Tea and a Tofu Biscuit: The Great Vegan Tofu Tour of Southeast Asia

David and I did not come to Southeast Asia to study tofu.

And yet, here we are.

Months into what can only be described as a highly sophisticated, deeply committed, completely unfunded international research project involving two vegans, several countries, an irresponsible amount of soybeans, and absolutely no adult supervision.

Our working title:

The Great Vegan Tofu Tour of Southeast Asia.

Our qualifications?

We eat tofu.

A lot of tofu.

Frankly, that feels sufficient.

There was no grant.

No research university.

No laboratory.

No ethics committee.

No peer review.

Just David and I wandering around Southeast Asia repeatedly saying some version of:

“HOLY SH*T. WHY IS THE TOFU SO GOOD HERE?”

Because here is something nobody adequately prepared us for:

Fresh tofu in Southeast Asia is ON.

I mean ON.

Not that sad little shrink-wrapped brick sitting in the refrigerated section back home looking like it has already given up on life.

I’m talking about tofu that was apparently made approximately twelve minutes ago by somebody’s grandmother who has forgotten more about soybeans than most of us will ever know.

Soft tofu.

Firm tofu.

Fried tofu.

Grilled tofu.

Tofu stuffed with things.

Tofu covered in things.

Tofu sold at “wet” markets.

Tofu piled into baskets.

Tofu sitting unapologetically on a stick.

Which brings me to what may be the single most important discovery of this entire expedition:

TOFU. ON. A. STICK.

That’s right, people.

We have entered the future.

And from now on, whenever somebody asks me the question vegans have been hearing since the dawn of nutritional misinformation—

“But where do you get your protein?”

My answer will be:

“Tofu on a stick, bitch.”

That’s it.

That is the entire nutritional seminar.

Thank you for attending.

There will be no PowerPoint.

No protein chart.

No explanation of amino acids.

No defensive vegan TED Talk.

I shall simply raise my tofu stick like the glorious soy-based sceptre it is and carry on with my day.

For research purposes, obviously.

Now, because David and I take our scientific responsibilities extremely seriously, we have developed a rigorous tofu evaluation methodology.

Our official criteria include:

Texture: Pillowy? Chewy? Silky? Crispy? Mysteriously perfect?

Freshness: Was this tofu made today, or has it spent three weeks sealed inside plastic contemplating its mortality?

Sauce Absorption: Critical.

Crispy Outside / Soft Inside Ratio: Also critical.

Market Credibility: Did we buy it somewhere with plastic stools, motorbikes whizzing past, and absolutely no English signage?

Second Helping Probability: Did we order more after insisting five minutes earlier that we were full?

The David Factor: Did David make that little face that means, “Yep. This is good”?

And finally:

The Laura Over-the-Sink Index: Would I happily stand barefoot in a kitchen eating this directly over the sink while telling everyone else to f*ck off?

This is science, people.

So far, the research has been extensive.

Vietnam came out swinging.

Cambodia performed admirably.

Thailand clearly understands the assignment.

Laos had us surviving on grocery-store tofu for a hot minute, but never fear—the fresh sh*t was eventually found at the local “wet” market.

Malaysia has yet to submit its final entry, but expectations are now dangerously high.

At some point, we may be forced to establish an official international classification system.

I am currently proposing five levels.

Level One: Sad Hotel Tofu

Technically tofu.

Emotionally disappointing.

You eat it because someone proudly told you the chef “made something vegan.”

You smile politely.

You die a little inside.

Level Two: Respectable Tofu

Perfectly good.

No complaints.

Would eat again.

Nobody needs to alert the media.

Level Three: Holy Sh*t Tofu

Conversation stops.

Eyes widen.

David and I make eye contact.

Research intensifies.

Level Four: WHERE HAS THIS BEEN ALL MY LIFE?

You begin questioning every tofu experience you had before this moment.

Was that even tofu?

Were you lied to?

Were we all lied to?

Is Big Tofu suppressing this information?

Questions must be asked.

Level Five: TOFU TRANSCENDENCE

At this level, tofu is no longer food.

It is a spiritual event.

Time slows.

Birds begin singing.

A barefoot monk appears somewhere in the distance.

You briefly achieve enlightenment before ordering another plate.

And honestly, this ridiculous little tofu obsession has become one of my favorite parts of traveling. Because the older I get, and the more programming I shed through Holistic Scaffolding™, the less interested I am in somebody else telling me what is supposed to be memorable.

The famous temple.

The “must-see” attraction.

The photo everyone else takes.

The place Instagram tells me will change my life.

Sometimes the thing I remember is the morning market.

The woman laughing at my barefeet while she hands me my food.

The little plastic stool.

The bowl that cost almost nothing.

David sitting across from me.

And one absolutely magnificent piece of tofu.

Travel keeps reminding me that the best sh*t usually isn’t on anybody’s “must-see” list.

Sometimes best sh*t is ridiculously ordinary.

Sometimes it’s unexpected.

Sometimes it costs a dollar.

And apparently, sometimes—

it comes on a f*cking stick.

Wisdom Nugget

Maybe a remarkable life isn’t made entirely from remarkable moments.

Maybe it’s noticing the wonderfully ordinary ones while they’re happening.

And when in doubt?

Tofu on a stick, bitch.

I love all you people.

Love and ((HUGS)),

Laura Foster, Founder of Souls Healing Humanity