Winter melon soup with dried shrimp, evoking memories of a distant factory and a tranquil life by the river in Southern China (冬瓜虾米汤)

The essence of a winter melon broth never fails to transport me back to a tranquil countryside, where a swift-flowing river, a bustling farmers market, and a factory filled with towering, awe-inspiring machines stood tall in the eyes of a young girl.

In the late 1960s, during the Cultural Revolution, many educated urban workers were dispatched to rural villages and small towns for ‘re-education.’ This was the backdrop when I was born. My father, a young mechanical engineer, was assigned to a remote town called Yingde, which was a 5-hour train journey from our home. It wasn’t until I was in high school that he was reassigned to Guangzhou.

I spent several summer holidays visiting my father during those years. His lodging was a modest room with walls adorned with old newspapers. The room was shared by several workers, with two sets of bunk beds. They usually ate their meals in the canteen, but the room also doubled as their kitchen if they chose to cook. There were no designated shower facilities for the men; they washed up using the taps in the courtyard or at the nearby river. When family members came to visit, the workers shuffled around to make room for them.

In that room, I cooked meals for my father and myself using a tiny diesel stove placed on the floor. The 20-cent canteen meals seemed extravagant despite my father’s daily consumption of two packs of cigarettes. Each morning, I made a trip to a small farmers market to purchase groceries. Our meals primarily consisted of boiled green vegetables, melons, eggs, and rice. On a rare occasion, a worker returning from Northern China gifted us a small bag of dried shrimp, a delicacy we enjoyed for months, adding a few pieces to each meal.

In the afternoons, I frequented the factory office, accompanying my father to the workshop where colossal machinery was manufactured. He engaged in discussions with the workers who tested the machines, and they all appeared intensely focused. My fascination lay in the workshop itself, with its towering metal ceiling, large dusty windows, and the pervasive scent of engine oil. There was an inexplicable comfort in that space, though I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.

Yingde was a tranquil town nestled beside a swift-flowing river, where I learned to swim for the first time. In the evenings, we strolled down to the river on a narrow path shared with local farmers and their livestock. There was one memorable incident when I mistakenly leapt into a pile of cow dung, mistaking it for a rock. As the river curved, there was a small beach. Just beyond it, a particularly imposing rocky mountain harboured a mysterious-looking cave. I always had a desire to swim across the river and explore that cave, but courage always eluded me.

Someday, I aspire to return to that river.

The winter melon broth I prepared today is far more elaborate than the simple version I once cooked in Yingde over 30 years ago. I sincerely hope you savour it and find delight in its flavours.

Ingredients

• 1 piece of winter melon, about 250g, peeled and diced
• 2 slices of bacon, thinly sliced
• 1 tablespoon of dried shrimp, rinsed and soaked in hot water for 20 minutes, then drained
• Approximately 25g of mung bean vermicelli, soaked in hot water for 20 minutes, then drained
• A drizzle of sesame oil
• Salt and white pepper to taste

Method

• In a pot, bring water to a boil. Add the diced winter melon, dried shrimp, and sliced bacon. Simmer for 5-10 minutes or until the melon pieces become slightly translucent.
• Stir in the soaked mung bean vermicelli and drizzle with sesame oil. Bring the mixture to a boil.
• Season the broth with salt and white pepper to your taste. Your dish is now ready to be served. Enjoy!

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