I grew up in Rexburg, Idaho, the heart of meat and potato country. The town I’m from has less than 15,000 people in it but at least four Subways and many more fast food restaurants. It isn’t that there isn’t good food there – my mother is a great cook – but it is not what I would call adventurous.

 

When I was 19, I served in a mission for my church in Louisiana, in a town that had a substantial Vietnamese population. (They resettled there after the Vietnam war, drawn to how similar the bayou and its waters are to Vietnam.) Not only were my eyes opened to an entirely new culture – not just Louisianian, not just Vietnamese but a mixture of the two – but to an entire world of flavor. I returned to Idaho in love with the intense spice of Southeast Asian cuisine, with an appreciation for fish sauce and lemongrass and delicious green papaya salad called som tum.

"I was so touched that for this thing, this thing I had been searching fruitlessly, Julia had taken upon herself to find. I didn’t need to say anything. I didn’t need to ask. She just knew."

Back in Idaho, I tried to recreate those Vietnamese flavors but I had little luck. It was nearly impossible to find any of the ingredients I needed. When I met Jules, in 2007, I was already in search for a khrok sak, and used to regale her with tales of papaya salad. When we moved to our new house in North Carolina in 2021, where there’s a much larger Asian population, I was excited to finally get to cook what I had been craving for nearly so many years.
 
Jules, I think, was excited but a little weary. I love spicy food (though it doesn’t always love me back) but she doesn’t. Nevertheless she was supportive. I began searching for a khrok sak, a Thai mortar and pestle that is deeper than the Western versions. (Much of Thai food relies on the mashing of spices, which must be done in a deep bowl so peppercorns and the like don’t start flying all over the place.) I wasn’t having any luck, despite the plethora of Asian grocery stores nearby. Then one day I came home to find a khrok sak on our kitchen table. Jules had found one on Etsy. For weeks she had quietly been searching for me.

We talk all the time about objects and materials. It is, after all, our job and a passion for both of us. I was so touched that for this thing, this thing I had been searching fruitlessly, Julia had taken upon herself to find. I didn’t need to say anything. I didn’t need to ask. She just knew. Now, when I make som tum for the family, I happily do so with my khrok sak and the satisfaction that someone’s looking out for me.