95f low. While the long-term gains of these efforts are
evident (recent small-scale diversions have success-
fully created some of the newest land on Earth),
there is a f ierce battle rag ing over how it will a f fect
the shrimpers. An inf lux of fresh water from the
river will alter shrimp habitats in the short term,
inevitably changing where shrimpers can find and
catch them. As pressing as the environmental con-
cerns are, fishermen have to consider their bottom
line—they don’t have the luxury of waiting a decade
for the ecosystem to right itself. Many cite injus-
tices going back 100 years, when other government
projects harmed their industry, and the interest
of the city of New Orleans took precedence over
their livelihoods.
At this point, environmental restoration is a
necessary step to ensure the future of fishing and
shrimping in the delta, as well as the f uture of eating
in New Orleans. “If we don’t do something to build a
more sustainable coast, then it’s not about people in
South Louisiana adapting, it’s about them moving,
and the whole place transforming into something
that doesn’t support the culture,” explains Natalie
Peyronnin Snider, the senior director of coastal re-
silience at the Environmental Defense Fund, and
a Louisiana native. “Food is an integral part of our
culture in southern Louisiana, and that comes from
a very productive delta. Although change is going
to happen, we can be in charge of change happen-
ing for the better.”
in a fema-funded flood home perched on stilts,
Sandy and some friends ready a post-blessing feast.
Sandy prepares what she calls “Vietnamese sushi,”
VIETNAM to LOUISIANA
a ceviche-style dish made by curing local shrimp in
lime juice and tossing it with Vietnamese roasted
rice powder and herbs. She wraps a bite in mint
leaves and dips it into a mixture of soy sauce and
wasabi. Downstairs, her friend Ket Khath and some
neighborhood friends are busy grilling meaty Gulf
oysters and foil-wrapped shrimp beneath the raised
house. Local seafood, including otherwise under-
utilized bycatch, has been knitted into the fabric
of Vietnamese cuisine here, and ingredients from
Asian groceries coexist well with Louisiana hot
sauce and steamy Gulf oysters.
The next day, the group gathers at Hoàng Gia,
a karaoke joint where local shrimpers often con-
gregate to sing a few bars, talk business, and eat.
Hoàng Gia’s chef, Bac Sau, a 72-year-old Vietnam-
ese refugee, specializes in steaming hot pots, served
with Indian taro and pompano fish, and platters
of “rock ’n’ roll” beef, her most regionally adapted
dish. It utilizes an unbelievable amount of black
pepper, a nod to Louisianans’ heavy use of season-
ing in cooking. But the group favorite is a heaping
platter of whole twice-fried Gulf shrimp, dotted
with sliced chiles and accompanied by a sharp, salty
Vietnamese lime sauce. Talk turns once again to
the disappearing land.
While the delta continues to encroach upon
them, the community members insist again and
again they will do whatever they need to do to
survive —invest in bigger boats or more innova-
tive equipment to weather the changes, and adapt
their traditional dishes to whatever ingredients
they can still gather. “Compared to what we went
through in Vietnam, the war and strife,” Chan says,
“we just keep going.” From left: A hot pot
at Hoàng Gia; fresh
shrimp on ice after
a day’s harvest; Bac
Sau in the kitchen
at Hoàng Gia; a
massive pile of ice
inside a refrigerated
seafood storeroom.