Breakfast is the meal that remembers where you are from. I drew my three in alcohol marker and coloured pencil, one to a page, each with its name lettered underneath in Vietnamese: cà phê sữa đá in a tall glass under a lid of ice, cơm tấm with grilled pork and a fried egg, phở bò with the chopsticks laid across the bowl. The lettering matters as much as the food does. A dish written in its own language is a dish nobody has to translate for you.