One of my closest OG friends is a Vietnamese American ride or die friend who visits me at least once a year. We grew up in each other's houses, where food was a central part of life and our cultures. Her mother thought it was funny when we went to Asian markets to tell people I was her daughter. "Third daughter," she would say in her thick accented mix of Vietnamese and English. The funny looks never got old to her.  E's mother was like my mom: maternal, warm, and loved mothering and being a wife, but was a force to be reckoned with at her job (as a respected scientist and chemist), whose primary focus was family and making them fresh food every night. I spent so much time eating with them at their house that Vietnamese food comforts me to this day. Her mother had 8 sisters, and they would descend on the house for holidays, and the kitchen would be hopping with Vietnamese; minor disagreements about recipes, but E's mom is the oldest, so her word was final. She was...