At dawn, my father and I got up, put a flashlight on our heads, and carried a basket in our hands, and walked out into the garden to look for termite mushrooms. After a long period of cold rain, these mushrooms often grow in damp areas, areas with many dry, rotten leaves of acacia.
My father said that wherever mushrooms grow, the next year, just “close your eyes” and go to the same place or a nearby area, and pull out as many as you can. In the old days, mushrooms grew densely on termite nests in holes in the ground. The name termite mushroom probably came from that.
Mushrooms picked early in the morning are often fresher and more nutritious than mushrooms that have opened their sacs. My eyes widened and I screamed when I discovered my mushroom relatives, covered in rotten leaves, emerging from the ground. Gently lifting the damp leaves, we carefully picked each mushroom with excitement.
Mushrooms are picked, cleaned, soaked in diluted salt water, drained and processed into many rustic dishes. From mushrooms to porridge, soup, stir-fried meat, salad... everyone in my family loves it. Especially on rainy days, hot termite mushroom pancakes are often awaited.
In the wood stove behind the house, next to my mother and me, each batch of crispy fried cakes contains many layers of flavor: the sweetness of mushrooms, the richness of home-made peanut oil, the richness of local vegetables served with a 3-in-1 dipping sauce: spicy, sour, sweet.
My garden is quite large, keeping its original shape despite many generations. I still remember the star apple tree in front of the house, its wide canopy shading the path. Around January and February, when the fruit was ripe, my mother would take it to Thom market to sell for money to buy rice.
The small plot of land over there, where my father planted sprouts just a few days ago, is now a lush ginger bush. Every time she catches a fish, my mother runs out to the garden, picks some leaves to cook for a richer flavor.
During his lifetime, my grandfather also divided the land to grow tea. Every early morning, the family would go to the garden to pick tea leaves to brew tea. Adding a few slices of fresh ginger would make the tea taste delicious and retain its distinct aroma. During the days before Tet, the garden would have lush green vegetable beds and a few bushes of blooming flowers.
As for me, I waited for the white yam harvest. The yam was so “pleasant” that my grandmother always said “cooking yam to help the clumsy child”. As if to repay the homeowner, the big bunches of tubers hugged each other and lay underground, waiting for people to dig them up.
Peel the potatoes, wash them, and cut them into finger-sized pieces. Heat a pan of peanut oil on the stove, fry the shallots until golden brown, then add the potatoes and stir-fry. Each slice of potato begins to loosen, become fatty, and boil. The whole kitchen is filled with the smell of peanut oil, turmeric, shallots, and the aroma of the taro.
Remove the pot of soup from the stove, then sprinkle in a handful of chopped chives, turmeric leaves, parsley or ginger leaves, and enjoy with the whole family.
The food around the garden always makes the heart throb, because it is the taste of home...
Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/vi-cua-que-nha-3147449.html
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