Rainy afternoon in a foreign land

Whenever we chat with friends in those notoriously cold winter places like London, Paris, Seattle, Chicago, New York, Sydney, Beijing, or Zurich..., we all agree that no matter how harsh the cold is abroad, as long as you dress warmly and cover yourself carefully, you'll be fine.

Snow always possesses a magical, pristine beauty, making those born in temperate climates eagerly anticipate its arrival so they can take photos for social media. But when it comes to rain, everyone feels a pang of sadness, their voices dropping, sounding weak and vulnerable. It's clear that when far from home, seeing those afternoon rain showers stirs up a whirlwind of emotions, leaving one feeling deeply troubled and heartbroken.

The rain here is strange, completely different from the sudden downpours in Saigon, or the long, gut-wrenching rain in Ninh Hoa. In winter, the rain is bone-chillingly cold. In summer, the heat and humidity are insane, with thunderstorms and thunderclaps being a specialty of America. It's as if the heavens have been accumulating water all year, and then just pour it all down on the earth like a raging waterfall.

And in the evenings, instead of watching the rain fall and feeling restless after work, I go into the kitchen, rummage through the refrigerator, and make all sorts of dishes to enjoy at home.

Fermented mackerel or anchovy paste is pre-made, finely ground, and stored in jars, imported from Vietnam and sold in many Asian markets. Scoop a little into a bowl, add about five duck eggs, some chopped onion, a few slices of chili, pepper, and sugar, stir gently until well combined, then steam it. After a while, poke the paste with chopsticks to check. If the chopsticks are dry, the paste is cooked; if they are wet, it's not yet ready, wait a little longer. Quickly whisk the egg yolks and drizzle them on top for a more appealing presentation. The steamed paste is incredibly fragrant and delicious. Served with rice paper or white rice, along with fresh vegetables and cucumber, it's truly a culinary delight.

The plump, roe-filled baby squid, caught from the Ninh Hoa sea, are soaked in coarse salt water, then piled high on racks or trays and sun-dried for a few days before we carefully bring them over. The simplest dish is grilled salted squid. If there's no charcoal, we use a gas stove. Remember to turn them frequently to prevent burning. On lazy days, we wrap them in paper and grill them in the microwave. The salty, fragrant smell of the squid fills the house. Two squids are enough for a whole bowl of rice. The rice is thick and incredibly chewy.

Salted squid braised with pepper, served with hot rice, is simply amazing. Before braising, soak the squid in salt water to reduce the saltiness. Rinse thoroughly with cold water, cut into finger-sized pieces, season with sugar, MSG, oil, onions, pepper, chili, and coconut milk, then braise until the sauce thickens. The ink sac bursts, releasing a dark, murky sauce. After braising for a while, the squid shrinks and the sauce thickens. The squid is delicious, but the braising sauce is ten times better. Pour it over rice, mix well, and you'll feel the rich, familiar flavors of your homeland on your tongue.

Here, duck eggs are ten times more expensive than chicken eggs. But my refrigerator is always stocked with a whole tray because I'm so captivated by the rich, creamy taste of the runny yolks. I mix a small bowl of fish sauce, add a chopped green chili, put the eggs in, and mash them with a spoon until they break. The fish sauce blends with the duck eggs, creating a fragrant aroma. I scoop a bowl of rice, add a spoonful of the egg mixture, and chew the sticky rice. Then, all the rich, sweet, savory, salty, and spicy flavors blend together perfectly. I remember the old days, when we couldn't go to the market during floods. My mother would cook a pot of rice, send my sisters to the bamboo grove to get the duck eggs, boil them until they were runny, mash them with fish sauce, and put them in the middle of the house. The family of over ten people would wade through the water while eating. It was a poor family, but the joy was indescribable.

I thought that after years of living abroad, waking up to nothing but work and bills, my soul had become hardened. But suddenly, in the pouring rain of a foreign land, sitting down to eat some truly familiar dishes from my hometown, I felt a pang of nostalgia and sadness.

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/chieu-mua-vien-xu-185250816185439171.htm