Barely a dish and certainly not containing enough of any nutrients, this simple grain and seasoning serves as the foundation through which I understand my family and where I come from but most importantly, it was the reality for my dad who, at times, needed it to survive.

Growing up, my parents ingrained in my brother and me stories of their lives back in Vietnam. My dad was born in 1970 in Vietnam and lived there with his family until they were sponsored by his uncle to come to Houston when he was 22. My paternal grandpa was imprisoned when my dad was between the ages of 9-14 for being a part of the South Vietnamese Army fighting against the North's communist regime, so as the eldest son of practically a single nurse mother, my dad helped to raise his four other siblings.

I wish there were pictures of them growing up for me to visualize but over and over, my dad would tell stories of him and his family surviving through simply, rice and salt.

He would often talk about growing up as the poor kid in school where many kids made fun of him but he was able to keep himself afloat because he was smart and got good grades. My grandma barely had enough money to pay for school uniforms for five kids so he would have to share everything with his siblings. As the eldest son, it was on him to make sure that everyone was taken care of.

His values of education and hard work are not lost upon me when I think about the conditions in which he came to be. I may have never had to eat rice and salt to sustain myself, but I am eternally grateful for the sacrifices he has made, the stories he has to tell, and the lessons he has to teach for I am nothing without this dish.