My dream bowl of pork rib porridge
I wonder what kids crave these days? And I don't know if those countless nutritious porridge shops on the street are any good? But for us kids back then, nothing was tastier than a steaming bowl of pork rib porridge, smooth and creamy, with a hint of lean meat and pieces of cartilage from the ribs.
Pork rib porridge has become a cherished childhood memory, a familiar dish from the time I was first weaned. Later, with a baby in the house, I spent my time grinding rice into flour, stirring the porridge, feeding the baby, and enjoying the scraping of leftover porridge, scraping off the burnt bits at the bottom of the pot. Even older, I went to the market with my mother and enjoyed a bowl of pork rib porridge.
Pork rib porridge is clearly a porridge for young children because it's light, soft, and safer than any other food. This porridge is made with rice flour and simmered pork ribs (either tenderloin or cartilage), creating a thick, fragrant paste that's enough to make any child's stomach rumble with delight, like after a heavy rain shower.
Every year on the Dragon Boat Festival, I, as a young boy, would accompany my mother to My Tho Market and Ly Thuong Kiet Market in Nam Dinh City to shop for the fifth day of the fifth lunar month. Though our feet ached, everyone was filled with excitement, their eyes fixed on the entrance to the market. There, you wouldn't find toys, cotton candy, or taffy.
Only a wisp of warm smoke flickered in and out of sight, rising and then vanishing in an instant, leaving behind a fragrant aftertaste. The owner of that magical warm smoke was an old woman, her mouth constantly chewing betel nut, her head adorned with a straw hat stained by rain and sun. Beside her was a large basket filled with scraps of cloth, wrapped in a carrying pole to keep warm.
There, always eager faces sat around the basket. In the center was a large cast-iron pot containing a thick, white porridge, as viscous as glue and as smooth as a little girl's cheeks. When the old woman opened the lid, fragrant, warm steam poured out in a rush.
The child's eyes looked up at her mother pleadingly. The mother smiled gently, then pulled her child's hand and sat her down on a small, polished wooden chair, its nail heads gleaming from years of wear and tear. "Two bowls of porridge, Grandma?" Nothing could be more delicious than the eager eyes of a child at a pot of pork rib porridge.
Her gaze seemed to condense into droplets on the old woman's hands as she slowly opened the lid, using the ladle to scoop the thick, viscous porridge, mixed with bits of meat and cartilage, emitting the fragrant aroma of rice and pork, into a medium-sized, slender bowl with a smooth, blue glaze.
Back then, there were no fried dough sticks or shredded pork. A little bit of black pepper, a little bit of red chili powder, as red as brick, was enough to add flavor and color, making a bowl of pork rib porridge a treasure in the eyes of children. In their eyes, the skillful hands of the old woman holding the ladle, making a circle so that the porridge filled the ladle without stirring the pot, was truly the work of a fairy.
Pork rib porridge wasn't meant to be slurped up like other porridges; it had to be spoon-fed. Gently, spoonful by spoonful, until the small bowl was completely empty, not a single drop of porridge left. The phrase "smooth as a wipe" should probably be changed to "smooth as scraping the bottom of the pork rib porridge" to better reflect the children of that era.
Smoke nostalgia
I grew up, then pursued my studies, leaving the small city behind, leaving my mother, the afternoon markets, and even the bowl of pork rib porridge. The image and taste of that dreamy pork rib porridge from my childhood gradually faded away amidst the hustle and bustle of making a living. Now, children eat fast food, fried chicken, sandwiches... but who would eat pork rib porridge?
Yet, my wanderings in middle age led me back to the warm aroma of pork rib porridge. That porridge stall only opens at 2 PM in a small alley in the heart of the capital. As I walked past, the owner suddenly lifted the lid. A fragrant cloud of steam rose, enveloping my nostrils as I inhaled deeply.
