Ant Eggs, Mayflies: Vietnam’s Weirdly Wonderful Bites

Ant eggs – nature’s gems and mayflies – Red River’s dancing shrimps.

Some dishes look like they crawled out of a horror flick, but if they click with your taste buds, you’ll be singing their praises. For ages, Vietnamese folks have been chowing down on ant eggs and slurping up mayflies by the Red River. Buckle up for a wild culinary ride!

Ant Eggs

Come spring, when the leaves are greener than a lime smoothie, you’ll spot ant nests – big, brown, jackfruit-sized orbs dangling from tree branches, swaying like they’re grooving to a forest beat. The smoothest, tightest nests are the jackpot, stuffed with glossy, tender eggs. But harvesting them? That’s a job for the pros. You need a sunny day, ninja-level skills, and a whole lotta caution – unless you fancy an ant swarm giving you a warm welcome.

Not all ant eggs are fair game, mind you. Folk wisdom says stick to black ant eggs – nutty and sweet, or yellow ant eggs with a bold, punchy kick. 

In the mountainous region of Yen Bai, there exists a larger species of black ant, known locally as ngạt ants. Listen to the meticulous process the Yen Bai people employ to harvest their precious eggs as recounted by Nong Quang Khiem:

“The ngạt nest is gently lowered, split into quarters or sixths on a clean bamboo mat. Then, with a sharp stick, they poke the nest chunks, tapping the stick with a knife’s spine to make it vibrate, coaxing the eggs to drop like tiny pearls. Next, they cover the mat with leaves, letting the ants crawl up. Swap the leaves, repeat, until no ants remain. Finally, a damp cloth sweeps over the eggs, pulling away nest bits, leaving only plump, milky-white eggs.” (“Mùa trứng ngạt”, baoyenbai.com.vn)

From these eggs, northern mountain folks whip up two showstoppers: bánh trứng kiến (ant egg cakes) and xôi trứng kiến (ant egg sticky rice). 

The cakes are “made from sticky rice flour with a dash of regular rice flour, wrapped in ngõa leaves stripped of veins and stems. Fry up some shallots in lard till they’re golden, toss in the eggs, season, maybe mix in some minced meat. Spread the dough thin, stuff it with the egg mix, wrap it in leaves, and steam. You eat the leaf and all. The sticky rice sweetness, the cool, slightly bitter tang of ngõa leaves, and the rich, creamy ant eggs meld into a flavor so unique, one bite haunts you forever.” (Nông Quang Khiêm)

Sticky rice with ant eggs? Oh, it’s next-level. “Soak the eggs in warm water, drain, season, then sauté with shallots till golden. Wrap ‘em in banana leaves. Steam sticky rice till it’s fluffy, mix in the eggs, and stir. The rice is chewy and fragrant, the eggs creamy and rich. Chew slowly, and you’ll hear those eggs pop like tiny firecrackers in your mouth, nothing could beat it.” (Nông Quang Khiêm)

The author’s closing line hits like a wistful breeze: “March rolls in, purple white cedar flowers draping the sky. Kids don’t scamper into the woods for ngạt eggs anymore. But up there, tucked in the treetops, those round nests still brim with eggs. And I can’t help but miss those egg-hunting days.” 

Honestly, if you told me to raid an ant nest, I’d run faster than a cat at bath time. Tasting these delicacies? A pipe dream! Yet this story’s got me itching to live that author’s adventure. For now, I’ll just borrow his tales to serve you this tasty tidbit.

Down in Minh Hóa, Quảng Bình’s highlands, they’ve got a one-of-a-kind dish: sour ant egg soup with caper leaves. Caper plants grow wild by streams, sprouting tender leaves in early spring. Local women slice those leaves into ribbons, ferment them with salted sugar water till they’re pale yellow, tangy, and slightly sweet. Tossed into a rich broth with chewy, popping ant eggs, this soup demands slow sipping to savor its divine flavor – a rustic symphony in every spoonful.

In the lush gardens of southern Vietnam, they keep it simple with a playful treat: salty ant egg stir-fry. “Yellow ant eggs hit the pan over medium heat, kissed with a splash of good fish sauce for that savory edge. When the pan’s just hot enough, the eggs plump up, their surfaces lightly golden. Scoop half a teaspoon, let it dance on your tongue, and you’ll taste sweet nutty richness with a lingering bold aroma unlike anything else.” (“Ant eggs”, vnexpress.net)

Then there’s the moment when ant egg salad meets a crispy roasted rice paper. It’s an explosion: creamy eggs, crunchy green papaya, toasty peanuts, and zesty herbs blending into a folksy yet fancy bite. Ant eggs also cozy up with sour mustard greens and a kick of chili for a hearty braise that makes the meal on rainy days irresistible. Or they slip into a steaming stir-fry with gentle mushroom, weaving a soulful, woodsy flavor as pure mountain magic.

Mayflies

Mayflies sound like a whispered secret of the Red River. Locally known as vật vờ for their dreamy drifting, these critters hide out at the river’s bottom, biding their time till the love season hits from February to April (lunar calendar). At the crack of dawn around 4 a.m., when roosters are still snoozing and your coffee’s just a dream, they rise, transforming grasshopper-sized white fairies with gossamer wings that shimmer like gala gowns. They don’t soar – they drift, twirling delicately across the water, savoring their fleeting few hours.

Back when the Red River’s banks were a jungle of wild grass, mayflies swarmed in clouds, blanketing riverside reeds like springtime snow. Birds and fish threw epic feasts, gorging on these delicate morsels. It was a Red River rave, with the guest of honor as fragile as a midnight wish. Nowadays, with urban sprawl and polluted waters, mayflies are a rare sight.

In Xâm Dương village, Thường Tín district, just 20km south of Hanoi, the locals turn mayflies into culinary gold. Picture a sour fish soup, scented with galangal and turmeric, where sweet armorhead catfish mingles with mayflies soaked in fish fat – rich and nutty in every slurp. 

What about mayfly fritters? Eggs, minced meat, and mayflies are fried golden, tasting wholesome like mom’s omelets but with an extra buttery zing. And don’t sleep on the fried mayflies! It is crispy, edged with garlic and young lime leaves, outshining fried shrimps by a mile. No wonder the nickname of mayflies is “Red River’s dancing shrimp”.

Ant eggs so creamy, mayflies so crisp; who’d guess these tiny treasures would catapult Vietnamese dishes into the global insect food craze? Bugs aren’t just for kicks anymore; since 2013, the FAO’s been hyping them as protein-packed, planet-friendly superfoods. 

So, next time you spot ant eggs at a market or mayflies dancing on a Vietnamese river, dive in! You might uncover an epic bite that saves the planet. Eating deliciously, living greenly – all in one glorious crunch!

mlefood – Minh Lê