During lunchtime at work, I spot a few aluminum cà mên that my coworkers bring from home to keep their lunch warm. Cà mên was once an indispensable item in my family too, but now it’s rarely used; its usage is limited to the few occasions when my grandparents or parents pack lunch for the kids.
Cà mên still lives at hospitals, dangling from the hands of visitors carrying nutritious food to their ill loved ones. The appearance of cà mên could be an optimistic sign of recovery — perhaps someone’s appetite has returned? Inside cà mên, portions of homemade porridge or warm phở bought from a regular eatery have become a crucial part of Vietnamese patients.
Though I don’t use it often, it is still a similar sight to me. It reminds me of the time of my parents and grandparents, as something they remain close to like a default routine, firmly rooted in unforgettable historical episodes. Cà mên has encapsulated both the poverty and wealth of Vietnamese life for years.
Cà mên’s historical origin
Cà mên is an early ancestor of the heat-insulated lunchboxes of today. It consists of a few separate compartments made of aluminum, stainless steel or even plastic. Each “drawer” holds a separate part of the meal. They can be firmly stacked on top of one another and then secured by a lock for transportation. Depending on the region, it’s also known as cặp lồng, cà mèn or gà mên. Cà mên originated from “gamelle” in French, which in turns was based on the Latin “camella,” referring to a cup or bowl. French-style cà mên was produced starting from the mid-19th century, becoming popular on battlefields across the world, each location using a slightly different variation. It’s possible that the French introduced cà mên to Vietnam.
An aluminum cà mên used by French soldiers during World War II. War veterans in Vietnam also kept a cà mên with a similar design. Photos via Marna Militaria.
During the French occupation of Vietnam, cà mên was a mainstay at cơm tháng eateries in Saigon. Cơm tháng, literally “monthly rice,” was a service offered by local rice stalls in which one can pay to eat for a whole month. In an ad in the newspaper Trung Lập Báo, Vi Tiên, an eatery offering Central Vietnamese-style meals at 42 rue Amiral Courbet (now Nguyễn An Ninh Street), promoted a takeaway option with meals stored in cà mên. The sight of French housewives biking with a cà mên to deliver meals to their husbands and blocking a bike race appeared on Vịt Đực, a satire newspaper from 1938.
Cà mên was a major part of mealtime during French rule. Images via the Journalism Archive of the National Library of Vietnam.
Cà mên also played a part in soldier life in Vietnam, but in this version, it was often painted over or wrapped in fabric to prevent reflected flares from exposing the troop’s location. It was used to store rations for long stretches of time, heat up food, and as bowls.
It was this versatility that helped military-issued cà mên remain in Vietnamese civic life, especially the thick and enduring type that arrived from the Soviet Union as aid. The other generic aluminum cà mên sold at nationalized stores was often thin and could warp easily with one drop.
Cà mên on the battlefield, 1973. Photo via TTXVN.
Similar to Vietnam, a number of Asian territories with colonial histories also incorporated western war food containers into daily civic life. In India, these containers are called tiffin and the food they contain is transported by a network of delivery people called dabbawalla. During colonial times, British colonialists used the word “tiffin” to refer to a light meal eaten to abate the tropical heat in India. Today, across major cities, lunchtime dabbawalla filled the street to deliver meals to workers in a diverse range of tiffin containers. The containers are marked by colorful signs for ease of distinction. They are delivered around noon from rice stalls or home, and then collected when work ends. This word is also used to refer to tiered containers in Malaysia and Singapore, popular due to the ability to separate rice and soupy dishes.
The subsidy economy in cà mên’s meager meals
If nowadays, answering the casual question “what’s in your lunchbox today?” is quite an easy task, this would be redundant and dispiriting during the subsidy period, because the content of every cà mên would be the same: destitution.
