Chapter 8
Chronicle of the Mountains and Rivers of the Southern Kingdom
The guests sit encircling the boy. He stretches forth his neck, observing with care each movement of the cook: first, the pig's bristles are shaven clean, then washed and drained. Thereafter, the meat is cut into square pieces two fingers wide, retaining the skin, fat, and lean, that each side may be seared with ease. A light roasting ensues; when the flesh changes hue, it is cast into the pot to boil. The meat is then withdrawn and left to cool.
Next, the pigskin is scraped clean. With a sharp wooden rod, the cook pierces countless tiny holes into the skin, that the dermal layer may absorb water and soften, and the subcutaneous fat be removed.
The boy, astonished, inquires:
- Uncle, why do you pierce these tiny holes with such care?
The cook utters a soft laugh, saying it is a secret art. He explains: if pierced with care, the meat becomes tender and absorbs the spices evenly. Through the heat conveyed by the pot and the fat layer, the skin crisps and pleases the palate. When the skin begins to leak oil, it must be wiped at once, then marinated in rice wine, and steeped in a juice made of ginger and garlic, with a measured addition of liquor.
The cook covers the pot and waits in silence, allowing the ingredients to steep for half an hour. Meanwhile, the boy, carefree and unburdened, eats and converses merrily among the company. He grins wide, jesting with Thiet Nam. Thiet Nam laughs in return, half in jest, half in earnest:
- Dost thou intend to become a cook?
The boy shakes his head and smiles:
- Nay, I merely delight in the art of cooking.
He buries his face once more in his writing. The Grand Chancellor and his wife, Tran Thi Dung, gaze upon him with curiosity, watching as he buries his face in the tome. Tran Thi Dung softly asks:
- Child, what tome hast you there?
The boy, whilst recording his observations, keeps a steady watch on the cook's movements. The cook dips the meat into a basin of vinegar, then lifts it out and places it into a mixture of soy sauce[1], cinnamon, star anise, tsaoko, and clove. After half a watch's wait, the meat takes on a glossy sheen and absorbs the richness of the spices. Without turning his head, the boy replies:
- I shall speak once I finish writing.
The white-haired elder reminds him to be courteous. The boy smiles wryly and hands the tome to the one who asked. Upon receiving it, Tran Thi Dung finds the tome of moderate thickness, its cover and spine fashioned of leather.
The spine was carved with a delicate motif of the Lac bird, and the cover was adorned with patterns of bronze drums. Upon the back cover was depicted a group of Lac Viet men, stripped to the waist and girded in loincloths.
They wore hats shaped like the Lac bird upon their heads, and iron rings encircled their knees, ankles, wrists, and biceps. In their left hands they bore long spears, feathered at the shaft like the wings of the Lac bird; in their right hands they wielded curved war billhooks, battling a giao long in the river.
On the riverbank stood many women, dressed in harmonized garments and adorned with matching ornaments. Their upper bodies were wrapped in short pieces of silk, bound tightly at the waist and embroidered with wave-like patterns. From the short upper garment, a ribbon of fine silk was affixed, falling gently over the front onto the long cloth wrapped around each woman's waist — each long strip embroidered with mysterious motifs.
Over these, they wore flowing mantles without hoods. They wore traditional silver necklaces, each one bearing engraved motifs and ceremonial pendants, and upon their heads were caps adorned with white Lac bird feathers. Their slender legs were encircled by tubular bronze rings adorned with small bells.
In their left hands they raised short swords, the hilts engraved with the image of a woman standing with hands on hips; in their right hands they struck bronze drums with wooden rods, rousing the men to fierce combat with the giao long.
Behind the women stood several stilted houses, their roofs gently beveled into a soft curve.Upon either side perched Lac birds in quiet watch. The Grand Chancellor's wife smiles as she reads the inscription upon the tome's cover:
Chronicle of the Mountains and Rivers of the Southern Kingdom
Tran Thi Dung delights in titles more resounding than bells. As she opens the pages, she beholds a record of Dai Viet's history from times ancient to present—wars, customs, rites, funerals, weddings, military affairs, martial disciplines, and culinary arts—all revealed beneath her astonished gaze.
