A meal after the storm

After the storm, peace returned with the playful banter of my parents as they tidied up the garden. It was the laughter of children innocently playing in the puddles in the yard. It was the steaming meal with leftover home-grown produce. Though the turmoil still lingered, I knew that tomorrow had arrived, bringing with it sunshine that would dry away the hardships of the past...

A rustic banana blossom salad. Photo: Archival material.

After the storm, everything was in disarray. Banana trees had fallen, their leaves torn into long strands by the wind. Someone's corrugated iron roof had blown across the well's edge, creaking occasionally. There was nothing neat and tidy left after the storm, except for my father's back. His frail, weary back was trying to clean up the mess of sticky mud.

For days, the wind had been howling. Not a proper meal had been cooked in the kitchen at the back of the house. We huddled in the most solid room, our sustenance consisting of a packet of raw instant noodles broken into small pieces, along with a bottle of water.

Today the wind has stopped, and the water has receded. We went out to the garden to clean up what was left. Dad cleaned the water tank. My sisters and I swept up the mud and debris that had been swept in after the flood. Mom propped up a banana tree and cut off a young, unspoiled banana blossom. Her voice called out, "So today we'll have banana blossom salad!" The sounds of cooking echoed from the kitchen, and the aroma of hot rice wafted up to the tiled roof, stinging our noses. Everyone smiled excitedly, the first smiles after the storm.

Banana blossom salad is a simple dish, yet it suddenly becomes a delicacy at a meal after a storm. My mother thinly slices the banana blossoms, adding them to a bowl of lemon juice as she goes to prevent them from turning black. She soaks the banana blossoms for about 10 minutes, occasionally stirring them, then rinses them clean and drains them.

While waiting, my mother rummaged through the earthenware jar on the kitchen beam for peanuts and put them in a pan. The peanuts were roasted until golden brown, then cooled and shelled. After finishing tidying the garden, my sisters and I busied ourselves helping my mother sift and crush the peanuts into halves or thirds. The dressing for the salad was prepared with chili, garlic, and sugar to taste. The drained banana blossoms were placed in a large bowl and mixed with the dressing; if desired, lemon juice was added, and then the peanuts were sprinkled on top.

Hot, freshly cooked rice was brought into the room untouched by the flood, along with a bowl of banana blossom salad. The post-storm meal, mingled with sweat and smiles, warmed the lingering rain outside. Holding the bowl of rice with a few strands of banana blossom salad, I suddenly felt a deep appreciation for what I had, and told myself to quickly pull myself together for a fresh start from the ruins outside.

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