My mother's kitchen smoke

The smell of Tet, the taste of spring, has so many things to recall, to name, so many memories to cherish as a beautiful part of each person's life. As for me, am I like anyone else when I always remember the smoke, I love that very special smell in my mother's kitchen every spring...

What does the smoke convey in the melancholy of each thin thread drifting over each roof? Is it the smoke or the nostalgia for the homeland that lingers in the heart of a child far away from home, making him feel nostalgic every time he returns at the end of the year? I define smoke as a deep, rustic note of the homeland, but filled with so much longing and longing.

Nowadays, most households use gas stoves and electric stoves for convenience and to save cooking time. Gas stoves are both easy to clean and very quick, so it is increasingly rare to find a wisp of smoke rising from the roofs, especially during the days before Tet.

I suddenly felt nostalgic for the past Tet seasons in my hometown, where the small kitchen corner was always associated with the familiar image of my mother. Every year-end, my mother spent all day long in the kitchen, cooking and stir-frying, sometimes preparing offerings, sometimes preparing meals to entertain guests, and when she had more free time, cooking sweet soup, boiling green tea... The Tet kitchen was almost always on fire day and night, both cooking and warming up the spring days, gathering together with many stories.

In the countryside, people often use firewood for cooking. My mother also had the habit of storing firewood for cooking during Tet. The pile of firewood was often piled high in a corner of the garden, exposed to rain and dew, so when lighting the stove, the sawdust and rotten firewood were difficult to light, and the smoke made my eyes and nose sting.

Perhaps the most special thing is the act of placing many large bricks together to form three legs to make a stove to cook banh chung. The children kept running around, wrapping their legs around the adults' legs around the Tet stove. It seemed that they were attracted and fascinated by the act of making fire and then imitating it, willingly becoming "errand boys". Every now and then, my mother would tell me to keep an eye out for more firewood or water in the pot of banh chung. Those were the most wonderful moments that are still clearly imprinted in my mind, so that I can't stop missing them until now. That's why, nowadays, even though there are many services to order banh chung for Tet, I still like to wrap the cakes myself, set up my own kitchen to cook every Tet holiday. Amidst the hustle and bustle of today's life, I really need those moments, to live fully with the feeling of Tet, leisurely with the taste of Tet.

The warm kitchen of spring kindles warm affection. No wonder so many people yearn for their families and homeland. The smoke lingers but is vast, spreading across the sky. The smoke stealthily curls and then dissipates. The smoke has lingered on my mother’s shoulders for so long that I have become familiar with and love so much that acrid, pungent but seductive smell.

On the last afternoon of the year, looking at the wisps of smoke drifting up from someone's kitchen, I felt sad for the old springs, memories suddenly came flooding back. The corners of my eyes suddenly stung, tears welled up as I remembered my mother amidst the swirling smoke...

Essays byLAM GIANG