Rice noodle soup with sliced ​​shrimp

Rice noodle soup with hand-cut shrimp, also known as savory rice noodle soup with coconut milk, is a distinctive and rustic dish from the Southwestern region of Vietnam. Every summer, I get to immerse myself in my grandmother's rice noodle soup.

First, the grandmother selects good quality, sticky rice and soaks it overnight. Then, she paddles across to the market in a boat to grind it into flour. The ground flour is tightly tied into a cloth bag (used for filtering watery flour), and a large cutting board or plank is used to press it down, squeezing out all the water until it becomes a thick, sticky dough. Next, she finds a pair of chopsticks with sharp, flat edges to cut the dough. She prepares a small bottle for rolling the dough and a hand-grater for coconut. She also prepares onions, pepper, garlic, chili, sugar, and a bowl of tapioca starch to use as a dusting powder to prevent the dough from sticking to her hands. She climbs a coconut tree and picks the coconut.

In a corner of the kitchen, my youngest aunt was grating coconuts. Her feet firmly pressed down on the grater handle, and with both hands she held half a coconut, pushing and pulling the coconut flesh down onto the grating surface. Each tender white strand of coconut fell into the aluminum basin below.

Grandma took a basket of fresh, plump shrimp and carefully removed the heads and tails from each one. In just a moment, she filled a large bowl with shrimp. She rinsed them clean and drained them in a colander. Then she chopped them finely on a cutting board, put them all in a bowl, seasoned them with spices and chopped shallots, and mixed everything well to let the flavors soak in.

Auntie poured hot water into the bowl of grated coconut and mixed it well. Using a spoon, she scooped it into a cloth sieve and squeezed firmly. Streams of white coconut milk flowed into a clean bowl. Setting the bowl of coconut milk aside, she continued to add warm water to the remaining coconut to squeeze out the remaining coconut milk into another aluminum pot.

Now it's Grandma's turn to show off her skills. She puts a pot of water on the stove and lets the firewood burn gently. She removes the pomelo and takes out a lump of dough, placing it on a tray. With both hands, she continuously presses down and kneads the dough. Occasionally, she adds a little flour to prevent the dough from sticking to the tray and her hands. After about half an hour, she stops, presses the smooth, white dough with her hand; it's no longer sticky and has a nice puffiness. She adds more flour, then breaks it into small pieces and rolls them into balls like tangerines. Using a bottle, she rolls the dough until it becomes thin like a rice cracker. She rolls the dough around the bottle, holding the mouth of the bottle with one hand, pointing the bottom towards the simmering water in the pot, and with the other hand, uses a kitchen chopstick to continuously cut along the edge of the dough on the bottle's bottom.

This is a recipe for hand-cut rice noodle soup in the style of the Mekong Delta, created by the author.

Uneven, long, flat pieces of dough fall into the pot of boiling water. The secret lies in cutting the dough with chopsticks. It must be quick and precise, with just the right amount of force to separate the dough into pieces without breaking them when they fall into the boiling water, and the hand must continuously rotate the bottle's mouth. It all depends on the kneading and cutting technique. This continues until the last piece of dough falls into the boiling water.

Grandma increased the heat, quickly stirring the pot of boiling water to prevent the dumplings from sticking and to ensure they turned translucent white when cooked. She then removed the pot from the stove, placed the pot of diluted water back on the stove, and reduced the firewood to a low flame. The cooked dumplings were then taken out and rinsed in a basin of cold water to remove the stickiness and make the noodles chewier.

The pot of water began to boil, and Grandma poured in the bowl of seasoned shrimp. She waited for it to boil for a few minutes until the shrimp were evenly cooked and turned a light pink color. Then she added all the rice noodles to the pot, added more firewood to keep the fire burning, and stirred occasionally with a ladle.

"Why don't you just add the coconut milk, Grandma?"

"That should be added last to preserve the richness and aroma of the noodle soup," my grandmother calmly explained, answering my question.

The pot of rice noodle soup boiled vigorously. Grandma removed all the firewood, adjusted the seasoning to taste, and gently added coconut milk, stirring briefly to combine everything. The charcoal fire was just enough to keep the soup simmering gently, and a fragrant aroma spread everywhere. The smell of rice noodles mixed with the smell of freshwater shrimp, blended with the rich, creamy scent of coconut milk, and dissolved into the spices. It created the intoxicating, rustic aroma of childhood.

Watching Grandma scoop rice noodle soup into a bowl, with the green of scallions and cilantro, the red of chili peppers, and the pale pink of the broth on top, there's no more beautiful picture than the taste of home.

Rice noodle soup with sliced ​​shrimp

My love for my homeland remains deep within my heart and will never fade.

Source link: https://thanhnien.vn/huong-vi-que-huong-banh-canh-bot-xat-tep-dong-185230618123907119.htm