The Gravity of an Egg Roll

“When you plant a sunflower in a new area,” Anh Ho begins, pointing to the robust plants in his West Tisbury garden, “it doesn’t care that the soil’s good. But it puts a lot of carbon back into where it is.”

Anh inspects the stalks and explains their benefits, namely their ability to grow in unfavorable conditions. Exhibiting an extensive knowledge of agriculture, he makes frequent jokes about the finicky nature of the crops to which he and his family tend. He leads the way through sections of snapdragon and hydrangeas surrounding his house. Curiosity and a dash of affection are evident in Anh’s tone, even when he describes the challenges brought on by a scorching summer.

“You have to come back next year, in the spring.” He insists, adding with a laugh that full bloom is a much better sight than the garden’s current state. “This is the most depressing time of the year for me.”

Though some petals may appear a bit wilted under the August sun, the garden maintains a lushness. Anh is modest when describing the land, but the rows of scallions, tomatoes, and wild mint have clearly been grown by attentive hands. Springing vibrantly out of the soil and vine, many of these crops will be featured in egg rolls for Khen’s Little Kitchen, an enterprise founded by Thi Khen Tran, Anh’s grandmother, over 30 years ago. Since Khen’s passing in 2017, Anh and his family have kept the business going through her recipes and stories.

While farmers market prep for Khen’s Little Kitchen consists of cold rolls and egg rolls, Vietnamese coleslaw, and meringues, on slower days Anh takes advantage of his commercial kitchen to whip up other dishes. Demonstrating a predilection for detail, he prepares pasta and tomato sauce in Khen’s former kitchen. Rather than tossing the freshly-cut noodles in a nest-like pile, Anh prefers to gather the strands into neat strips to portion for each batch. His cooking space is pristine, from the stainless steel counters to the milk crates used as chairs (Anh rarely sits while in the kitchen). Nearly everything he serves is homemade and sourced within just yards of the kitchen, including the beer he pairs with the meal. In fact, Anh built a small brewery in the adjacent garage, a hobby he picked up during the idle months of 2020.

“I started brewing because I couldn’t bake,” Anh states while uncorking his latest IPA. “I needed to ferment something.” 

Fermenting, baking, and generally experimenting with bread is Anh’s passion. He has ample culinary training and worked at the Clear Flour Bakery in Brookline. Anh confesses that he initially got into baking to “impress a girl,” but quickly became enamored with the combination of science and artistry of the craft. The baker seemed poised to avidly pursue this career path, but when his grandmother’s health started declining, Anh came home from Boston to Martha’s Vineyard to assist with the business around 2013. 

“I actually hadn’t done much cooking for the egg rolls. She had me chopping cabbage as a kid.” Anh smirks. “The one task you can’t mess up!” 

Upon returning to the island, Anh adopted a more prominent role in the cooking process, trying to absorb as many of his grandmother’s recipes, tips, and techniques as possible. By that point, Khen was an established, beloved presence at the West Tisbury Farmers market. But Anh and his family were preparing to carry on a story that began long before the first egg roll sale. 

Home, Half the Globe Away

Born in South Vietnam near the Mekong Delta in 1938, Khen’ was a child during the French occupation of Vietnam. In her book, The Egg Roll Lady of Martha’s Vineyard, Khen recalls the violence between the French and Japanese near her home. Punctuated by black-and-white photos of Khen and her family throughout the years, the spiral-bound account of her life up to 2007 is candid about the brutality she witnessed. The proximity of the conflict forced her and her family to relocate frequently, experience food shortages, hide in trees for days on end, and suffer the loss of relatives and friends. 

So, that time, that (Tet) New Year it was so quiet that we didn’t go down the other side of the river. Khen writes about the French pursuit of the Viet Cong. We didn’t know there would be more fighting. My father always repeated it like that: We didn't know. 

A few years after entering an arranged marriage at the age of 20, Khen started nannying to support her growing family. Since she was caring for the children of diplomats, Khen’s position led her to the United States in 1964. While nannying six children and working nights at a Vietnamese restaurant in North Carolina, Khen met a chef who connected her with Bertrand and Lisa Taylor. Shortly after the introduction to the family, Khen moved north to be a nanny for their daughter, Laurie in New York City. Martha’s Vineyard happened to be the Taylors’ summer destination, so in 1967, Khen set foot in Vineyard Haven for the first time. Despite an initial language barrier and new environment, she noted that after time she started to feel like the Vineyard was home. 