The Grand Chancellor and his wife hold firm in their belief that the boy shall continue to expand the pages of his tome, composing further works on poetry, letters, law, governance, coinage, agriculture, commerce, carpentry, song and dance, music, and sundry other matters that stir the spirit.
The two are drawn to the flowing, solemn, and stately prose, wherein flashes of innocent wit are at times laced with the mischief of a child. As the host nears the completion of his roast, the elderly couple remain engrossed in reading, so enraptured that they do not so much as blink.
The boy cries aloud:
- Sir, Madam, I pray return the tome to me! Once I have finished writing, I shall let you read it again!
They cannot help but laugh, watching the boy fidget as though seated upon a bed of embers. Seldom does one behold such fervent concern for affairs of state—least of all from a child whose nose is yet unclean. Though young and unversed in worldly matters, the boy hath accomplished a deed of meaning for the realm—one that even grown men might scarce accomplish.
The Grand Chancellor and his lady, much moved with admiration, return the tome with gentle cheer, and command the host to roast the meat whilst unfolding his craft in every particular, that the boy may faithfully inscribe all. The host, long in search of a worthy apprentice to whom he might entrust his craft, replies with delight:
- Rest assured, Chancellor!
The old man with silvered hair starts in surprise, casting his gaze upon the Grand Chancellor and his wife. The couple suddenly feel an itch upon the nape, their brows furrowed as they fix their eyes upon the crowd of diners. The discomfort of being watched is soon drowned in the clamor of laughter. The Grand Chancellor and his wife deem it mere fancy, and turn their full attention to the boy, observing how he sets down the methods of cookery.
As the host roasts the meat, he brushes its surface with honey, that the skin may take on a golden hue. He submerges the meat in a cauldron of hot oil, first searing the skin-side until it darkens to the sheen of cockroach wings; then he turns it, stirring oft, until the flesh bears a faint shade of deep yellow. When the skin crisps to a golden crunch, he swiftly plunges the meat into cold water to cool, then lifts it out to dry.
The boy, ever restless, must needs crane his neck and climb upon a stool, peering hither and thither as the sweet potatoes are peeled, washed, sliced, and cast into the rendered grease, there to be stirred till golden and crisp, then set aside to cool. The cook, half smiling, calleth out to him:
- If you wouldst learn the craft, then lend me you hand!
The child gives a joyful shout and dashes into the kitchen. The cook bids him fetch sundry small items. He noddeth, draweth forth his knife, and shredeth the radish soaked in soy sauce. His hand turneth the blade in circles, slicing the sour mustard greens into slender strips to be laid out beneath the sun. He scurries to and fro, at times knitting his brow, waving his hand to chase away the smoke that lingers in the kitchen air.
Tran Thu Do and his wife traverse the realm throughout their lives, devoting themselves wholly, bearing the weight of mountains and state. For decades they vie for power and gain, never allowing themselves a moment of carefree peace. Yet now they laugh with ease and jest blithely with the child who runneth to and fro without a care.
Perhaps today they encounter one faithful to the realm, or perhaps they merely wish to forget their burdens for a time. They set down their chopsticks and laugh, eyes narrowing like crescent moons, watching the boy eagerly display his culinary craft. The boy smiles, listening intently to the cook's instruction:
- First, add half a measure of scallion and garlic, one jin of pork, two cubes of fermented bean curd, a small ladle of water, half a spoon of salt, one spoon of liquor, dark soy infusion, black wood-ear fungus[2], fragrant herbs, galangal, star anise, honey, vinegar, half of a fruit—sour to the taste—one slice of ginger, and one ceramic jar of dried pickled cabbage. All these are finely minced into a paste. Then, mix the paste with rice vinegar, two spoons of northern soy paste, one spoon of sugar, and five-spice powder, stirring until well blended. Finally, grind pepper, cassia bark, and clove into a fine powder and incorporate it into the mixture.
