Fragrant sour soup with toad leaf

We scooped up some hot rice together, slowly savoring the flavor of the sour soup made with young hog plum leaves. The young hog plum leaves have a pleasant aroma and a mild, not intensely sour, taste, making them a refreshing dish when cooked in a sour soup.

Sour soup with young toad leaves has a refreshing taste and a pleasant aroma. Photo: DIEU THONG

I couldn't believe it when I heard that my close friend and her husband, who had good jobs and high incomes in the city, had suddenly chosen to quit their jobs and return to the forest. So now, I find it even more surprising to be in their quiet wooden house nestled on the hillside.

To get here, I had to navigate a winding, treacherous path, with many sections requiring strenuous climbing of stone steps, and other sections requiring me to crouch low and squeeze through dense thickets of old bamboo.

After a while, she talked about this forest, how each day she discovered more and more of nature's special value. Leaving me alone in the dilapidated house, she picked up her basket and went out to the garden.

A moment later, she returned and said that because it was summer in the forest, none of the vegetables she had planted had sprouted new shoots. They were all stunted and waterlogged. In the field near her house, there were only a few bamboo shoots and an old hog plum tree showing off its young sprouts. This afternoon, she would treat them to a sour soup made with hog plum leaves.

I told the couple about my childhood garden. There, jackfruit, guava, and pomelo trees were planted in neat rows.

However, plants like dragon fruit, custard apple, and hog plum are different; they grow like wildflowers, nestled close to the fence. I only became aware of their presence on a beautiful day when my grandmother brought me their sweet fruits.

The hog plum tree in the garden, after its fruiting season, sprouts new shoots. Photo: DIEU THONG

My hog plum tree sprouts new shoots all year round. When the shoots mature, they begin to flower and bear fruit, one crop after another.

To cook sour soup with toad leaf, my grandmother would choose the youngest shoots, leave the stems intact, wash them thoroughly, and then gently crush them. She said that no one ever cooks sour soup with toad leaf with meat; fish is almost always the only accompanying ingredient. It's usually snakehead fish, freshwater eel, or other types of catfish.

In the summer, we use sea fish instead. And no matter how carefully the fish is prepared and marinated with pepper, the finished product still retains a bit of its characteristic fishy taste, so to enjoy it, it must be eaten hot. Grandma instructed the whole family not to be distracted, to set the table, and be ready so that as soon as she finished cooking, they could all eat together.

My grandmother's warning seems to be true, because whenever there's sour soup with toad's-eye leaves on the table, everyone is present, creating a warm, cozy, and lively atmosphere.

The grandmother would carefully remove the meatiest pieces of fish, dip them in fish sauce, and place them in the youngest grandchild's bowl of rice, as if this was a family privilege that had always been considered from infancy to adulthood.

My friend is doing the same thing right now. She's skillfully offering me a delicious, fatty piece of fish tail. She said it's been a long time since someone traveled such a long distance to visit her and her husband in this remote, forest-side place. Their new home is still wild and difficult, but they're not lonely.

That night, I slept in the small, wind-swept wooden house, listening to the steady breathing of my sister as she slept soundly. Outside, the crickets chirped, the wind blew... The young toad trees, having lost a few branches due to the arrival of the traveler from afar, soon sprouted tender green shoots again, rustling in the breeze, thanks to the morning dew and the forest sun.

Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/thom-lung-canh-chua-la-coc-3156311.html