That dish is mentioned in folk songs as light as a lullaby but as deep as the earth's veins, becoming the call of the homeland for generations of Quang people living abroad. Anyone who has ever enjoyed the mildly sour taste of young jackfruit mixed with flying fish meat will understand that the old song is not only a love song but also a strong thread connecting mountains to seas, connecting people's hearts to people's hearts.
Quang Nam has two rivers that are like the two sources of the land: Vu Gia and Thu Bon. The river water is as much as the love. Since the beginning of the village, these two rivers have silently carried the crops, transported the dreams of the residents, deposited alluvium on the banks and nurtured many generations. Thu Bon is not only water but also the memory of the nation.
The river once reflected the boats cutting through the waves heading towards Hoi An estuary. The boats had bulging bellies, sails filled with the south wind, carrying fish sauce, salt, ceramics, rice, fabrics, and the sweat and skills of many craftsmen in Kim Bong, Thanh Chau, and Cam Pho. The boats were not only a means of trade but also a symbol of the spirit of the Quang people: resilient, experienced, living amidst the sea breeze while still keeping their roots intact.
Vu Gia is as gentle as a mother's arm, embracing the fields, irrigating the banks, saving each grain of alluvium to feed the villagers through many dry seasons. That stream silently nourishes villages such as Giao Thuy, Ai Nghia, Quang Hue , Ha Nha, and Kiem Lam. Wherever Vu Gia and Thu Bon have passed, there are rice fields, green alluvial plains, the sound of roosters calling in the morning, and country meals where young jackfruit braised with flying fish is always the soul of the whole meal.
For Quang people, young jackfruit and flying fish are not just two ingredients but two memories. Young jackfruit from the hilly fields of the highlands, flying fish from the sea of the lowlands. The two things meeting in a hot clay pot is a harmony of terrain, climate and the soul of the land. The young jackfruit is thickly sliced, sweet, carrying the young sap smell of the hill sunshine. The flying fish is sparkling green like the back of a seabird, its meat is firm and has the salty aroma of the sea in the humid season.
Quang people must use ground turmeric, chili, garlic, shallots and a rich anchovy fish sauce to braise flying fish. The pot is placed on a low fire for many hours, the young jackfruit is soft but not mushy, the flying fish is absorbed but not dissolved, the braised water thickens to a golden brown color that is both like soil and sunlight. Pick up a piece of young jackfruit and smell the smell of the countryside, pick up a piece of flying fish and hear the whisper of the sea. It is not just a dish, it is a story of the mountains and the sea, a mother's message to her child, a memory of the harvest season and the moon season, the harmony between the two souls of the Quang people.
Our generation grew up when the country had just entered the cooperative era. Memories were of meals mixed with corn, potatoes, cassava, and bananas; each grain of rice carried three or four slices of dried cassava. Of fifth periods when the whole group could no longer hear a word because of hunger. Of pants with two patches at the bottom, of white shirts that faded to the color of congee. Of times we went to collect scrap paper to make small plans and then a few months later received recycled yellowed notebooks that we cherished like treasures.
Those hardships create the Quang character: resilient, straightforward, and respectful of love and loyalty. The village, the river, the road, the banyan tree by the water, the bamboo bridge, the cassava-filled meal with flying fish stewed with young jackfruit… all are like pieces of a puzzle that create the soul of the homeland, flowing with every Quang person who goes far away.
Young jackfruit stewed with flying fish is therefore not only food but also a source of nostalgia. It is the call of our ancestors from the old hearth. It is a reminder that no matter how far Quang people go, through many seasons of hardship, a folk song is enough to tie their feet back.
Amidst the hustle and bustle of a foreign land, this morning I looked through old photos, only to see a dish of braised flying fish with young jackfruit, but my nose was spicy, as if the sound of Vu Gia water echoed, as if the smell of Thu Bon alluvium touched my memory.
I am far away, but my hometown river still flows tirelessly to the Han and Doi estuaries to join the ocean. From the source young jackfruits are still sent down, from the river’s end flying fish are still sent up.
Source: https://baodanang.vn/co-tich-mot-mon-an-3311013.html
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