In the chilly city air, the comforting dish that awakens my senses is a steaming bowl of pork offal porridge. The ingredients are easy to find, the cooking method is simple, and my mother often makes pork offal porridge for breakfast so that her children can get to school on time.
My house was near Ms. Bong's pork stall. Early in the morning, my mother could carry her basket across the village road and buy some fresh pig's intestines and a piece of pig's cheek to make porridge.
My mother opened the earthenware jar, scooped out a handful of fragrant glutinous rice, and mixed it with seasonal rice to make a soft and aromatic porridge. After thoroughly washing the pig's intestines with coarse salt and lemon, she put them into a pot of boiling water on the wood-fired stove. While she was at it, she went to the corner of the well to pick some coriander, picked a few unripe bananas, dug up some ginger roots, and picked a few green and red chilies to wash clean.
My mother crushed a piece of fresh ginger, opened the lid, and dropped it into the boiling pot of offal to add fragrance. When the offal was cooked, she took it out and let it drain. The porridge had also expanded, so she sautéed a little turmeric and added it, seasoning it to taste.
The process of making the dipping sauce also had to be precise; my mother told me that if there was no ginger, the spiciness of the chili, or the sweet and sour taste of lemon and sugar, the dish wouldn't be complete. We used whatever cilantro we had in the garden. And if we happened to have a bunch of unripe bananas that were still green, slicing a few to eat with it was incredibly delicious.
Those days when I went to the market with my mother, in the sweet chill of the rainy season, being treated to a steaming bowl of pork offal porridge by her, brought back fond memories that made my little feet tingle. The corner of the rural market thus became a memorable place for those who had migrated to the city.
This afternoon the wind picked up, and sending a picture of a bowl of warm, spicy-ginger dipping sauce next to a bowl of porridge made someone sigh with nostalgia. "My maternal grandparents have been selling pork offal porridge at the market in the midland region for decades. When I was very young, I also followed my mother to the market to help sell pork offal porridge."
The thatched-roof, bamboo-stilt shop has weathered countless changes. The little girl who used to run the stall, serving porridge until her hands burned, has now left her hometown for the city. Oh, how I miss that simple, rustic dish from the corner of the market!
My sisters and I used to carry bundles of pork offal porridge to the fields to help Mom with her mid-morning meal during the rice harvest. Before heading to the fields, Mom would quickly cook a pot of porridge early in the morning, then cover it with ash and leave it on the stove.
The night before, my mother had instructed my sisters and me to keep track of the time to carry the pot of porridge down to the fields. The path through the rice paddies was uneven, with some parts higher than the other, and I don't know how, but even though the pot of porridge tilted with each small step, it remained intact for the women and men who were exchanging labor for harvesting rice.
Searching for the familiar taste of the past is quite an undertaking. In the chilly transition of seasons, I made my way to the pork offal porridge stall at the Nam Phuoc intersection. The stall only opens in the afternoons, nestled amidst the densely packed houses of the town, yet it's always bustling with customers. "You have to go early, a little late and you'll go home empty-handed," the owner said. Looking at the porridge served, customers know she wasn't exaggerating. The blood porridge was smooth and creamy, and the plate of offal, along with the dipping sauce and accompanying vegetables, was truly appetizing.
Local cuisine is truly impressive. Whether in a hidden alleyway, a small, simple stall in a market corner, or a well-appointed restaurant, the chefs still create dishes that reflect years of cooking.
Like the bowl of pork offal porridge before me, the vibrant colors of the cuisine create a special allure. It's not in a fancy restaurant, but in simple, everyday dishes that take root and flourish.
And then, somewhere in the conversation about hometowns, "Does Mrs. Nam still sell pork offal porridge in the market?", "I wonder if Mrs. Bay still makes and sells fried rice cakes in this rain?", "It's so chilly today, a hot bowl of sweet soup would be nice..."
My hometown isn't far away. We can sit and reminisce about old dishes, then look at each other, longing for them and feeling nostalgic…
Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/dan-da-chao-long-cho-que-3144013.html
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