Talking Shop Bao Ngoc with Ngọc Trần
Ngọc Trần. Photo supplied by Ngọc Trần.
Words by Rushani Epa
Fill, fold, pinch. Ngọc Trần and her partner Matt Beanland’s hands are red. Their thumbs and forearms ache as they methodically create dumpling after dumpling. Fill, fold, pinch. With 450 vegan dumplings down in just two days, they face the task of making 1,050 more in a matter of days.
100% of profits raised from all dumpling sales will go towards RISE (Refugee Survivors and eX-detainees) COVID-19 Emergency Appeal. For anyone who is familiar with Trần or her venue, Shop Bao Ngọc, this might not come as a surprise.
Hard work, selflessness and social justice are all values which Trần and her restaurant uphold. If they’re not offering a pay-as-you-feel model for those who can’t afford food during the pandemic, they’re working hard to Pay the Rent with profits from food sales going to First Nations organisations.
Ngọc is my Vietnamese name but my mum changed it when I was four [years old] because no one could pronounce it.
“Ngọc is my Vietnamese name but my mum changed it when I was four [years old] because no one could pronounce it,” she says. Previously known as Cindy, she named her Vietnamese restaurant in Brunswick Shop Bao Ngọc “to reclaim it and make sure everyone says it, but no one says it.” She has since changed her name back to Ngọc Trần.
Instead, the restaurant with the cult following is commonly referred to as the “Vietnamese joint on Victoria St”. It’s an issue that many restaurants with non-Anglo names face, and highlights the racial microaggressions caused by an audience who either mock or refuse to learn their names.
These racial microaggressions shape First Nations, Black and People of Colour from a young age, and lead to many shortening their names, or even denouncing their heritage.
“I think it’s an experience a lot of People of Colour go through, and I found myself rejecting my culture entirely. It wasn’t until I turned 20 that I realised how much I missed my mum’s cooking,” Trần says.
Moving out at 20 years old, she soon realised she didn’t know how to cook familiar Vietnamese dishes her mother, H Vo, would make for her growing up. “I taught myself how to [cook Vietnamese food] after I moved out. Then, I went backpacking in Vietnam with Matt, and that was when I felt a true sense of belonging.”
It was at that point that she decided to return to Vietnam each year, “because it just feels like home. Whenever I go back to Vietnam, I feel this incredible connection to the country and the surroundings there as well. So after that, I thought I’m going to get better at Vietnamese cooking and learn more, and every time I go back to Vietnam I just eat and try to learn about different dishes that are constantly coming out because Vietnamese people are so innovative.” Following this, Trần established Shop Bao Ngọc in Brunswick.
Whenever I go back to Vietnam, I feel this incredible connection to the country and the surroundings there as well.
The intersectionality of being a second generation migrant and a Person of Colour often leads to clashes between first generation migrant parents and their children. This can stem from differing viewpoints, or high expectations that parents place on their children due to their ‘privileged’ upbringing in a Western society.
First generation migrants are generally exposed to the one culture before they move to an unfamiliar terrain, whereas their second generation children attempt to navigate their way through two different cultures. When this involves the East and West, views on ethics, traditions and what’s right and wrong tend to clash. “They internalised the model minority myth which meant we had to be quiet and assimilated,” she says. What’s left is a group of first generation migrants who keep to themselves and work hard to contribute to their new homes, while their second generation children fight stereotypes and stand up for themselves and their families.
Even though I’m a child of an immigrant, if things aren’t right you should try your best to speak up for it.
Trần’s mother owns a Vietnamese restaurant situated in one of Melbourne’s most affluent suburbs. “She’s always had a problem with increasing prices and I’ve told her for years and years, you should increase your prices. ‘How are you making any money off $6.50 for a pork roll?’” she says. When she worked at her mother’s restaurant, she was lambasted by a customer who claimed they could purchase a banh mi for $4 in Dandenong instead. “I just wanted to say ‘you can buy a myki and go there, it’d probably be cheaper’. It’s so bizarre, then they will spend $25 on a parma. It’s a schnitzel with ham and cheese on top.”
This didn’t sit well with Trần, who says “if you have a platform, use it”. “She [Trần’s mother] would rather sit on the sidelines, whereas I go ‘this isn’t right’. Even though I’m a child of an immigrant, if things aren’t right you should try your best to speak up for it.” What resulted was a Facebook post on Shop Bao Ngọc’s page which highlighted the inequality in the way we view food:
“It's unfair that you would happily spend $$$$ at a non poc owned 'Asian fusion' joint, calling their food 'innovative', yet you think it's your right to lash out when a first gen immigrant owned restaurant has decided to put prices up because produce is getting more expensive. They've hustled their whole entire life just to feel like they belong in so called 'Australia' yet even after all that struggle, they still feel like an imposter.”
In other instances, customers would leave reviews about their use of green chillies, stating that other Vietnamese restaurants used red chillies, or they would question the way they cut their cucumbers. “Do you think we’re the same people?” she says. “Do you not realise how diverse these cuisines are? Plus each family has their own recipe, their own special version of each dish. My mum's phở will be different to her sister's phở.”
“It’s important to recognise the complexity and ingenuity in our cultures”, she says. This comes into question when regarding food journalism too. ‘Cheap eats’ listicles and articles on where to source the best banh mi or ramen are all problematic when it comes to pitching First Nations, Black or PoC-owned businesses against each other, and further accentuates the belief that their cuisines and foods are ‘cheap’.
It’s important to recognise the complexity and ingenuity in our cultures.
“It’s usually one person taste-testing all these dishes, so it’s all relative to that person, but why do they have the power to decide and police what is and isn’t good phở? Firstly, they’re not likely to be Vietnamese, and secondly they do not have the cultural understanding and relationship with food the way that most Vietnamese - Australians do,” Trần says. In order to change the way people view cuisines, she believes there needs to be better diversity and representation in both the hospitality and food journalism industries.