Just like clockwork. At exactly 6:30, Aunt Hai's noodle soup vendor's call rings out in the poor working-class neighborhood, and after eating, they rush off to another day of earning a living.
Before Aunt Hai could even put down her carrying pole, the pot of noodle soup was already surrounded by a full complement of ingredients. Aunt Hai's noodle soup was a red noodle soup, with dried shrimp used for the broth, pork skin, fried tofu, and blood pudding, accompanied by a bowl of boiled water spinach, shrimp paste, lime, onions, chili peppers, etc.
It is said that Aunt Hai's mother used to be a resident of this neighborhood, selling noodle soup on the main street before 1975, and then passed the trade down to Aunt Hai. However, with the same ingredients, Aunt Hai transformed it into a "specialty" thanks to her "secret" cooking recipe.
I don't know how Aunt Hai cooks it, but the rice noodles, the kind commonly used in beef noodle soup, are perfectly chewy and soft, with a beautiful reddish-brown color, yet they don't break apart when picked up. The aroma of dried shrimp wafts up whenever she ladles out the broth for customers, and the pork skin and blood don't have any unpleasant smell.
The noodle soup is like a symphony of colors: the fragrant broth, the rich, golden-fried tofu pieces floating on top, and the fried scallions. Served in a bowl, it's a visually stunning display: the reddish-brown of the noodles and broth mixed with the color of blood, the whitish of the pork skin, the green of the scallions and cilantro, the yellow of the fried tofu… Adding a little shrimp paste makes it so delicious that not only are the noodles completely gone, but even the leftover rice from yesterday is reduced to burnt rice at the bottom. It's strange how delicious this noodle soup tastes when you add leftover rice!
The calls of street vendors, carried by mothers, aunts, and sisters, have become an integral part of Saigon life. Among them is the call of Aunt Hai and her "legendary" noodle soup, a dish deeply etched into the innocent soul of my childhood.
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