In Warmth and In Flavor

A Story by Thalassa

A cuisine that brought my family even closer.

I remember being mesmerized with the glisten emitted from the thin concoction sitting itself in the mold of the bowl. Its sour yet sweet aroma filling my nostrils urged me to pull out the seat from the dining table and tuck myself in.

The ruffled ends of my mother’s cotton duster swayed from left to right as she approached the dining room with the Chinese ceramic bowl in her hands. As she gently placed the bowl on the table, the steam emitted from the bowl pervaded the room with its fabric-like movement.

I reached for the metal ladle and lowered it into the bowl until the ladle came in contact with a tender block. I scooped it out of the bowl, gently set it down on top of the mountain of rice that I had on my plate and returned to the bowl for more. I dipped the ladle in the bowl and raised it once more, now containing soup within its rim. I generously poured it over the rice that now became drenched and softened.

I looked down at my meal with a hearty smile and said a prayer with my family members. As soon as we all said the word, “Amen”, the clunking noise of cutlery soon suffused the room. I sliced the tender block of fish into smaller pieces and put it together with rice. As soon as I had the first bite of my meal, the sour and sweet flavor melded into my mouth, permeating my taste buds and relinquishing the dryness that once stayed in my mouth. The tenderness of the fish subdued in vinegar has brought me to a new and profound understanding of satisfaction. With every bite, I imagined my mother back in the kitchen, as she reached for the bottle of vinegar and pan. Rubbing salt on the fish, my mother held the fish with firmness yet also with love. The gentle splash of water and vinegar poured into the pan, produced the peaceful sounds that made the kitchen holy. As the water and vinegar started boiling and the glass cover fogged, flavors started to submerge itself within the fish and soup. The spices and other condiments enlivened the colorful variety of savory that the dish embodied.

“How do you find the paksiw?” My mother lovingly asked me.

My mouth was full with the overwhelming flavors brought by the fish and rice that I couldn’t help but just clap and give a thumb’s up in response.

There was something about paksiw that reminded me of home. The thinness of the soup reminded me of how open I was to my family and that I need not hide anything from them because they accepted me for who I was. The sourness and sweetness infiltrating my mouth reminded me of how not all families are perfect; that even fights occur, misunderstandings surface, and tantrums erupt. But despite all these conflicts, the sweetness still triumphs in the end, for everything resolves; love still conquers any obstacle in the household. The spices and condiments reminded me of my family’s unique blend of personalities and likes that when spun together, made an unforgettable mixture. The tenderness of the fish reminded me of my mother’s hugs, wrapping me in a serene embrace. An embrace that I knew I never wanted to get out of.

Savoring the final spoonful of the meal, I placed my cutlery horizontally on the plate and thanked my mother for the meal. Dinner was filled with lengthy discourse, constant laughs, teasing, jokes thrown around, and challenges of humor and wit. Once the conversation ended and it was time to bid the dining room adieu, I walked towards the sink, and couldn’t help but release a well pleased sigh out of contentment. As I brushed soap on every plate, I never expected that a dish could bring a family closer together; in warmth and in flavor.