Pickled vegetables, salty with a mother's love.

Pickled vegetables, a salty taste of mother's love. Photo: Ngoc Nu.

When my parents arrived in this new land, they didn't have much money, only their hardworking hands and determination to build a new life. Back then, almost every meal consisted of pickled vegetables and fermented fish paste.

During the sunny season, my mother would lay out baskets of melons, eggplants, and papayas in the backyard, wash them thoroughly, drain them, and cut them into bite-sized pieces. Afterward, she would put them in a basket and shake them well until the water drained. She said that with any ingredient, the more thoroughly you prepare them, the longer they will last when mixed with fish sauce. After saying this, she would spread the drained vegetables evenly on a bamboo basket to dry in the sun.

The pickled cucumbers and eggplants are sun-dried until they are slightly wilted, allowing them to easily absorb the flavor of the fish sauce. The jars of pickled cucumbers and eggplants are sealed tightly and eaten gradually over five to seven days. Whenever one runs out, my mother makes a new batch.

I still remember the image of my parents' bicycle with two jars of pickled vegetables hanging from it whenever they went to the fields or rice paddies. On the red dirt road, their laughter and chatter mingled with the sound of the highland wind.

During the rainy months, the landscape around the house was shrouded in a cold gray. The chill seeped through the walls of the shed, into the kitchen, and caused the papaya tree in the backyard to drop many fruits. Mother picked the papayas and prepared them as usual.

I busied myself scooping out the seeds from the melons, peeling garlic, crushing chili peppers, or getting the sugar jar and fish sauce container ready. It had been raining heavily all day, the fields were full of mud, and work in the fields had come to a standstill.

During those chilly days, my mother's pickled eggplant and fermented bean curd dish became even more precious. It was the dish that helped my family cope with the torrential rain. Just a bowl of hot rice with pickled eggplant and fermented bean curd was enough to warm our hearts.

Every time my mother made fish sauce, she would tell me stories about her hometown of Quang Nam , where my grandparents on both sides lived. Gifts from the countryside, like jars of fermented fish sauce, melons, or cans of malt syrup, were incredibly precious to my parents.

Back then, there weren't many vehicles, and traveling between the Central Highlands and Quang Nam wasn't easy. Every time we received gifts from home, the whole family was filled with joy and emotion. These gifts from home helped those who had left their hometowns to ease some of their longing for their birthplace.

Time passed, and I left my small house in the Central Highlands to pursue my dreams. Every time I visit home, the smell of fermented pickled vegetables evokes indescribable emotions. It's not just food, but also a source of nostalgia. It makes me grateful for the hardships of the past, teaches me how to be thrifty, and how to appreciate what I have.

Watching my mother make fish sauce, I see glimpses of the past. Memories of scorching hot summers, persistent rains, my parents' hard work, and the jars of pickled vegetables hanging on the old bicycle, remain vivid.

Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/mam-dua-ca-man-ma-tinh-me-3146396.html