The boy, eager to taste, is quickly warned by the cook:
- Not so fast. To savor is to be deliberate—this is of utmost importance. If you taste it hastily, the true flavor is lost. Indeed, a touch of fish sauce may enhance the aroma, but do not overuse it, lest it become too salty. The pickled greens, soy-brined radish, and fermented tofu are already salty. Once all ingredients are combined, pour them into a mortar and pound until smooth, then gently fry.
The boy learns swiftly. The cook rubbeth his hands and laugheth:
- Though my sons have practiced long, their pickling is often disordered. I fear this craft may be lost!
He laughs heartily, laying his hand upon the boy's head:
- Fortunate indeed, to have you! Today, I, Pork Wooden Slab, shall impart all I know!
Pork Wooden Slab then continueth, saying:
- The meat must be cut into blocks—not too thin, lest it soften and lose form. Each piece must bear skin, fat, and lean, arranged neatly in the mold. Do not let them scatter, or the final dish will lack beauty. Each bowl holds eight finger-sized pieces, marinated with seasoning. Then mix the meat with spices, pour it into the pot, and let it marinate for a brief span, that the meat may take in all its savor.
Pork Wooden Slab instructs the boy to fetch a large plate and bowl, matched in size. The boy nods, obeys carefully, and arranges the vessels with measured grace.
The boy purseth his lips, whistles a folk tune, and cleanseth the pickled leaves of sand and salt (these pickles are a staple among the Tay and Nung people of Northern Lang Chau). He whirleth the knife with nimble hand through the gaps between his fingers, its sharp blade whirling so swiftly it vanishes from sight. He grips the hilt, minces the pickles into filling, and lays them at the bottom; then places the taro at the center of the plate.
He moveth his fingers lightly, scattering the meat evenly around the plate, skin-side up. Pork Wooden Slab strokes his mustache, lifts his chopsticks, and gently nudges the meat to enfold the seasonings and the taro at the center.
Leisurely, the man demonstrates how to invert the bowl, then flip it, that the meat resteth in place, unmarred and whole. The boy squints, watching closely, then carefully aligns the bowl atop the plate and exhales:
- Now… flip it.
He inverteth it with measured grace. All hold their breath, then break forth in glad acclaim. The boy beams, sets the meat bowl upon the table, embraceth the cook and clasps the white-haired elder in gladness. Pork Wooden Slab smileth, offereth praise, and gently admonisheth:
- Each bowl must be steamed over water for two watch-hours. Only then will the meat be tender, the fat reduced, and the flavor deepened.
Then he slices fruits into various shapes, encircling the meat plate and presenting it at the banquet table. All await the Grand Chancellor's nod—the feast beginneth. The first-time diners struggle as they attempt to lift the bowl. Thiet Nam stops them:
- Not like that—the meat will fall apart!
He inverts the bowl onto the plate, forming a "small hill", the skin and meat fully revealed. The pork master smiles and declares:
- This flipping method symbolizes the will to rise and the strength to grow. Among the Tay and Nung peoples, this meat is made each new year, offered in worship or at weddings.
Having followed Thiet Nam's method with grace, they now gaze upon the dish, intact and gleaming. Golden and radiant, the meat is sweet and tender, the skin crisp and gleaming, its aroma wafting forth, awakeneth every sense.
The scent of khau nhuc—pork marinated with leaves steeped with essence—intoxicates the senses, curling around the nose. Diners chew the supple wood ear, the spices entwined within. The tongue coils around the thick, glistening juices seeping from the tender, golden-brown meat—slick with fat and wrapped in wild pepper, sweet with a gentle, fragrant heat.
