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Because I've always had the impression that these two dishes aren't tasty in the city (the chicken is usually factory-farmed, bland, and large) and sometimes not hygienic, often containing many preservatives, I only feel comfortable and enjoy them most when I eat them in my hometown. So, on occasions when I go back home, before leaving, I still manage to call my friend from the same village, asking him to find a place where they slaughter pigs, the kind fed on feed and cooked over a wood fire, and buy some offal for lunch so we can all gather. He agrees, and I confidently pack my bags and head off.
Having left early in the morning, I arrived home around 9 a.m., greeted my parents, lit incense for my ancestors, tidied up the house and yard for a while, probably around 11 a.m., and after giving instructions to everyone, I leisurely walked down to my friend's house. Looking into the kitchen, I saw him with his back to the outside. On the stove was a large pot steaming and bubbling, beneath which was a neatly spread mat. On it was a tray with a bowl of fish sauce with garlic and chili, various kinds of fresh vegetables that had been washed and drained, and a bottle of homemade rice wine, clear as a cat's eye and sealed with a dried banana leaf, bubbling steadily.
A plate of pork offal with a variety of dishes and herbs.
No need for greetings, no need to turn around, just a few lighthearted jokes to acknowledge meeting. A little later, he asked for a sieve. The sieve was a round-mouthed, fairly deep basket woven from evenly spaced, thin bamboo strips. After rinsing it clean and shaking off the excess water, he handed it to his friend, who placed it on top of another pot and used long chopsticks to carefully scoop the pig's intestines out of the boiling pot one by one.
Pork offal is a staple everywhere, and it seems even the West has it. But unlike the pork offal in the city, where restaurants only serve large intestines stuffed with blood and a little minced pork fat, which looks a bit tough and rather bland when cut open, the sausage in the countryside is made from large intestines soaked in salt, thoroughly washed, and tightly tied with bamboo string (very organic, not plastic), while the other end, usually with a wide opening (where it connects to the pig's stomach), is split open by one person, and another uses a large spoon to scoop the filling into a bowl and stuff it in.
The filling here, of course, is primarily pork blood mixed with pork fat and pork strips or ribs, finely minced to a good balance of lean and fat, along with crushed mung beans that have been soaked until soft, and a little fresh herbs (onions and cilantro, chopped so that when the sausage is boiled and sliced, it doesn't stretch), and seasonings, of course, include fish sauce, salt, and a little pepper for a rich flavor. Those who know how to cook well often use a sharpened bamboo skewer to test if the sausage is cooked enough: they poke the sausage with the skewer, and when the broth bubbles up, they know it's time to remove it or cook it a little longer.
Pork offal dishes are indispensable everywhere, and sausage is a must-have item.
Other dishes like stomach, tripe, intestines, small intestine, liver, heart, spleen, and lungs... through the skillful hands of my friends, the experienced chefs, later became a lavish feast, each dish delicious, chewy, crispy, hot, and fresh, making my mouth water just thinking about it.
Pigs raised in the countryside are mainly fed leftover or burnt rice, rice water, and green vegetables (mature water spinach or sweet potatoes, duckweed) mixed with rice bran. Sometimes they are eaten raw, sometimes they are cooked. There are no growth hormones or artificial feed additives, so the pork is fragrant, tender, and when boiled or fried, it doesn't produce the strong, pungent smell of industrially raised pork.
There's one thing I rarely get to eat, but whenever I go back to my hometown, my friends know my preferences and indulge me, so I get to enjoy it: boiled pig's tail. One weekend, while shopping for groceries at the supermarket, I came across a box of pig's tails that looked a bit strange. Pig's tails in my hometown are usually long and thin (not short, big, and fatty like the ones in the supermarket). The tail only has bone, skin, and a little meat (mostly fat) wrapped around it, but when boiled, it's delicious, fragrant, and not greasy – perfect with a glass of wine. The tail is the part of the pig or fish that's used the most because of its frequent movement, so it's firm and flavorful.
Braised pork intestines are a dish made from intestines that have been boiled once, then marinated with just the right amount of fish sauce, salt, and spices, and then braised like meat. My hometown in Thanh Hoa has a type of fish sauce called Thanh Huong; if used as a dipping sauce, the flavor might seem unrefined, but it's absolutely delicious when used to braise fish or meat. Braised pork intestines look somewhat similar to the braised offal dish in the South, but it's much more flavorful. Each piece of intestine, having been cooked twice, is tender and melts in your mouth without needing any dipping sauce, making it easy to gain weight because it goes down with rice so quickly.
Chicken with lime leaves
The chicken meat that my relatives and friends gave me back home was usually the local breed, the largest weighing only about a kilogram and a half, with white, smooth, fragrant meat, and the thighs and dark meat were crispy and chewy. When I was little, there were more free-range chickens, but now families raise them in a large, fenced-off garden, where they scratch the ground for worms and insects, and are given leftover rice and grains to eat at mealtime. Eggs from chickens fed on grains usually have a dark yolk, which looks very beautiful and tastes delicious.
After slaughtering the free-range chicken, the thighs, wings, and breast meat are boiled and served with a dipping sauce made from salt, spices, and finely chopped boiled blood. The remaining parts are chopped up, marinated in fish sauce, salt, and crushed dried onions, then roasted. The giblets are cleaned and stir-fried with zucchini and bean sprouts, sprinkled with chopped scallions. The glistening broth is used to make soup with vermicelli or seasoned to taste, and served with fresh rice noodles. The meal, served hot and steaming, spreads a warm and comforting aroma that makes everyone around salivate.
