Revisiting Vietnamese Winter Melon Soup

Words by Priya Isaac

Comfort food really surpasses the realm of food which is familiar and loved. It is also the culinary band aid for rocky emotions that have taken some rough blows. No doubt there are those who may seek solace in comfort booze or comfort retail or what-have-you. As a foodie at heart (and gut, as it turns out) my thoughts turn to food – usually simple, even downright rustic.

At the beginning of this millennium, our family moved to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. A first taste of the expat life, away from the familiar comforts of home in India. I willingly dived into the experience, wide-eyed at the exquisite handicrafts and open-mouthed for the fresh salads and grilled meats. The only constraint to my culinary forays was allergy to crustaceans (and this is a bit like learning diving with an allergy to water). Nevertheless, I quickly sampled and singled out my favourites. On a narrow street in the very heart of the central quarter, stands the Lemongrass restaurant. Stepping off the hot and busy street, the cool mint-green walls and high ceilings transport one to colonial times. I forget how we discovered it. More than discovery, it was probably by recommendation. We savoured the aubergine fritters, the fresh spring rolls and the most divine grilled beef and raw mango salad. Each one exquisite in flavours and puzzling in its apparent simplicity. Key ingredients for classic culinary band aid. But the dish that lingered and lured me time and again was one that I did not dare to even attempt replicate for fear that I would defile its sanctity on the pinnacle of comfort food-dom.

Yesterday I suffered (yes, as in sobbing and self-pity wallowing) some hard emotional knocks. Those don’t fade overnight. I’m still a bit wrung out and fragile. And in this wretched state my mind suddenly turned to Lemongrass.

Without fail, the very first thing I always ordered was the Winter Melon Soup. I think the magic begins with the very name. Winter Melon Soup. Doesn’t it sound like it cools and cleanses? The appearance of the soup could not have been simpler. Served in a deep and ruggedly finished blue and white bowl with a lid. Lift it to be gently engulfed in a puff of fragrant steam. As it clears, there lies a light stock with translucent slivers of pale green melon. Hiding in the depths - two or three succulent pink orbs of minced pork flavoured lightly with garlic. Swimming in this enchanting concoction were a few jade hints of spring onion. As I stirred the light liquid the surface danced, sequined with specks of glistening grease. My senses sang and I sighed my satisfaction.

I could do with a bowl-ful now. Do I dare try and make some for myself? Vietnam is a long way away.