Water spinach from the poor countryside

Basket of wild purslane by the field. Photo: Illustration.

You reminded me of when I was a little kid, back in my hometown, during the summer I used to go with my friends to pick water spinach along the edges of the rice fields.

In the summer, pennywort plants are stunted because they lack water, but in return, each stem is of high quality, and when brewed into a drink, it tastes incredibly delicious.

Back then, purslane was truly a wild vegetable, because no one planted it or cared for it. It grew on its own, sprouting and spreading in clumps along the edges of rice fields or in gardens when the season arrived.

Every summer, your mother would dry a bag of pennywort leaves thoroughly to make a daily drink. She would boil a large pot of water, wait for it to cool, then add a little sugar, and if she could get a few hundred dong worth of ice, it would become a wonderfully refreshing drink.

Your hometown is not much different from mine. Centella asiatica (Gotu Kola) grows abundantly there. I remember the summer, when the heat was unbearable and my body was covered in itchy bumps. My mother tried many folk remedies to treat it, but in the end, she gave up.

But miraculously, when I diligently drank pennywort juice, the itchy spots disappeared without a trace. I remember every time I came home from playing somewhere, drenched in sweat, I would run to the pot of pennywort juice my mother had prepared on the doorstep and pour myself several cups, gulping them down. Pennywort juice has a slightly bitter, fragrant taste, and leaves a sweet aftertaste in the throat. After drinking it, I felt incredibly refreshed.

You recounted how once, while picking purslane, you suffered sunstroke and collapsed right by the rice field, causing your friends in the village to panic. We thought that would be the end of it, but the summer purslane picking continued. Besides drying purslane to make tea, almost everyone knows about purslane soup, a popular summer dish.

After waiting for a few summer rains, the pennywort stalks become noticeably plumper and less thin. Your mother selects the freshest, tenderest stalks to make soup. You said that thanks to that bowl of pennywort soup, the meal is even more delicious. Then we both exclaimed, how much we miss our hometown meals.

We chatted on and on until you paused, took my hand, and said you missed the old days and the fields. The fields where clumps of wild herbs used to grow everywhere have now been given over to a garment industrial zone.

In the fields where there's room for purslane to grow, people use pesticides indiscriminately, and no one dares to pick purslane to dry and make tea or soup anymore. Occasionally, when there are a few clumps of purslane in the garden, the whole family can use it. Seeing you sad, I felt teary-eyed too.

My memories, and yours, seem to contain more than just the clusters of purslane from our poor countryside...

Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/rau-ma-que-ngheo-3136432.html