Glitter ink
I know a younger colleague from the Mekong Delta. He confided in me that his proudest achievement since graduating was taking a whole 10 days off just to… go on a trip. It's truly admirable and astonishing; it seems I haven't taken a whole week off like that in the past 10 years.
His destination was a small coastal village in central Vietnam. He spent his days wandering around, admiring the sea, looking at murals, watching fishermen pull in their nets, and eating seafood.
While wandering around, I stopped by the roadside to argue with the melon vendor about whether it's better to eat ripe melons mixed with iced milk like in the Mekong Delta, or unripe melons eaten with salt and chili like in Central Vietnam.
“But what fascinated me most was going to the seafood market early in the morning, admiring the squid that had just been caught, translucent and glistening in the morning sun. I had never seen anything so beautiful and delicious.” Since then, whenever he hears about Tam Thanh or Tam Tien beach (Nui Thanh district), his memory is of glistening squid basking in the morning sun.
Wake up early to the sea
Sometimes, when I feel tired and stressed, I often seek refuge at the beach. Not the beach in the afternoon, when it's crowded with swimmers and filled with the sounds of people relieving their fatigue.
Choose a weekend morning where you don't sleep in, wake up early at 4:30 with your personal playlist called "fun," put on your headphones, and begin your journey chasing the sun.
The car sped through the still-sleeping streets, across the Ky Phu bridge and through rice fields fragrant with the scent of fresh leaves. At that moment, dawn was breaking on the horizon.
Following the light of the dawning day, and the sounds of bustling laughter and conversation, you'll find your way back to the fish market – a small market on the beach in the early morning, where boats returning from the night are arriving ashore.
There, I realized that the world never sleeps. While some are sound asleep and resting, there are always people still out at sea at night. When day breaks, the boats return to shore full of fish.
There, I gazed at the buckets full of fresh, glistening fish, the shrimp twitching and snapping, and the sea snails still sticking their heads out as if taking one last look at the world before some girl bought them to boil and make a snail salad.
And I smiled, recalling my younger brother's words with the parable of eternal bachelorhood: "No girl will be willing to sacrifice herself for me out of love. Only squid and fish would be willing to... die for me"—as I gazed at the trays of squid freshly brought ashore, still translucent.
And the taste of the sea
Under the first rays of sunlight, tiny specks begin to sparkle like sunshine, like joy, like a reflection of the jubilant hearts of fishermen celebrating a bountiful harvest.
Amidst the clamor of vendors calling out their wares, arguing, and haggling, squeeze in and buy a few squid. Then, take them to the market and find the woman selling banh xeo (Vietnamese savory pancakes) who's pouring those golden, crispy pancakes, and ask her to make a few for you with the squid you just bought.
Wait to enjoy the vibrant culinary scene with the golden color of the pastry crust, the red of the plump, finger-sized squid, the fresh green of the vegetables, and the translucent white of a few bean sprouts.
Wrap everything in a thin layer of rice paper, dip it in the honey-colored anchovy fish sauce, and you'll feel the essence of heaven and earth converging on your tongue.
Or, even easier, buy a bunch of water spinach grown in the coastal strip, what people call saltwater water spinach. Then, just steam the squid and wrap it in rice paper with the water spinach to savor the sweet taste of the squid on your tongue.
Or, for a quicker option, boil some water with a little tomato, add the squid, ladle it out, pour it over soft, white rice noodles, and slurp it up – perfect for a weekend morning. I can taste the sea infused into every crunchy piece of squid.
In the bright sunshine of March, I bought a dozen kilograms of squid to pack in boxes and send all the way to Saigon for my younger brother, who was craving glistening squid. On the way to the shipping depot, I noticed many other people packing boxes of fish, shrimp, and squid – gifts from the central coastal region – to send to their loved ones. The feeling of love suddenly became simple and intensely flavorful, like the salt of the sea.
The sea in Central Vietnam, despite its storms, always has such brilliant early summer mornings – vibrant and shimmering like squid and fish basking in the sun…
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