Clam Rice

Clam rice without heat…

O Gái opens the baskets; the sharp smell of fried chili rises. She takes a bowl, lays in the vegetables, and scoops the rice. She seasons it with at least a dozen condiments. Then she hands the bowl of clam rice to the customer, stands up, and sets the pole across her shoulder.

O Gái grew up in Cồn Hến, a small island in the Perfume River in Huế, once known for its abundance of clams. As a child, she watched the men rake for clams and boil them. The women prepared the toppings and greens. At dawn, the carrying poles creaked softly; voices stayed low. The women in brown áo dài took boats across the river into Huế. Then they scattered, walking quickly into narrow alleys.

When she married a man from Tiên Nộn village along the Perfume River, O Gái moved there and continued selling clam rice. By then, the brown áo dài was no longer worn by street vendors. The yoke, the baskets, and the clam rice remained.

The clams are rinsed again and again; a single grain of sand left behind would ruin her name. The young taro stems are sliced as thin as toothpicks. The fermented shrimp paste is chosen with care. The dried chilies must be stir-fried until fragrant. Each time she fries the chilies, her eyes water.

Once a customer asked why not leave out a few toppings—less trouble, and who would notice. She shot him a look. “How could I? They’d tear me apart with their tongues.”

It is said that clam rice was once served to Emperor Thành Thái. That is how the elders on Cồn Hến told it. Before it entered the imperial court, clam rice was nothing more than cold rice splashed with boiled clam broth, clams and herbs—enough to fill the stomach in the morning. The version presented to the emperor was far more elaborate. 

O Gái does not know what the king’s clam rice was like. But the clam rice she sells—she insists on making it exactly the way she ate it as a child. Not only rice, clams, and herbs, but many toppings as well. Perhaps it resembles, in part, the royal bowl from long ago. The price remains modest.

Cồn Hến keeps its name, but no longer its clams. O Gái buys clams from the Tam Giang lagoon, farther south. Larger, but not as flavorful. She seasons them so the flavors sink in, then adds extra garlic and shallots to bring out the fragrance.

O Gái’s bowl of clam rice is built in layers. Shredded taro stems line the bottom, cold rice sits above. Then come the clams, chilies, shrimp paste, sesame seeds, peanuts. Crispy pork skin and cracklings are added. Herbs, green mango or starfruit form another layer on top. The clam broth is poured in last. It is called clam rice, yet there are more greens and chilies than rice. The chilies always hide beneath the greens. Those unfamiliar would not know how fierce it is.

O Gái sits between the two baskets at Bao Vinh market in Huế, where she has sat for thirty years. Her hands move briskly among the small piles of toppings as the murmur of clam rice orders rises around her. “Not spicy?” she asks, already scooping. She adds a little less fried chili.

Clam rice without heat is no longer clam rice.

Notes:

– O: a Huế form of address for a woman. O Gái means roughly Auntie Gái.

– Áo dài: a traditional Vietnamese long tunic worn over trousers.

mlefood – Minh Lê NT

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