The second bite brings lean-and-fatty pork held together by a thick, fragrant, nutty blend of mung bean, taro, wood ear mushroom, and spices—slowly melting on the tip of the tongue. Chewing the sweet with honey skin, the rich fat presses in without cloying the tongue, slipping through the teeth's narrow spaces.
To alter the course of the palate, Thiet Nam taketh a piece of pork laid amid parboiled mustard greens and cheweth with care. The others do follow suit and at once taste the crisp, sweet coolness of the greens—a flavor most refreshing, that cloyeth not, though eaten oft.
After liquor and meat hath appeased their hunger, the diners, greatly pleased, lay their hands upon their bellies:
- Ne'er did I expect Lang Chau to yield such a delightful fare!
- This dish surpasseth all I have tasted!
Pork Wooden Slab smileth and saith:
- This dish originated in the North. In former times, a Northern cook, driven by hunger, chanced upon several slices of roasted meat and a handful of chrysanthemum greens. He then steamed them together, seasoned with various flavors, and found the result most delightful. Thus, khau nhuc came into being. Though the Northerners regarded it as rustic and humble, it harbored a profound spirit and meaning within.
- In the years that followed, having mingled with the flavors of Lang Chau, it became a dish much famed across the forested highlands. Khau nhuc, also known as 'upturned pork reposing in the bowl', signifieth the steaming until it be tender and yielding. To arrive in Lang Chau and not partake of this dish is, indeed, a sorrow for one's life.
The boy asks:
- Uncle, how is this dish preserved?
The question strikes Pork Wooden Slab's point of delight, and he speaks with unbridled enthusiasm:
- Khau nhuc may be kept for several days without dread of loss of savor. In the cold climes of the highlands, the longer it is stored, the more richly the spices and meat become entwined. Khau nhuc, though prepared with slight difference from land to land, ever beareth one virtue: its flesh is soft, rich with fat, and full of savor.
He then cautions the boy:
- You must remember: selecting fine provisions, seasoning with care, and attending to each step with diligence. Though rich in fat, the dish shall not be cloying, for all depends upon the choice of meat. A cut of prime pork belly weighing around one hundred pounds shall serve best, its balance of lean and fat most harmonious[3]. Should one be compelled to purchase a piece with somewhat excessive fat, it may still suffice, though too much fat shall diminish the flavor.
As he speaks, he showeth his strength with pride, his arms brawny and strong:
- The meat must be firm, with lean and fat fibers interwoven. One must never purchase loose flesh or cuts riddled with sinew. Those with experience do not choose overly lean meat, for an imbalance between lean and fat renders the unseemly to the palate. The ideal choice is pork from beasts long raised, with thick hide. Should one obtain a crossbreed of domestic and wild swine, all the better. In general, half a pound of meat yields one bowl, each bowl bearing eight pieces—ample for four diners.
He sips his tea, cooling his throat, and continues:
- A fine bowl of khau nhuc remains whole and unbroken, neither crushed nor misshapen, its hue most fair to behold. The flesh is fragrant, sweet, and tender; the taro rich in flavor; the skin exudes a deep aroma. Its golden appearance stirs great appetite. Khau nhuc pairs well with rice, glutinous rice, vermicelli, or vegetables, and serves as a splendid meal at dawn or midday. In Hai Dong Circuit[4], it is best enjoyed with nodding cake.
A diner, puzzled, asks:
- Where is the nodding cake?
Pork Wooden Slab replies with a smile:
- The ingredients have all been spent.
The diners sigh, lamenting the missed delight. Deprived of the chance to taste such a fine dish, the boy licketh his lips, his countenance heavy with yearning. He thrusteth his hand into a cloth pouch and draweth forth several sheets of paper, their edges pierced with holes, and beginneth diligently to record all matters concerning khau nhuc.
With greatest care, the boy doth copy each word, resting the tome upon his thighs. He doth pass a golden cord through the silver holes along the spine. Once unfastened, he joins the two pages on khau nhuc into the within the chapter of cookery. As the seating was close and motion restrained, the disciple asks the teacher to hold the tome steady while he threads the cord and ties the knot. Nearby, a youth watches the boy and his tome, and with a countenance of mirth, asks:
- Did you write the article on the Drum Bong Dance as well?
