These are my Thai curry recipes. The first Christmas I brought Chris home, my mother cooked all day without asking what anyone wanted. The kitchen filled with lemongrass and coconut milk and the particular warmth of a broth that had been going since morning. Massaman curry. Tom Kha. Spring rolls ready to fry. The whole weight of Thailand on a Maryland kitchen counter in December. She put it in front of him and watched. He ate everything, without hesitation, without asking what was in it, without reaching for something safer. He just sat down and ate the way someone eats when they are exactly where they are supposed to be. My mother did not say a word. She did not need to. Some things are communicated entirely through food. He passed. Years later my son Ryan makes her Massaman curry in his own kitchen, her recipe, her flavors, carried forward the way the important things always are in this family. Quietly, completely, without making a fuss about it. These dishes have a way of finding the people who belong to them. They always have.
