Eating subsidized rice, remembering grandparents' time

Amidst the hustle and bustle of modern cities, where people are busy with the hustle and bustle of making a living and the bright lights, it is hard to believe that there is still a small, quiet corner that retains the old soul. What is special is that this small corner has been and is being sought out by many young people...

A corner of Lang Dong restaurant.

In Lang Dong, Linh Son ward, there is a simple restaurant, no flashy sign, no loud music, but enough to make young people stop, sit down, and suddenly remember their grandparents' time with meals of cassava rice, pots of braised fish over fire, and nights of power outages gathering around the flickering light of oil lamps...

One afternoon we returned to Lang Dong, the gentle wind blew through our hair, the smell of straw, smoke and the smell of hot rice, braised fish, boiled mustard greens… made my heart beat with very old rhythms.

"Subsidized rice". The name reminds us of the time when our grandparents lived on ration stamps, lining up to buy every ounce of meat, butter, and rice. We walked into the restaurant, feeling like we had stepped through a time portal, back to the 70s and 80s, the years of hardship but full of humanity.

The tables and chairs in the shop were old mahogany, the paint had faded, some were worn and some had nail marks. The bowls and plates were the kind of porcelain with a burnt-sand glaze that my grandmother used to keep carefully in a glass cabinet. The oil lamp, the elephant-ear fan, the National radio, the pendulum clock, and even the old sewing machine table were used for decoration - like a living space of memories, of a subsidy period.

The restaurant owners are a young couple who dare to do a difficult job, because the dishes are picky. They said that opening the restaurant is not just to sell rice, but "to preserve a bit of the old soul so that the next generation can know how their grandparents lived".

The meals here are not luxurious or elaborate. But it is the simplicity that makes people moved. Rice is cooked with potatoes, cassava, and corn - the mixed rice that the whole family used to want to have to fill their stomachs. The rich, sweet taste of cassava, the sticky aroma of corn mixed in each grain of white rice reminds us of the time when we sat around the dinner table, listening to our grandmother tell stories "the old days were so hard, my child...".

The bowls bring back many memories of a long time ago.

The dish of braised fish in a clay pot is the soul of the meal. Black carp is braised in a clay pot, simmering over a low heat for several hours. When opening the pot, a fragrant aroma rises, mixed with the flavors of fish sauce, pepper, ginger, green onions and a bit of wood smoke. The fish meat is tender, soaked in a golden braised sauce, eaten with mixed rice, it is truly a “god-sent” dish.

Then there is steamed chicken with lemon leaves, stir-fried eggplant with pork fat, crispy fried fish wrapped in betel leaves, boiled mustard greens with boiled eggs dipped in fish sauce… Each dish is a memory, a story. There are things so simple that they were once forgotten in the flow of modernity, now being recreated, so that people have the opportunity to look back, understand and be grateful for the days gone by.

I sat eating and heard my grandmother's voice softly calling, "Have another piece of fish, my child," and then my father's voice saying, "In the past, just pouring lard on the rice and sprinkling a few grains of salt was enough." Those sounds that seemed lost in old memories now rushed back with the warmth of a simple but meaningful meal.

The space of the shop is small and cozy, the light is yellow like in the old days of power outages. On the wall hang black and white photos, old objects from the worn shoulder poles, thin shirts, rustic wooden trays to baskets, baskets, "lightning-proof" bicycles, all filled with nostalgia... A whole period appears, not noisy, not glorious, just simple, rustic but profound in every detail.

Here, no one is in a hurry. People eat slowly and speak softly, as if afraid of disturbing memories. A child innocently asked while eating, “Why did people have to eat rice with cassava in the past, Mom?”

Leaving the restaurant, I could still feel the bitter taste of pickled cucumber, the spicy taste of black pepper wrapped in steamed pork leg, and the feeling of being full but not heavy. Full in the stomach and warm in the heart.

Perhaps each of us has a memory associated with a family meal, a place that is not only a place to eat, but also a place to preserve love, share hardships, and pass on profound values. A subsidized meal at the small Lang Dong restaurant is not just a meal, but a journey back to understand more about grandparents, parents, about the days of poverty but full of love and hope.

That restaurant not only sells food but also a childhood, a time long gone. In the hustle and bustle of today’s life, quiet moments like that to remember and cherish are places many people want to return to.

Source: https://baothainguyen.vn/van-hoa/202507/an-com-bao-cap-nho-thoi-ong-ba-1382ebe/