Flaming Hot Cheetos

I tend not to eat food that 1) hurts my mouth, 2) gives me a stomachache, and 3) leaves neon orange residue on my fingers. Flaming Hot Cheetos is that type of food that I avoid. But the Phan children love Flaming Hot Cheetos. They prefer it over ice cream, potato chips and Oreo cookies. And I don’t think it is just the Phans; I have reason to believe that all or most refugee children from Burma love Flaming Hot Cheetos. In the Parent Handbook from Noah’s school, there was a section warning parents not to send food to school. The school is one that provides free and reduced lunch and breakfast because the students come from poor families. It specifically stated that Flaming Hot Cheetos and other forms of chips were not allowed on the campus. I think they are trying to keep away unhealthy snacks.

Each time I took the Phans to the beach, I provided snacks, like Oreo cookies, (something very American), watermelon, which is enjoyed by all of us, sandwiches, and Flaming Hot Cheetos. All the kids would eat enough Flaming Hot Cheetos that their mouths and fingers would be caked in neon redish-orange residue, which would get washed off in the ocean.

One hot afternoon, as we were struggling over the senseless homework that they get assigned, I heard the sickening sweet sound of the ice cream truck crawling down their street. I got out my wallet and we ran down the stairs to get some cool, refreshing ice cream. I wondered if they had ever bought anything from the ice cream truck and what their choices would be. About a dozen pictures of different flavors and shapes of ice cream were painted on the side of the van. Kay Lee chose a rainbow-colored sherbet, but Tomtom and Noah asked for Flaming Hot Cheetos. The lady opened each bag and dribbled what looked like Tapatio hot sauce into the bags, shook them up and handed them to the boys. On a hot day, where it is stuffy in their apartment, the boys preferred this treat over cold ice cream. I didn’t even know that the truck sold such an unusual snack, but the woman was familiar enough with her local clientele, that she had it in stock, even though it wasn’t shown in one of the pictures on the side of the van.

Once in a while the mom, May, invites me to join them for a meal. The last time was a late brunch on a Saturday. They pulled the low coffee table out into the middle of the floor and placed large plastic bowls filled with what looked like a brown curry, some hard-boiled eggs in a type of brownish sauce, the usual large bowls of plain white rice, cans of warm soda and small bowls of some dried spice concoction.

They are very good at remembering I’m vegetarian and have never questioned me on that. I appreciate it. There is usually a separate bowl of the curry that is extremely bland and has no meat. I am always reluctant to eat their food because, to be honest, it doesn’t look appetizing to me. Hard-boiled eggs submerged in a brownish liquid doesn’t look like something that I would like. I’m pleasantly surprised when it is bland, since I know their preference leans toward very spicy. I don’t want to be rude and refuse their food, but I prefer not to eat at their house. They have very little and don’t need feed me. On the other hand, I have given them a lot, and by feeding me, they kind of even the score. Plus, sometimes I happen to show up when they are about to have a meal, so they naturally invite me.
I’ve seen May chop meat on a stray shelf board that she improvises into a cutting board. She places the shelf on a large couch cushion and swings a cleaver onto a huge, bony piece of meat. I think she mostly cooks in a squat position.

One time Noah came in from a shopping excursion with his Mom and had a all bag of live crabs. He played with them as though they were toys and cried out when they bit him. It was kind of funny, but I didn’t like when they started crawling towards me. What is that expression about not playing with your food? It might bite you. Or your teacher.

One food most Americans love, but this family haven’t had acquired a taste for is chocolate. Kay Lee loves any and all sweets, including chocolate, but the boys prefer white cake, and those circus animal cookies that are white and pink. When Tomtom had a birthday, his wish was to have a white birthday cake. I got him one and we had a whole dinner before they served the cake. May told me through Nawmu that she has won awards for cake decorating in the refugee camp. That just seems so random to me. I’ve seen pictures of the camp and it looks rural, beautiful actually, with a river and lots of trees. The housing is huts made of slats with small spaces between the slats that let in sunlight and air. I don’t think there is any indoor plumbing. Does that mean there were ovens? So many questions. As their teacher, I am learning so much.