Tho Xuong, like the hundreds of alleys in Hanoi's 36 streets, is a winding alley connecting two other alleys: Ngo Huyen and Au Trieu. It's quite famous due to a misunderstanding. Many people think it's the Tho Xuong alley mentioned in the folk song praising the beauty of the West Lake area: "The sound of the Tran Vu bell, the rooster's crow at Tho Xuong." But it's not; Tho Xuong, where the rooster's crow marks the dawn, is the name of a village located on the edge of West Lake.
Thọ Xương Alley is a remnant of Thọ Xương District (Hanoi), established around 1530, where Báo Thiên Ward (including the entire Bảo Khánh, Nhà Thờ, Lý Quốc Sư areas... today) was located. In Thọ Xương Alley, there isn't the famous "chicken soup" (as a teacher once explained to her students), but only a bowl of smooth, creamy pork rib porridge.
The aroma of the warm steam rising from a pot of pork rib porridge evokes a sense of nostalgia, like a gentle breeze rustling through a hammock, bringing back beautiful, shimmering memories of childhood. Childhood memories of yesteryear should have been pork rib porridge, not the "soulless" nutritional porridge that fails to stimulate appetite or make the mouths of picky eaters water due to its excessive intake of various nutrients.
My heart suddenly smiled as I sat down on a small chair at the pork rib porridge stall in Tho Xuong alley. That day, the weather was neither sunny nor rainy, neither hot nor cold—perfect for eating pork rib porridge. The woman selling the porridge, probably in her fifties, didn't look worn out; her lips still had a hint of lipstick, and she nimbly chatted with customers while remembering every request.
Gone are the days of the cast-iron porridge pot kept warm in a cloth-lined basket; pork rib porridge is now cooked in large but lightweight aluminum pots, always placed over a low-burning charcoal stove to keep it hot. Occasionally, bubbles rise from the bottom to the surface, making a gurgling sound like a weary sigh.
The owner quickly scooped the porridge into a bowl, then used scissors to cut the fried dough sticks into the bowl, and finally sprinkled the shredded pork floss on top. Anyone who wanted more shredded pork floss had to let her know, because she never made a mistake. The pork rib porridge was delicious, smooth, and fragrant. The crispy fried dough sticks made the bowl of porridge even more enjoyable. Once, when I arrived late, she gave me a whole bag of fried dough sticks and told me to eat as much as I wanted.
The crispy fried dough sticks are very fragrant and delicious, and they taste better than the sliced ones. If you're going to a feast, you should go early, but if you're going to eat pork rib porridge, you should go later to get a bowl of porridge with that fragrant, burnt-bottomed aroma, and to have leftover fried dough sticks to scrape the bag clean. But don't be too late, or the porridge will be gone, because that shop usually runs out of stock by around 4 PM.
The pork rib porridge is delicious and very cheap. Just 10-15 thousand dong, like the price of a snack or inflating a tire. Yet, it warms the hearts of those wandering the old town, or those killing time from morning till noon at the nearby cafes.
They didn't need lunch, but they needed to eat a bowl of Tho Xuong pork rib porridge as if it were an afternoon ritual. They ate that warm, steaming porridge amidst the melodious bells of the Grand Cathedral, the murmurs of the Western backpackers, and the lingering passage of time in the narrow alley.
And yet, the pork rib porridge stall in Tho Xuong alley is gone. Someone bought the entire row of houses in the alley, and the porridge stall had to move. Perhaps soon, a hotel will spring up in that alley, but the pork rib porridge stall is gone, leaving only a sad notice of its new location.
And so, that pork rib porridge shop is now just a memory. But it did manage to leave behind a dozen other pork rib porridge stalls along Huyen Alley, Chan Cam, Ly Quoc Su, or elsewhere on the sidewalks of Hanoi. As for the Tho Xuong pork rib porridge shop that gave me a ticket back to my childhood, it has forever disappeared amidst the land value fluctuations worth hundreds of billions or thousands of billions of dong.
Only pork rib porridge will forever remain a smoky memory!
Source: https://laodong.vn/lao-dong-cuoi-tuan/khoi-chao-suon-am-ca-tuoi-tho-1347162.ldo
Comment (0)