Frog porridge bowl

Surely every child will find that their parents’ cooking is the best. Me too. In the morning, I got up very early, helping my father cook frog porridge in Tho Ha acient village. While Dad was making frog meat, I washed the rice and washed the herbs. Occasionally, his father asked him to scoop a couple of ladles of water and pour it on the frogs he was cleaning. With his skillful hands, Dad easily skinned the frogs, cut them into four pieces (two thighs, two legs) and then rubbed with salt to reduce the fishy smell. Rinse again with water, drain, marinate a little cooking oil and soy sauce for about 1-2 hours. While waiting for the meat to soak up the spices, my father made a pot of white porridge. Seeing that the pot of white porridge had softened, my father lit another fire, sautéed the fragrant garlic and onions, fried the marinated frog meat, and sautéed it until the meat was hunted again. Pour the frog meat into the porridge pot, cook for about 10-15 minutes to be able to eat.

The bowl of frog porridge three scoops out pureed, fragrant rice that awakens everyone’s sense of smell and taste. The whole family gathered around the pot of porridge cooked by their father, slurping deliciously in Tho Ha acient village. After eating one bowl, I want to eat a second and third bowl. Eat until you are full. I always see my father eating only one bowl, then hurrying to prepare the rest of the frogs to bring to the market to sell. The meager amount of money from selling frogs is used to measure rice, and the rest is used to buy school supplies for my sisters and me. Until I went to university on the street, that is, for more than twenty years, until the third frog season, I still went to the field to look at frogs in the rain, wind, and dew. Having received the deposit from my father’s donation, I tried to hold on to my heart so that it wouldn’t hurt. Because of my life, the money I spend is the life trade-off, the silent sacrifice of my father, the sweat drops in the cold night when going to see the frog.

Tonight, listening to the sound of frogs chirping, my old memories came flooding back. The image of a skinny father in the night looking at each frog reminds him of the poor but peaceful days in Tho Ha acient village. I really want to be able to cook frog porridge again like in the past, but now I can’t anymore. Tears kept falling down my pillow.

To learn more about Tho Ha ancient village, please contact with

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