Mom's Soy Sauce Jar

Last night, Mom told me to stop by Nui Market to buy her a kilo of soy sauce mold. Choose beautiful and green mold. I said yes and called my sister near the school to go to the market early to buy it from an acquaintance. When I brought it home at noon, Mom exclaimed, the mold was so beautiful. And it was just right. The most important thing when making soy sauce is beautiful mold and delicious beans. Now that I make less, Mom buys mold, but before, she used to make two big jars each season, and she did every step herself. Suddenly, I was nostalgic for the jars of soy sauce in the corner of the brick yard of my childhood home.

Illustration: HOANG DANG

Every season, in the corner of the yard - the intersection between the upper house and the kitchen, where the roof slightly overhangs, not too exposed to the sun and not exposed to the rain, there are two jars of soy sauce, one big, one small. Mom has calculated that those two jars are enough for the family to eat comfortably until the following season, even if the neighbors or relatives come over to ask for some.

On a cool, free day, my mother would take out the soybeans to roast. The soybeans were roasted on a thick, shiny cast iron pan. My mother placed a few pieces of firewood underneath to make it easier to adjust, only at first using a high heat, then keeping the coals red hot enough to heat them up. Each batch took a long time to roast and had to be stirred constantly. Sometimes my mother would ask me to stir for a while to prepare something.

I wanted to let go after a while, I don't know how my mother stirs without saying she's tired. After roasting the beans, my mother pours them onto a tray to cool, then takes a glass bottle and crushes them in half. Another step that requires skill, and my sisters and I just sit outside as spectators. Watching each bean crackle under the transparent glass bottle is so interesting and exciting. After the beans are separated, my mother puts them into a jar, pours in water to soak them, and occasionally stirs them periodically for 7-9 days. When the soy sauce has a clear amber color, it can be fermented. But before it can be fermented, there must be mold. To have mold, it must be fermented.

Mom cooked a big pot of fragrant sticky rice. The cooked sticky rice was scooped out onto a tray to let the steam evaporate. Then it was piled up and covered with a piece of cloth. After about 3-4 days, the mold had grown all over the rice, giving it an eye-catching moss green color. Mom used her hands to loosen the moldy rice and then dried it in the sun.

The day of soy sauce fermentation is a day that my mother pays close attention to. She watches both the weather and spiritual matters. When everything goes well, my mother is very happy. The mold is slowly poured into the soy sauce jar along with salt, stirring well to let everything soak in. Then, my mother covers the mouth of the jar with a gauze towel to prevent mosquitoes from falling in, then covers it with a large bowl to protect it from the rain and sun.

So the family has a “treasure” to make many delicious dishes for all four seasons. Fish sauce, meat sauce, banana sauce, boiled morning glory sauce, rice cake sauce, meat sauce, sweet potato soup or countless other delicious rustic dishes. There are even meals where white rice is mixed with just sauce and it is still delicious. Because mom’s sauce is always very skillful: golden yellow and sweet and rich; the longer it is left, the thicker and sweeter it becomes.

I miss the cold winter mornings when the whole family gathered around a pot of fish stew with the fragrant smell of soy sauce. Or the summer dinners spread out on mats in the yard, the bowl of soy sauce shimmering on the tray as if inviting the moon floating in the sky with Hang and Cuoi. The neighbors often came over to ask for my mother’s soy sauce, even though they had their own house but “it wasn’t as good”.

Every time she scooped out the sauce, my mother always told me to stir it well with a spoon and then scoop it gently into a bowl, not letting any dust or water get in; then she had to cover the jar tightly. If the sauce accidentally started to scum, it would be considered spoiled. She asked for a conical hat from somewhere and carefully covered the jar with it. Looking at it, it was like seeing an old man sitting silently.

Many delicious childhood dishes have accompanied the mossy corner of the yard with the familiar taste of fatty, sweet soy sauce. It is the taste of home and the past - will never be far away, will never be separated.

Source: https://baodanang.vn/channel/5433/202504/chum-tuong-cua-me-4003220/