Bird’s eye Chili & Tsunami

What could bird’s eye chili possibly have to do with tsunamis?

Bird’s Eye Chili

At the end of 2017, Storm Damrey, with wind gusts reaching level 13, devastated the coastal provinces of South Central Vietnam. A few days later, amidst the ruins, a tender green sprout emerged from the corner of my house’s fence. About a month later, tiny white flowers shyly bloomed among the lush green leaves. While I was busy rebuilding the house, I suddenly remembered it. Countless small green bird’s eye chilies had quietly sprouted in the sun and wind.

Seeing me standing there, gazing at the plant, my neighbor assumed I was from the city and unfamiliar with it. She shared her countryside wisdom: “That’s the green chili. Here, we call it bird poop chili. It grows naturally and thrives anywhere, but once you dig it up and plant it in a pot, it dies immediately. The chili is nice and not spicy; you should try it.”

Following her advice, I took a few pieces of chili. They were neither as spicy as red chili nor as hot as pepper. Bird’s eye chili is mildly spicy, with a warm aftertaste that lingers in the throat. Thanks to Google, I learned that they grow abundantly in Central Vietnam. The Central Vietnamese countryside has long been familiar with them, and a meal without a few bird’s eye chilies is considered incomplete.

Since the bird’s eye chili dip became famous, all of Vietnam has started to favor bird’s eye chili, and the demand has increased day by day. People have figured out how to grow these chilies themselves, rather than leaving it to the birds. But let’s be honest, the cultivated ones are like the store-bought cookies of the chili world – good, but not as tasty as the wild ones!

The bird’s eye chili dip is a culinary masterpiece in my eyes. When still, it rests as a gentle jade green; when stirred, it transforms into the vibrant hue of young leaves. Its color is a mesmerizing blend of the dark green of lime leaves, the jade green of mustard greens, the emerald green of chili, and the ivory white of milk.

Your tongue will first delight in the sweetness of sugar, followed by the tangy burst of lemon and kumquat. Then, the saltiness of salt takes over, swiftly giving way to the lively kick of chili and the aromatic zest of lime leaves. Amidst this magic spell of flavors, you’ll detect a hint of creamy milk fat and a whisper of mustard greens. 

This gentle chili dip melds effortlessly with grilled shrimp, clams, snails, and fish, lifting the flavors of seafood to sublime new heights. Even duck eggs are ready to embrace it, leaving behind the lemon pepper dip that has been their loyal companion for centuries.

Bird’s eye chili chicken hotpot is a delightful fusion of Central and Southern Vietnamese flavors. The warm, inviting scent of lemongrass and lime leaves evokes memories of the fragrant water my mother used to prepare for washing my hair. The gentle heat of bird’s eye chili contrasts beautifully with the intense aroma of fried onions. The hotpot broth, a perfect balance of salty and sour, envelops tender, graceful chicken pieces.

Pure white banana flowers, young water mimosa, and lush green water spinach add vibrant colors and textures. Basil quietly releases its enchanting fragrance. As the warm broth softens the vegetables, they dance harmoniously with the rice noodles. On a drizzling rainy day, a bird’s eye chili hotpot becomes a source of great inspiration for culinary enthusiasts.

And Tsunami

Anyone who has ever lived by the sea must have dreamed of a tsunami. Each wave, so powerful, sweeps away everything in its path. Tsunamis are the nightmares of coastal people, yet there is a poet who dares to write a poem about them. 

The poem begins with a hypothesis:

“If a tsunami struck Nha Trang,

engulfed Mui Ne,”

This kind of “what if” is a bit creepy, but let’s dive in anyway:

“In a heartbeat, I’d place you in the coracle,

to cross the coconut trees,

float above white sand dunes.”

Well, to “take refuge” from a tsunami, one would need at least a boat as sturdy as Noah’s Ark, right? So, I turned to the ever-talented Google to learn about coracles.

It turns out that coracles have been a staple in the coastal villages of Central Vietnam since the 19th century, used for navigating the sea near the shore. These charming woven bamboo baskets, about one to two meters in diameter, have their tiny holes meticulously sealed with cow dung and a layer of resin. The result is a waterproof, lightweight, and durable boat with oars. However, rowing a coracle is not as simple as it seems. If you don’t know the technique, you might find yourself rowing endlessly, only to spin in place without moving forward.

The poet is undoubtedly a native of the Central Coast. If a tsunami suddenly strikes, the nearest safety boat is indeed a coracle. The poet’s younger sister sits in it, riding the tsunami, watching the familiar scenery of her homeland pass before her eyes: “cross the coconut trees, float above white sand dunes.”

What does she bring on this unexpected trip?

“Remember to gather up the eggs,

grab a few rice balls

and garden seeds

Never forget the bird’s eye chillies…”

If you have to leave your hometown and don’t know when you’ll return, what will you bring? Definitely the most beloved things from home! A handful of rice balls wrapped in banana leaves to ease your hunger, a couple of eggs that might hatch into chicks, and a few seeds like dragon fruit, mango, grape, and coconut. And most importantly, “never forget the bird’s eye chilies,” otherwise the meal won’t be complete.

The strength of free verse lies in the varied length of its lines and the rhythms crafted by the writer. The opening lines possess a strong, rapid rhythm, with more rising tones than even ones. Long sentences are interspersed with short sentences, resembling towering waves amidst lower ones when the sea is raging. I once gazed upon the sea in its fury and discovered a majestic and dramatic beauty. I never expected that a poet would help me rediscover this beauty once again.

Towards the end of the poem, the rhythm gradually calms, with shorter sentences and more even tones, creating a gentle feeling. The sea is calm now; let’s go home!

Ancient fairy tales often have happy endings. Modern tales are no different; “good people are rewarded” is always a satisfying conclusion:

“Who knows, maybe someday

we’ll become An Tiem,

Return home,

and call this place Nha Trang,

that place Mui Ne…”

The poem ends with a sweet line, like a gentle wave lovingly kissing the white sand beach:

“Hence 

Why didn’t our true love begin much earlier?”

Don’t be mistaken about this poet! Up until now, his verses have been simple and clear, but suddenly he throws a big question at us, full of hidden meanings. Does “love” here mean people loving people, people loving the scenery, or even “the scenery” loving people? And why “didn’t our true love begin much earlier”?

A delicious dish never brings the same feeling to everyone. Take bird’s eye chili dip, for example. I love the chili flavor, you might prefer the lime leaves. We all find it delicious, but each in our own way. Poetry, in my opinion, is the same. So, the poet’s tricky riddle is yours to solve! If you can’t figure it out, you can always “question” the poet directly: Dr. Do Hong Ngoc. Just remember to mention the name of the poem, “Suppose”.

Once, while on a bus driving along Highway 1A, I gazed at the coconut trees, white sand dunes, dragon fruit gardens, mango orchards, and the blue sea rushing past my eyes. As I took in those familiar landscapes after a long time away from home, I found my own answer! Indeed, “why didn’t our true love begin much earlier?”

mlefood – Minh Lê