This time last year, I was being mostly happily dragged 🙂 across parts of Southeast Asia with the Kentucky Agricultural Leadership Program. As I look back on 2025 now—with a lot of gratitude and appreciation—one experience keeps rising to the top.

A day that began at a village market and ended around a family table in a rural suburb of Hanoi.
A true farm-to-table moment I’ll never forget.

The day began at the village market, just a short walk from where we would eventually spend the afternoon. At that point, we hadn’t yet met the family who would later welcome us into their home. We were simply a group of curious Kentucky folks taking in the sights, sounds, and rhythms of everyday life.

The market was alive—some of the brightest produce I’ve ever seen. Fresh meats, clothing, tobacco, and just about anything a village shopper might need, all layered together in one bustling space.

I was traveling alongside my butcher friend, and listening to her observations about the meat, the cuts, and the differences in process added a whole new layer to the experience. The vendors were welcoming and patient with us—clearly amused by these 20 or so Kentucky strangers moving through their aisles.

Our guide turned the visit into a kind of shopping scavenger hunt. We were given the Vietnamese names of different produce, asked to write them down as we heard them, then repeat them back to vendors when it was time to buy. It was humbling, a little awkward, and deeply human. Walking aisle to aisle, trying new words, exchanging smiles—it reminded me how food markets everywhere serve the same purpose: connection.

At the end of our market visit, we were introduced to the host family.

They greeted us warmly and began guiding us through the nearby communal gardens. Families tend these plots with care, often passing them down through generations, and they proudly showed us the sections they cultivate themselves. It was grounding to see the food growing there in real time—rows of crops that would soon become meals. Seeing kohlrabi still in the ground, knowing it would later appear on our plates, brought the meaning of farm-to-table into sharp focus.

From the gardens, they led us to their home.

We were welcomed the traditional way—shoes off, bare feet on cool floors, open arms, and full hearts. They made us comfortable immediately, inviting us not just into their home, but into their kitchen.

We cooked together. Learned together. Laughed together.

They guided us through preparing traditional foods like egg rolls, pho, and stir-fry—sharing techniques and rhythms that clearly came from generations of practice. The meal that followed was simple and extraordinary all at once: those dishes alongside steamed corn, kohlrabi cut into playful fry shapes, fresh salad greens, and star fruit picked straight from the garden just outside in their courtyard.

You could feel the love in the food—and in the process.

That day was a good day.
One filled with cooking, laughter, and mutual respect across cultures.
A reminder that food—grown, prepared, and shared with intention—is love made visible.

Not many experiences in my life will top it.
A true farm-to-table moment.
One I carry with me as I continue to teach, cook, and help folks learn how to eat good.