My two colleagues and I chose to go against the flow of the city to find the forest. We traversed many hills, streams, and rocky banks to venture deep into the verdant wilderness.
After nearly two hours of cutting through the forest, everyone was drenched in sweat. The damp smell of decaying leaves and moss began to fill the air. Instead of the dense thickets of wild plants seen just past the edge of the forest, towering ancient trees appeared, their trunks gnarled with bumps and covered in thick moss and vines.
The journey there was filled with curiosity, the morning chilly; the return journey was dim, exhausting, and hazy. And the final destination after a day of traversing the forest was a stilt house belonging to a Kinh couple who, a few years ago, chose to leave the city for the forest.
With tears welling up in our eyes, we looked at the meal laid out, complete with soup, vegetables, and main dishes. In our hunger, everyone hastily scooped rice and food into their bowls, yet still retained enough sensitivity to fully appreciate the flavors of the forest.
Unlike the plump, tender leaves of sweet potato leaves grown with chemicals and carefully cultivated in the lowlands, the young shoots on the table before me are thin and spindly, with pointed leaves. When boiled, they turn a vibrant green and have a slightly bitter taste, which becomes even more profound and flavorful when paired with chili-garlic fish sauce.
In my craving, every dish looked tempting, but the most eye-catching was the plate of fried fish. According to the owner, this type of fish has a very unusual name - "cá mát" (a type of fish).
The catfish lives only in clean, upstream waters, feeding on algae, aquatic plants, and small snails. Its firm flesh and soft bones allow for various dishes such as soup, stew, grilling, and braising. For braised catfish, before marinating, the chef cleans the intestines, leaving the scales intact, then skewers the fish and lightly grills it over charcoal to bring out its aroma.
Surrounded by desolation, darkness enveloped the trees and foliage outside in a deep, dark hue. The light from the few lamps inside the house shone brightly, attracting swarms of insects that flapped their wings incessantly as if attending a ball.
After a while of eating, hunger gradually subsided, each chopstickful became more careful, and everyone continued to savor the full flavors of the mountains and forests. The firm, sweet fish, the slightly bitter sweet potato shoots, the crunchy bamboo shoots, all eaten with hot rice cooked from upland rice grains that were dry and loose but, when chewed thoroughly, were rich, fragrant, and delicious.
Amidst the mountainous landscape, with darkness enveloping everything, my companions and I were not surprised that the meal, consisting of basic dishes, evoked a more lingering and poignant taste than any feast or exotic delicacy we had ever tasted.
Every flavor and memory of that tranquil night, even now, still moves me whenever I recall it. It was there, where a simple meal in the forest helped those who had lost their way to recover, gradually regaining their strength.
At the end of a tiring journey, perhaps everyone needs something beautiful to hold onto to continue the trip!
Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/rung-rung-huong-rung-3145437.html
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