"When you leave, remember..."

(Baonghean)When we were little, seeing the eggplant flowers blooming, painting the garden a vibrant purple, my sister and I would excitedly pick the purple blossoms and string them together to wear around our necks. My grandmother was both angry and worried about us. Angry because the eggplant flowers would bear fruit in just a few days. She worried about our delicate skin getting irritated and itchy from the flowers. After that incident, she warned us: "Never pick eggplant flowers again, so that the eggplants can bloom and bear fruit..."

Back then, whenever the eggplant plants bloomed, my grandmother would visit them morning and evening. Despite the eggplant leaves stinging and reddening her arms, she diligently picked out the insects day and night. At the time, my sisters and I simply understood that she was tending to the eggplants because our family loved eating them. Only when I grew up did I realize that she pickled those eggplants and sold them at the market, raising us. The people of my hometown grew up with those jars of pickled eggplant. Many people from my hometown of Quỳnh district, now successful, still remember the "pickled eggplant with soy sauce" whenever they visit home.

To make delicious pickled eggplant that would last for months without spoiling, my grandmother had to walk to the market to buy a large earthenware jar. She would pick the eggplants, still fresh with their stems and dew clinging to them, cut off the stems, wash them thoroughly with cool well water, and dry them in the sun for a few days. She said that to make the eggplant crispy and delicious, it had to be dried in the sun for a short time to shrink them. When cutting the stems, she had to be very careful not to cut into the flesh, otherwise the eggplant would rot and wouldn't last long. At that time, my family was struggling, but my grandmother's jar of pickled eggplant was always full of seasonings: garlic, chili peppers, ginger, pineapple, warm water, and a little salt to taste. She would place a thin woven bamboo mat and a small stone on top to prevent the eggplant from turning black. After a week, the eggplant was ripe, emitting a fragrant aroma of pineapple and ginger... when the bowl of ivory-white pickled eggplant was served, everyone would grab a piece to eat. My grandmother usually pickled two jars of eggplant, one mild and one strong. The milder kind is called quick-pickled eggplant, which is only pickled for a few days before being served with shrimp paste (spicuous shrimp paste with lemon juice, a little sugar, and chili). To vary the dishes made with eggplant, my grandmother would take the pickled eggplants, cut them in half, remove the seeds, and stir-fry them with lard, adding a little sugar and chili. I grew up far from home, but no matter where I went, whether poor or rich, eggplant soup was always present at every meal, especially in the summer.

Pickled eggplant has become a "trademark" of Mrs. Lien's family.

A poem set to music by Meritorious Artist Tiến Dũng (Nghệ An) contains the line: "Thanh Chương pickled bamboo shoots, Nam Đàn soy sauce, Xã Đoài Nghi Lộc oranges, I still jokingly say eggplant has a stem and a tail...". Pickled eggplant has long been considered a staple dish of the people of Nghệ An. The best, most flavorful pickled eggplant comes from Nghi Lộc. The locals usually pickle eggplant in large jars, taking them out to eat months later. Each eggplant is perfectly round like a marble, ivory white, and has a satisfyingly crisp texture.

I was walking through the eggplant fields of Nghi Loc district. The sun was blazing, and many areas were cracked and waiting for the floodwaters, yet the eggplant rows in the communes of Nghi Van, Nghi Lam, Nghi Truong, Nghi Thai... were always full of water, the fields laden with green eggplants, their purple flowers covering a vast expanse of sky. Mrs. Le Thi Lien, from Hamlet 7, Nghi Lam commune, is now 75 years old and is a renowned pickled eggplant and condiment maker in the surrounding villages. Just go to the beginning of Nghi Lam commune and ask for "Mrs. Lien the eggplant maker," and everyone knows her. People around the area no longer call her by her name, Lien, but mainly call her "Mrs. Eggplant." Her pickled eggplant is mildly sour, and when dipped in a little shrimp paste or vinegar with fish sauce, chili sauce, and sugar, it's very appetizing with rice.

Ms. Lien shared that in the past, she used to pickle eggplants to eat as a substitute for food, mainly during the rainy months. Later, many people found her pickled eggplants delicious and asked her to pickle them for them. She doesn't know exactly when she started pickling eggplants; she vaguely remembers that she's been doing it for nearly 50 years. In recent years, she has been pickling eggplants to order for restaurants and some hotels in Vinh City and Quan Hanh Town. Ms. Lien said that for the eggplants to be delicious, the first step is to ensure the plants are healthy and receive enough water every day. Even in the sweltering summer heat, and on days when the power grid is weak and insufficient to power the water pump, Ms. Lien and her children and grandchildren carry buckets of water to irrigate the eggplant rows so that the eggplants can flower and bear fruit. Taking advantage of the late night hours, when people use less electricity, Ms. Lien's whole family waters the eggplant garden, so her garden is always beautiful, uniform, and completely free of pests.

Nowadays, pickled eggplant is prepared in many ways. I've enjoyed quick-pickled eggplant at many budget-friendly eateries in Vinh, and it's very appealing. If diners order just rice with a few pickled eggplants, a bowl of shrimp paste, and some vegetable soup, it only costs about 10,000 dong. Quick-pickled eggplant is easy to make. Just wash the eggplants, cut off the stems, soak them in cooled boiled water with a little salt for 15 minutes, then blanch them in boiling water to wilt them quickly and absorb the seasoning easily. Mix them well with seasoning powder, sugar, ginger, fish sauce, galangal, garlic, and fresh chili peppers (seeds removed). After a few dozen minutes, you'll have crispy and delicious pickled eggplant. A simpler way is to eat them raw. Choose fresh eggplants that are not too young or too thick, cut them in half, soak them in salt water, drain them in a colander, and dip them in shrimp paste (made with lemon, sugar, and chili peppers) until it froths. Dipping the eggplant into the shrimp paste is incredibly delicious and will make you want to eat a whole pot of rice. Eggplant can also be stir-fried with pork belly or frog, but my favorite is eggplant stir-fried with pork belly. Sauté garlic until fragrant, then add the eggplant and pork, stirring until the eggplant is just cooked through and the pork is firm. Pour in the prepared fish sauce mixture with sugar and MSG, and simmer. When ready to eat, add betel leaves; the aroma is incredibly fragrant. The eggplant sauce poured over rice is extremely delicious.

The most popular dish is still pickled eggplant, with its perfectly round, marble-like fruits, a favorite of everyone. On hot summer afternoons, seeing a bowl of vegetable soup or boiled water spinach alongside a bowl of fragrant, crispy pickled eggplant makes even the most tired person want to pick up their chopsticks. Or during the rainy season in August and September, having a jar of pickled eggplant at home, taking it out, removing the seeds, and stir-frying it with lard, chili peppers, a little sugar, ginger, and garlic makes everyone want to dive straight into the meal, without needing any other food.

Many people living far from home miss the pickled eggplant dish from their hometown. Many who live in Hanoi, Saigon, or even in Europe, never forget to bring pickled eggplant as a gift whenever they return. Similarly, when entertaining clients at restaurants or hotels, even after enjoying a full meal of local specialties from the mountains and the sea, they still crave pickled eggplant when it's time to eat their rice.

Every time I think of pickled eggplant, I crave that tangy, crunchy taste that lingers on…

Text and photos: Thu Huong