LYCHEE SEASON

 

My first taste of lychees were those canned in heavy syrup (most likely imported from China) and Mom used to pour them out equally in bowls and ice them up and that’s treat for us kids after play. The intense sweetness (preserved in sugar and additives) was watered down by the ice we waited a bit to dissolve, and the yummy fruits were pitted and so when ready to eat we spooned them fast in its cold juice with great satisfaction. What I remember was the color of the lychee as oxidized light brown, as would, say, pealed apples exposed to air would turn, and definitely not the kind featured in this blog photo as white-silver and fresh as day. But I love them just the same. I love remembering my childhood food shaped by the choices and presentations of my mother; happy food memories are vivid, let me tell you, and I can even taste it. If I see canned lychee next time I go to an Asian market, I am more than certain to feel a pang of nostalgia. I miss the hand that picked up this product from the grocery shelf all those years ago and, while pushing her cart, thought along the aisle to feed me. 

I have a plan. I will recreate what Mom used to make then with these fresh lychees given by a coworker, peel them, ice them, add basil water for full immersion and boost its taste. Wait — what did Mom used to cook that was complementary to this dessert? A rice dish smothered in some kind of thick tomato stew, I think? I don’t have rice but I have sourdough bread and a prepared lima beans salad in spicy tomato puree from Mana, and why not toast the bread with mustard oil and sandwich the lima broken up mashed and smack butter lettuce leaves on both sides which I have too. Sounds good. Very good. Let me go to the kitchen now and prepare my lunch, which I hope you can imagine. You are welcome to join me if you find this recipe appealing/appetizing for your weekend treat. I encourage you. And don't forget the frozen lychees.

PS. I have started reading a new book about “composing a further life” with active wisdom, and one beautiful metaphor in the first chapter reflected on what middle-age could bring new to your life with resonance from when you were young filled with parental love you depended on. I think I will cook like my mother more so moving forward, shifting my consciousness from chef-y food to homey food just as the greatest homemaker and cook in the world, my late Mom, did for me and my sister to nourish us healthy and happy growing up, to nourish with ever comforting food to love us. I admit I’ll be sad thinking about her as I will cook from now on as she did, but according to the book’s author, Mary Catherine Bateson: when you see through a child’s eye the way you were once in old age, it is like your own preparation for… at some point when it’s your time… to finally return home.