The boy shakes his head with much vehemence.
- The author of the Ancient Dance Chronicles has composed that dance. I have merely set down more of what I have witnessed. Whenever certain things have proved too difficult to describe, I have sought the teacher's aid.
The diners take turns perusing the tome, offering words of praise without end. As they skim through the section on Drum Bong Dance, sudden laughter breaks forth:
- Drum Bong Dance was once known as the "Wanton Woman's Drum Bong Dance", a rustic appellation born of the common folk, embodying the pleasures of the wild and open land. It was not, as some misunderstood, a name of vulgarity. The title itself described the nature of the dance—flirtatious and full of mirth. Elders oft invoked an old saying: "As wanton as Drum Bong Dance of a wanton woman," to depict the bearing and posture of the dancer.
The youth smiles and jests:
- Why did you not tell them earlier?
The boy, in simple innocence, asks:
- Oh, what do "wanton woman" and "flirtatious" mean? I do not understand, so I dare not speak.
The boy standeth bewildered, gazing at the crowd as they laugh until tears do spring forth from their eyes. After waiting long with no reply, he turns to the teacher for guidance. The old man seeks to avoid this delicate matter. Yet in all matters he findeth hard to grasp, the boy seeketh answers by any means. The teacher offers a brief reply:
- Oh, that is merely for jest.
Some stifle their laughter, and the boy, uncertain, remains half convinced. The elder, unwilling to speak falsely, falls into silence. The student is innocent, the teacher overly grave. Seeing this, Thiet Nam steps forth to speak in the elder's stead.
- King Bo Cai has slain the tiger to deliver the people, and has struck down foes to defend the realm. One of such virtue as he cannot bestow upon the dance a name of ill repute. The terms "wanton woman" and "flirtatious" have aligned precisely with the meaning set down in the tome.
The boy grins broadly, accepting the answer as sound and reasonable. To prevent him from posing further questions too delicate to address, Thiet Nam, under guise of seeking fresh air, taketh up the child and carrieth him forth from the tent. Passing by the elder, Thiet Nam smileth softly in return, and boweth in humble answer to the nod of gratitude from the venerable teacher. Wishing the child to forget the matter entirely, he deliberately cries aloud:
- Wild muom fruits glide down hanging pulleys, soon to descend the mountain.
Foonote
[1] As for soy sauce, records indicate that it already existed as early as the Western Zhou period. Relevant information can be found here:
https://www.cdstm.cn/gallery/media/mkjx/spysh/201301/t20130125_322419.html
The cooking method, serving style, and flavor of khau nhuc are all excerpted from various culinary websites. Some original passages are retained to ensure authenticity.
Regarding ingredients, several did not exist during the Tran dynasty, so I have substituted them with others — for example, pepper instead of chili, and taro instead of sweet potato.
[2] Black fungus (Auricularia auricula-judae) is known for its ear-like shape, ranging in color from dark brown to black, and grows on decaying wood. Its texture resembles rubber — firm and slightly brittle.
This fungus is widely used in Asian cuisine. In Chinese, it is called "wood ear" or "black wood ear"; in Japanese, it is known as キクラゲ (kikurage).
Auricularia polytricha is a closely related species that is also commonly used in Asian dishes.
White fungus is another edible species, white in color and similar in shape, but it belongs to a different species, scientifically named Tremella fuciformis.
[3] According to ancient Vietnamese measurement systems, one hundred pounds is equivalent to approximately 60.45 kilograms.
[4] In the early Tran dynasty, the twenty-four administrative circuits of the Ly dynasty were reorganized into twelve, including Hai Dong Circuit.
By the late Tran period, Hai Dong Circuit roughly corresponded to part of present-day Quang Ninh, covering eight counties under An Bang Prefecture.