The other day, I went to visit a friend’s house. It had been five years since we last saw each other, and I even got lost on the way there. Back then, they had just moved from an apartment to a landed house, and now I hear the property value has gone up several times over. The neighborhood has become so developed there’s hardly any land left for sale.
Their children have grown so much. The eldest daughter is now a university student – graceful and pretty, with that gentle shyness of youth. Her boyfriend came along too, polite and respectful, bowing and greeting like a well-mannered student meeting his teacher. One thing I truly admire about Saigon kids is how they are taught proper manners from a young age – it shows in the way they carry themselves.
Lunch was a feast full of love. The husband woke up early to buy fresh prawns, which, once steamed, turned a beautiful bright red – sweet, crunchy, and delicious. My friend and her children were busy making spring rolls, a meticulous dish that requires so many ingredients. Being from the North, her rolls had that subtle, refined flavor, perfectly balanced with the papaya dipping sauce. There was also boiled pork belly with green bananas and shrimp paste, a light and sweet vegetable soup with pork ribs, a platter of large crabs rich with roe, and a neatly plated dish of chicken garnished with shredded lime leaves-restaurant-quality presentation, though she had thoughtfully reserved the best drumsticks for my children.
Along with noodles, fresh herbs, and various dipping sauces, the meal was both abundant and heartwarming. Around the round kitchen table, we talked about the changes from “the old days” to “today,” while the couple kept placing food in my bowl, making sure I never felt like a guest. Their hospitality touched me deeply. This wasn’t the first time either – years ago in Saigon, they had welcomed me with the same warmth, even hosting meals with their colleagues, always making me feel like part of their family.
I ate until I couldn’t move, but my friend had more surprises: homemade yogurt, caramel pudding, and a refreshing strawberry syrup drink with ice, perfect for a summer afternoon. She truly has golden hands in the kitchen.
After lunch, she invited me upstairs to rest, the air conditioner already turned on. When I woke, she brought freshly picked mangoes from their garden. Though still green, they were sweet and refreshing – perhaps because they carried the warmth of being grown at home. Even their fruit seemed to have more affection than what you’d find at the market. Her children even ordered bubble tea for mine, who were overjoyed. Later in the afternoon, she carefully shredded morning glory into fine strands for noodle soup, which curled beautifully in the hot broth – crisp, fresh, and delightful. She urged us to stay for dinner as well, knowing we had traveled far, and had already prepared food in advance.
Her husband, ever caring, had recently set up a yoga room for her with a large mirror and air conditioning, turning it into a little sanctuary for exercise and relaxation. After more than twenty years together, they still shared loving gestures – he often brought her flowers, just as he had when they first met.
When it was time to leave, I didn’t go empty-handed. They packed gifts for me: pomelos, mangoes, dried squid, and fish to enjoy later with a drink. On the way home, my driver once again lost his way – we ended up following a local’s motorbike through quiet roads, past a lonely pond and a few stray dogs. Looking up, I saw the silhouette of a villa roof beside a mango tree in the evening sky. And in that moment, I felt it had been a truly joyful reunion, filled with warmth and belonging.