Khen’s egg rolls and various shrimp dishes delighted the Taylors, particularly Laurie and her younger brother, Lindsay. Her cooking would soon earn her the additional title of chef. By introducing recipes from her old home to her new one, Khen further solidified a profound bond with the family.

In 1986 Khen started to sell some of her home-grown vegetables and plants at the farmers market. Heads of lettuce, peonies, and sunflowers were eventually replaced by smoked bluefish mousse (a Taylor favorite), then egg rolls were added into rotation. Khen writes that someone else taught her how to make egg rolls and she became inspired to incorporate her own vegetables into the recipe. Within just a few seasons, the crispy, fresh rolls drew large crowds at the markets. 

Everybody said, ‘we love your egg rolls!’ Khen writes, detailing her first years at the market. And one lady said, ‘I don’t like tofu.’ So I said, ‘Look at that boy; he doesn’t like tofu either, but if it is in the egg roll, he eats all of it. Tofu is very good for you.’

With Lindsay as her assistant, and The Egg Roll Lady soon became a notable island figure. Her food was known as a dependable treat, annual vacation tradition, and sentimental staple for anyone who wandered up to her table.

I have customers come back and say: ‘I was here 10 years ago and I had one of your egg rolls. I am so happy you are still here!’ Khen writes, detailing some of her fondest conversations at the market. It makes me so happy to see my customers come back and to meet their children and grandchildren.

Khen purchased her house in West Tisbury a decade after her farmers market debut. After navigating various bureaucratic obstacles, Khen was eventually joined by other relatives from Vietnam, including her daughter Luyen’s family and her son, Khuyen, Anh’s father, and his family in 1999. Serving as a great contrast to her childhood hardships is a photo near the end of Khen’s book: Khen sits atop her porch steps in the early 2000’s. Surrounded by her family - both biological and honorary - she appears deeply content. Anh, his parents, Khuyen and Phieu, and Anh’s sister, Lan, are pictured. The four of them, along with Daisy (Bertrand’s daughter) and her husband, Floyd, are the current Khen’s Little Kitchen team. 

Feeling the Pull

Reading the lengthy tributes to Khen after her death, one might conclude that she was known as much for her warmth as she was for her wares. This is certainly not lost on Anh.  

“One of the things about my grandmother,” he notes, sauteeing some onions then adding fragrant tomato sauce from a mason jar. “She’s like gravity. People get close to her.”

Anh expresses gratitude for those who approach the tent bearing “Khen’s Egg Rolls” in bold letters. Many patrons share anecdotes with him, “all these really cool stories about my grandma” which he’s eager to hear. Khen seems to have shaped a great deal of Anh’s upbringing, yielding a sense of far-reaching community.

“All these people that are not technically blood-related to us? We grew up with them and they became like aunts and uncles. Just because of her.” Carving up some roasted chicken to complete the dish, Anh continues. “Floyd and Daisy are close to blood related to me. Not even distant relatives, but here they are, spending their Saturdays helping me. They have to get up at 5 to be there at 6.” 

Anh looks up quickly from his task, suddenly remembering something. 

“Before I forget.” He nods across the kitchen. A carton of freshly-picked tomatoes and a jar of orange marmalade he’s spent the last week perfecting sit on the counter. “Make sure you take these home with you!”

Anh may not have predicted that he would help take over for Khen, but he doesn’t seem to view it as a chore. Choosing to introduce new waves of visitors, islanders, and everyone in-between to Khen’s recipes also does not mean sacrificing his other passions. During the COVID lockdown, he donated his time to bake bread for the Island Grown Initiative lunch program.

“I would like to open a bakery with one of my best friends and a better baker, Jake,” Anh muses, noting that opening a bakery on the island would be an ideal gig. “I think if I had a bakery, I would just make sourdough bread.”

In the meantime, Anh will continue Khen’s narrative. He demonstrates a clear reverence for Khen’s culinary process, but also her impact on the island. Indeed, Khen was not unlike a sunflower, able to persist in challenging circumstances and enrich the spaces she entered. In a rather self-deprecating manner, Anh tends to paint himself as more of a beneficiary to Khen’s legacy. And yet, Anh plays a crucial role in maintaining the apparatus that drew so many to Khen and her memory.