Chicken soup

This entry is part 18 of 28 in the series Goldfish

There is little doubt about the nutritious value of chicken.  Before there’s energy drinks, chicken essence drink was popular in Asian countries.  It was believed to be especially beneficial to the health of elderlies.  I wasn’t totally surprised to learn that chicken soup was consider the best anti-cold and anti-flu food in America.  However, it wasn’t what mom would have given us when we fell ill.

Mom would give us plenty of water and juice when we were sick.  When our symptoms calmed down a little, she would make sweet porridge for us.  Mom always said that the digestion of carbohydrate took place mostly in one’s mouth, so it would be important to break down rice slowly before swallowing it.  Since it would be too easy to “drink” porridge (喝稀飯) down the pipes, she didn’t make it often.  But, when our digestive system was weakened by illness, she would cook a large pot of porridge and add sugar to it, hoping the sweetness would boost our appetite.  If we recovered well, she would make us porridge mixed with chopped vegetables and ground pork.  (A bit like chicken soup, isn’t it?)

There was a noodle stand less than two blocks away from us.  The owner was a middle-age man, slender and of few words.  His food was simple.  There was a large cylinder cooker in the middle of the stand, divided into two halves.  On one side, the water was always boiling.  On the other side, there was simmering broth.  For each order, he would place the noodles in a large strainer ladle and dipped it into the boiling water.  When the noodles were about done, he would drop some chopped greens into the water then quickly lifted them out with the noodles.  Clear broth would be added to the plain noodles and vegetables.  And, voilà, a heartwarming bowl of noodle soup.  Additional condiments are provided on the side.

Sometimes, freshly recovered from sickness, we would get special treats from the noodle stand.  If we were strong enough, mom would walk over with us.  Or, mom would bring a container to pick up our order.  There was always a strong celery scent in the noodle soup from the stand.  I didn’t know if it was from the broth or in the greens.  To me, that particular smell always felt like a cuddling embrace.  To me, that particular smell is the scent of nostalgia.

The warmth of these special foods and the tender care that went into their preparations were the best cure of any illness.  I just made myself a large pot of porridge with veggies and ground pork in chicken broth. . . Relax, take a deep breath and enjoy!

Tomatoes

This entry is part 17 of 28 in the series Goldfish

Are tomatoes fruits or vegetables?  Fruits, if you ask me.

Dad was a sloppy eater.  Every time he allowed juice or broth to dribble onto his shirt, mom would start comparing him with me.  According to mom, I had great intuition in keeping my hands and clothes neat, no matter what I was eating.

For some reason, I loved tomatoes.  And, somehow, as a toddler, I figured out a way to suck out the juice then nibbled on the pulp.  Mom would take me to the market; buy me a big tomato from the fruit stand near the entrance and leave me there in the stroller.  Since the market was always crowded and the paths were narrow, leaving me outside would save mom lots of time.  The vendors knew us and would keep an eye on me.  The all-consuming task of finishing off the big fruit would keep me occupied during mom’s brief absence.  One day, a neighbor saw me by the fruit stand alone.  Not sure if mom had forgotten me, she decided to take me home.  THAT was the end of me eating tomatoes alone at the market.

Tomatoes are called 蕃茄 or 西紅柿 in Chinese.  The word “蕃” derives from “番,” which means “foreign.”  The top component of the character (radical) “⺾” refers to “plants, herbs, vegetation.”  “西” means “west.”  “紅柿” describes its similarity to “red persimmon” in color and shape.  Clearly, they were introduced to China from the “West.”  Today, they are essential in Chinese food cultural.

“Candied-plum-filled cherry tomatoes” 蜜餞蕃茄 are ubiquitous in Taiwanese markets.[1] Sometimes, they are skewered on bamboo sticks.  In southern Taiwan, beefsteak tomatoes are often sliced and serve with a mixture of soy sauce, sugar and minced ginger.  Born and raised in northern Taiwan, I haven’t had the fortune to taste these “savory” sweet tomatoes.

蕃茄炒蛋 (stir-fried tomatoes and eggs) is a staple in Chinese home cooking.  Just like Italian cooks with tiramisù, everyone has his/her own best way to make 蕃茄炒蛋.  Stir-fry the sliced tomatoes first vs frying the eggs first.  Adding thinly sliced scallions with the tomatoes. . . Adding the scallions to the eggs. . . The variations are endless.

So, fruits? Or, vegetables?


[1]Cherry Tomatoes with Prunes