exclusively by woman in the service industry, Vietnam Airlines flight attendants, wait staff in certain “traditional” restaurants, and hotel receptionists being prime examples. As a result, the áo dài had taken on certain negative class connotations: essentially it was the uniform of working women. Not quite factory overalls, but close.

While for foreigners and overseas Vietnamese the áo dài remains a beautiful, fashionable, and uniquely Vietnamese style of dress, for at least one young Vietnamese woman, it has taken on a very different set of meanings. In our haste to create a “brand identity” – for Vietnam as much as for Vietnam airlines – have we killed the áo dài?