Summer noodle soup from far away hometown

Saigon, summer afternoon. Suddenly craving a bowl of snakehead fish noodle soup from home. In the old days, by the roadside there was a woman sitting with a shoulder pole, one end was a pot of steaming water, the other end was a tray of fish heads, fish intestines plus many spices, young vegetables and a bunch of white noodles. It was a stall that sold in the afternoon, anyone who passed by wanted a snack (a snack to fill their stomach when hungry), would stop by and order a bowl (the upper bowl was big, the lower part was smaller). This type of "bowl" also carried a very unique culinary philosophy of the country people of that time: when not eating, at first glance it seemed like a lot to... satisfy the eyes, gradually eat less and less to keep craving.

In the countryside of Quang Tri, this dish is called "bed flap porridge", which is noodles made from tapioca flour, sometimes mixed with a little rice flour, spread out like bed flaps, entwined and embraced in the bowl. The snakehead fish that the children caught in the fields brought to her, still wriggling. She put them in a jar, caught them and gradually made "bed flap porridge" to sell to passersby...

Hương vị quê hương: Bánh canh mùa hạ quê xa - Ảnh 1. — A bowl of noodle soup recalls the taste of hometown cuisine

So I took my bike to the market. The seller said that Long An had just brought in the snakehead fish. I bought two medium sized ones (each one weighed about 300 grams) to take home. I stopped by the vegetable stall to buy some bitter vegetables (instead of young mustard greens, which are hard to find in Ho Chi Minh City), green chili powder, and some onions and coriander. I bought flour at the supermarket the day before (there was no tapioca starch, so I had to use tapioca starch instead). Shallots, a type of root related to onions and garlic but smaller, are often grown in the Central region. The day before, my younger sister sent me a few cans that were at home.

Bring the snakehead fish home, scale and clean. Cut into thin pieces, wash and drain, put in a pan with a little oil and stir-fry. Peel and crush the shallots, then add them to the fish and fry quickly. The shallots will then give off a faint aroma, masking the fishy smell of the fish. Add a little salt, chili and a spoonful of prepared fish sauce, and cook for about 1 minute to let it soak in. Then turn off the stove and leave it there.

Spread the dough out on a tray, roll it into a tiny "hill", then make a small hole in the middle, just like... the crater of a volcano. Pour boiling water over it and knead it. After about 5-7 minutes, the dough will be soft and sticky. Pinch each ball, flatten it, slice it and spread it out on the tray, creating smooth white strands. Remember to save some sifted flour so the strands don't stick together.

The broth pot on the stove next to it is ready to boil. In it, there is also a little seasoning to taste. You must leave the seasoned part in the fish pan, otherwise it will be salty. When it is boiling, pour in the flour, use chopsticks to stir well to separate the flour. Or you can use a mesh spoon to dip the flour until it is cooked, scoop the flour evenly into the bowls. In that pre-made fish pan, who eats the head, who eats the tail, who eats the intestines, who eats the meat, just "divide the work" as you like. Pick up the fish and put them in each bowl, the flour strands below, the fish on top and a few glimmers of oil and chili powder mixed together. Arrange the bitter vegetables on the plate, don't forget to add a pinch of green onion and cilantro to each bowl of noodles. Crush the green or red chili in the small bowl of fish sauce that is already available.

So, I put the bitter vegetables into the hot bowl, mixed them and ate. Outside, the summer sun was mild. The afternoon was falling, it felt like I was sitting under the bamboo hedge, listening to the wind caressing each drop of sweat falling down the bowl of noodles, all of it just washed away...

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