Salty pickled melon

There are certain dishes whose names immediately reveal their origin. For example, pickled cantaloupe is a specialty of Quang Nam province and nowhere else.

Mixed cantaloupe salad. Photo: Nhu Hien

When I was a little kid, every time I saw those pickled melons wrapped in banana leaves peeking out of the market basket, I would think, "They're just salty and sour, what's so delicious about them that Mom keeps buying them?" But now that I'm far away, I sometimes intensely miss that salty and sour taste.

The simple village vegetable stalls offer bundles of water spinach wrapped in banana leaves, baskets of pristine white bean sprouts freshly picked at dawn from the sandy banks of the Thu Bon River, and always a basin of golden-yellow pickled melons to entice you. Then, these pickled melons are gently placed into baskets for the mothers and grandmothers to take home. Thinly sliced, rinsed a few times to reduce the saltiness, they are then stewed with fish or stir-fried with meat, sprinkled with a little onion and pepper – enough to make a whole pot of rice disappear.

In the countryside, we often braise fish with pickled vegetables. The recipe for braised fish, served with pickled melon, ripe pineapple, young jackfruit, etc., was taught to my mother by my grandmother, and then to me. Perhaps because we were poor and had many children, and meat and fish were expensive, we had to add pineapple and pickled vegetables to the braised fish to make it enough for a large family? I'm not sure, but the pickled melon braised with fish over a low heat allowed the braising liquid to soak in slowly, making the melon slices incredibly flavorful and delicious. It's strange, the melon always disappears before the fish.

When I first came to Saigon, craving cantaloupe, I went to the market to ask for some. To my surprise, people directed me to a fruit stall. I was shocked to see several cantaloupes weighing several kilograms. Seeing me staring, the owner explained how to eat them: peel them, mash them in milk and sugar, and eat them like butter. That's when I realized those tiny pickled cantaloupes were only found in my hometown. Looking at those cantaloupes from other places, they looked like little piglets, and I suddenly felt sorry for the dry, barren fields where my parents used to grow them. Lack of water resulted in fields with a mix of large and small, stunted melons, but my parents harvested them all and pickled them in a large jar to save for the flood season.

Pickled melon, no matter how you prepare it, will always turn out delicious. It's fine even without meat or fish. Thinly sliced ​​melon, drained and mixed with garlic, chili, and fish sauce, becomes a main course to get you through a meal. With a large family, my mother always bought melons in advance whenever she went to the market, so that if we ran out of food, we could just slice them and mix them with fish sauce. On those hungry afternoons working in the fields, my father, still in his mud-stained clothes, would sit on the porch with a bowl of leftover rice and eat it with the pickled melon and chili sauce. After eating, he'd rush back to the fields to continue plowing.

For me, the most elaborate and delicious dish is cantaloupe salad. Thinly slice the cantaloupe, wash it, and squeeze out the excess water. Roast a few peanuts, and pick some herbs from the garden. Sauté shallots in fragrant peanut oil, let the oil cool slightly, then add the cantaloupe, season with pepper and garlic, a little fish sauce, a little sugar, then add the peanuts and herbs – and you have a delicious dish.

In Saigon, there's no shortage of meat or exotic dishes. Yet, strangely, I keep yearning for those bright yellow pickled melons from the corner of the village market. The village market, with its bundles of sweet soup, cakes, and refreshing bags of jelly in my mother's shopping basket, is always a sweet dream for every country child. These melons, pleasing those far from home, travel by bus, making a journey to the bustling vegetable stalls of Ba Hoa market. For those of us far from home, seeing those melons brings joy as if we've met an old friend. We buy them, imitate my mother's old days, slicing them thinly, roasting peanuts, and sautéing them in oil. We scoop up a piece of the pickled melon with a crispy rice cracker and put it in our mouths, our hearts filled with nostalgia…

Source: https://baodanang.vn/man-ma-dua-gang-muoi-3302795.html