It was 13 years ago when Christine Ha auditioned for and eventually won the third season of MasterChef US. Christine was a grad student from Texas then, and her victory was a watershed moment in the history of reality TV in the US and even globally. She’s visually impaired, a daughter of Vietnamese immigrants, and has a palate that even established chefs would envy. Back then, everything about Christine’s MasterChef run left an indelible mark on me, a budding food enthusiast from Vietnam, but as I grew older and embarked on my own cooking journey, there’s something about her audition that has always tugged on my heartstrings.
She auditioned for MasterChef with cá kho tộ, a rustic, homely dish where a fatty fish is braised in a claypot with fish sauce and simple spices, often eaten with steamed white rice and blanched vegetables. I have no shame about introducing cá kho tộ to a western audience because to me cá kho tộ is one perfect example of a simple but balanced meal, in which a salty, rich, umami-laden sauce is smartly tempered by plain carb and fibrous sides. Everything about Christine’s cá kho tộ screams Vietnam, from the choice of catfish to the use of the claypot, but nothing does it better than the way she cuts the fish: crosswise.
Christine Ha's original audition in 2012.
This cut is often called cá cắt khúc in Vietnamese or fish steak in English, producing rhomboid fish slices that retain a segment of the spine and a handful of ribs. Fillets, however, are the result of lengthwise cuts that carefully separate the fish flesh from the backbone. One thing I learned about cooking from western media is how much importance is placed on deboning. On MasterChef itself, there are challenges where contestants are required to segment an entire salmon by themselves, producing Instagram-ready squares of fish fillets whose every sliver of bone is picked clean by the chef. The cá cắt khúc–fillet dichotomy might seem trivial, but to me, it speaks volumes about the way Asian cooking traditions at large and Vietnamese cuisine in particular distinguish themselves from the gastronomical conventions of the west.
Fish fillets, freed of bones and skin, are primed to be grilled, pan-seared, battered and deep-fried, or baked; therefore, it’s perfect for meatier, leaner fish types that populate the northern seas like cod, halibut, seabass or red snapper. Cá cắt khúc, meanwhile, epitomizes the economical and resourceful way Vietnam approaches cooking. Bones always mean more flavor, so leaving the bones in fish steaks is an ideal way to amplify the tastiness of the braise and keep the fish from drying out. The freshwater fish species — from cá trê, Christine’s pick for her dish, to cá dứa and cá rô đồng — that often end up in cá kho tộ have flaky flesh and rather petite bodies, so the act of filleting can risk mangling the fish and leaving behind specks of fish meat — a wasteful crime that would alarm any Asian cook, who tend to greatly value using every part of the ingredients. And the concept behind cá kho tộ in itself is a way for Vietnamese families from less privileged backgrounds to stretch a small amount of protein to an entire meal for the family. During the braising process, the fish fat seeps into the liquid, making it more hearty, while the high salt content from soy or fish sauce promotes more consumption of carbs so the family will get full faster with less protein.
I am admittedly quite terrified of cá cắt khúc, due to a childhood incident involving a stuck fish bone in my throat, but I firmly believe that one must always go with slices of perfectly chopped fish in cá kho tộ. Of course, fish steaks exist in western cuisines too, especially in the case of salmon; and supermarkets in Saigon now carry a range of filleted fish for the convenience of busy homemakers. Today, representations of Vietnamese cuisine are not that rare on international media anymore and even TikTokers are making bánh tráng nướng at home, but you will never forget your firsts. I will never forget that special feeling, seeing Christine Ha’s cá cắt khúc for the first time on television — bubbling inside a claypot, coated in a layer of saucy, salty fish sauce caramel that appears like from a dream.
