Red Velvet

The first person to tell me about this fruit was my mother, and she was also the one who peeled it for me. Every summer, the scorching heat brings back cherished memories of my childhood: my mother using a sharp betel nut knife to peel the thin skin of the persimmon, and she would give me each soft, sweet, fragrant piece.

My village has both sandy and sandy loam soils, so wherever the rose bush grows, it thrives. Its tall, sturdy trunk provides shade for the starfruit and guava trees, and even for the numerous sweet potato shoots sprouting nearby.

My family doesn't grow roses. But a relative of mine, a very close friend, has an ancient rose bush in her house. When I was a child, my arms couldn't encircle the trunk. Now, I can hold the whole tree in my hands, but the immense, imposing canopy of that rose bush remains vividly imprinted in my memory.

Every early summer, the red roses bloom silently. They are quiet and unassuming, as if they don't need anyone's attention. But once they bear fruit and breathe in the dew and wind, without any fanfare, anyone passing by the red rose bushes cannot resist, and must gaze up at the clusters of fruit with their peculiar orange-red color and a thin layer of soft, silky down.

Persimmons are a precious treat in my hometown. My mother used to say that if you force them to ripen, they won't be as delicious. That's why people have to wait until the fruit ripens, becomes fragrant, and falls naturally to the ground with a soft patter. Only then do they carefully pick them up and place them in baskets lined with soft cloth to take to the market.

From mid to late summer is when the red persimmon ripens. The red persimmon is about the size of a fist, resembling a regular persimmon but covered in a smooth, fuzzy layer of fuzz, and is orange-red in color. Its aroma is delicate, sweet, and subtly hints at apple, persimmon, and passion fruit.

Despite its sturdy appearance, a simple peel of the thin skin with a sharp knife reveals the delicious, sweet flavor of the velvet persimmon. The flesh is creamy white, soft, and fragrant. The moment it enters your mouth, the rich aroma and sweetness fill your senses. Unlike other sweet fruits, eating velvet persimmons is hard to tire of. The first fruit has a delightful aroma, while the second offers a unique twist. Sometimes you think you're eating an apple, other times you think you've mistaken a persimmon for one, and the aroma keeps circling around, reminiscent of the sweetness of a passion fruit.

The surprising flavors challenge the eater so much that, in no time at all, when looking down at the basket, only the peels of the persimmons remain. It turns out that while preoccupied with analyzing the aroma and delicious taste, one must have forgotten the dwindling number of fruits.

Recently, having some free time, I strolled leisurely down the street. My eyes suddenly caught sight of a shimmering crimson red in the distance. It turned out that in the garden house on that busy street corner, the owner still cherished a corner of the garden with a tall, lush red rose bush, its branches drooping and laden with fruit. Without warning, childhood memories flooded back. There were those scorching summer mornings, the sky a clear blue, when I hurriedly cycled to my grandmother's house to pick up the fallen red roses from the night before. Or, on the porch, bathed in sunlight, my mother would fan herself with her hat while quickly peeling ripe, soft red roses she'd bought from the market for her only daughter.

Source: https://baothuathienhue.vn/doi-song/hong-nhung-129624.html