In the planned economy era, a meal with enough rice — never mind meat or vegetables — was a dream of many Vietnamese. According to historian Đặng Phong, in March 1978, Hanoians could only purchase 4 kg of rice a month each, the rest was sweet potato and cassava. The demand for market rice was skyhigh, and subsidized rice was constantly running short, too cheap, and of low quality. Most people bought it for cheap to resell in hopes of bartering for homegrown rice from the countryside. Farmers and wholesalers shied away from selling to the state because of low profit margins. The total amount of food yield and donation in 1979 and 1980 even decreased compared to 1976.
Queuing for rice in 1985. Photo via ZNews.
The subsidy-era cà mên was so scantily filled that, when you accidentally dropped one, nothing of value would go to waste. Writer Đỗ Phấn recalls: “The rice, mixed with noodles, congealed at the bottom of the cà mên like a cake. It rolled out dozens of meters on the street and stopped.” The meals were often rice mixed with corn, adlay, and noodles; the side dishes rarely appeared, mostly boiled vegetables, broth, salted peanuts or pickled fire-cracker eggplants. Sometimes, if there’s a sick person in the household, the cà mên could contain a takeaway bowl of state-subsidized phở — meat-included for better-off families and meat-less for the poor.
“Hanoi in my meager cà mên,” poet Thanh Thảo writes in Hà Nội – nhìn về phía tôi (Hanoi — look at me). In this era, civil servants usually biked to work with a cà mên on their handlebar. This image is so entrenched in the collective memory that people packing lunch to work were humorously called “cán bộ cặp lồng” (lunchbox officer). It followed their footsteps to work and then back home, like a reluctant accessory. It also bears witness to the sly office tradition of bringing ingredients to cook at the company’s electric appliances to save on money.
Cà mên on a bike during the subsidy era. Photo via CGvDT.
Opening up a cà mên is like taking a glance at the realities of life at any given point of history. The cà mên content reflected truthfully the quality of life of the average salaryperson. In the issue published on March 17, 1988 of Lao Động newspaper, a report discussed the wage of healthcare workers. It referenced a moment when a doctor showed the journalist their cà mên, which contained “barely any rice, a morsel of vegetable, and a few braised peanuts.”
Before Vietnam opened up the economy to outside products, buying basic household necessities wasn’t a cakewalk. Military-issued items like cà mên were thoroughly repurposed because they were very durable. Household goods became a big-ticketed item, so cà mên was frequently given as a wedding gift, alongside basin, thermos, textile, etc.
After Đổi Mới, the livelihood of Vietnamese gradually improved, yet cà mên was still a mainstay at casual rice eateries. I couldn’t keep my eyes of the four- and five-layered cà mên of the cơm tháng place portrayed in the film Quán Kỳ Nam. The content is still classic home-cooked dishes: braised pork, tofu in tomato sauce, fish canh chua, stir-fried veggies. But when they are kept in the hidden compartments of cà mên, every meal is a surprise. Though I had already eaten before the movie, I still felt that secondhand sense of hunger seeing a mouth-watering meal on screen inside cà mên.
Cà mên is used to serve cơm tháng in Quán Kỳ Nam.
The sets of cà mên used as props in Quán Kỳ Nam are made of anodized aluminum, with ornate motifs on the side. These designs mirror those of traditional cà mên seen in Thailand, which could potentially be their original source. In Cambodia, ornate cà mên is called chan srak, often used to contain altar offerings and gifts for monks during the Pchum Ben Festival.
Across our history, from wartime to the subsidy era, cà mên has encapsulated many hardships. When life improves, cà mên is still patiently hibernating at a corner of our kitchen, waiting for its next mission. Cà mên has been the companion of countless hands during the early mornings, as they prepare food and package a little flavor from home to improve rushed lunches at work. Opening up the cà mên to be surprised by the dishes of the day is still a much-anticipated ritual for many, and I can’t help feeling wistful when I happen to spot a cà mên dangling from a handlebar on the street, even though today, cà mên no longer carries within it the signs of an impoverished time.
