Chapter 24 — A Sweetness Forgotten

The construction site of "Coi Quarter" has been bustling for many months, gradually forming the appearance of a culinary street with a mix of nostalgic and modern styles - rows of tile-roofed houses restored according to old town architecture, interspersed with spacious common courtyards, and a delicately designed lighting system to highlight the rustic beauty of each stall.

Ngọt Xưa's booth is arranged in a central location, right at the main entrance of the neighborhood - a prime location that Diệp Chi clearly knows comes not only from the commercial value of the brand, but also from the silent favor of a person who always stands behind and supports, even though he never directly interferes with the decision of the appraisal board.

The weeks of preparation before the official opening day became the busiest time of the year for Diệp Chi - supervising the construction of the booth's interior, training new staff, and refining the menu to fit a much larger space than the old branches.

But amidst all that busyness, she still took time every night to continue testing the "Tuesday Flavor" recipe - a personal project she cherished to do on the occasion of the opening of her new store, as a way to fully fulfill the promise she made to her mother, right at the time she felt she was truly ready, both professionally and emotionally.

"The ginger flavor is a bit too strong this time," Thế Khôi commented, after tasting the fifteenth version of the recipe, made right in the small kitchen of Diệp Chi's apartment on a weekend evening. "It drowns out the fatty taste of coconut milk."

"Really?" Diệp Chi frowned, jotting down comments in the notebook she prepared specifically for this testing process. "Let me reduce the amount of ginger and increase the time it takes to soak up the coconut milk."

The two have become a good pair of partners in the journey of perfecting this recipe — Diệp Chi is in charge of the cooking techniques, while Thế Khôi, with a refined palate honed through years of exposure to high-end cuisine at work, takes on the role of "professional taster", providing detailed comments that help her fine-tune every bit.

"You know, this is the first time in my life that tasting is so important," Thế Khôi said, smiling slightly as he watched Diệp Chi carefully record each of his comments like a serious scientist analyzing experimental data.

"Because this is not just an ordinary dish," Diệp Chi replied, her voice becoming more serious. "This is the last thing my mother left me. I want it to be perfect, not only in terms of taste, but also in terms of meaning."

She flipped through her mother's original recipe book, re-reading the unfinished notes for the umpteenth time, trying to decipher the true intention behind the "Third Flavor" idea that her mother had not yet completed.

"Mom wrote here, 'There's one flavor missing, one that reminds me of the warmth of the fire, but must not overwhelm the main sweetness,'" Diệp Chi read aloud, her voice deep and thoughtful. "I've tried ginger, I've tried cinnamon, I've tried turmeric, but I still haven't found the exact feeling my mother wants to describe," Thế Khôi pondered for a moment, then suddenly asked. "Do you remember any scents that are associated with the image of a fire in your memory? Don't think in terms of culinary theory, but in terms of real emotions."

Diệp Chi closed her eyes, letting her mind drift back to the early mornings, when her mother lit the charcoal stove to cook the first batch of sweet soup of the day, the smell of charcoal smoke mixed with the warmth spreading throughout the small kitchen.

"The smell of smoke," she suddenly exclaimed, her eyes opening wide awake. "Not a specific spice, but the slight smell of smoke from the charcoal stove, mixed with the steam of coconut milk as it cooks."

"Then try using the mild smoking method for coconut milk before cooking," Thế Khôi suggested, his eyes shining with excitement, sitting up straight from his chair. "It doesn't need to be bold, just enough to evoke that feeling."

Diệp Chi looked at him, a bright smile on her lips. "That's a good idea. Let me try it now."

She immediately started experimenting, using a small smoking pot temporarily borrowed from Mr. Bảy Thông, carefully monitoring the time and temperature, until the coconut milk layer just absorbed enough of the gentle smoke flavor without being too strong.

When the finished batch of tea was scooped into two small cups still steaming warm, they both tasted it in extreme suspense, no one said a word. Diệp Chi scooped a spoon and brought it to her mouth, closed her eyes, and let the flavor fully spread on her tongue - the sweetness of taro, the greasiness of coconut milk, and behind that, a faint but deep enough smoky scent, evoking the exact warm feeling of the small kitchen where she grew up.

Tears suddenly welled up at the corners of her eyes.

"That's right," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion, her hands trembling as she placed the spoon on the table. "This is exactly what mom was looking for."

Thế Khôi looked at her, didn't say anything more, just quietly raised his hand to gently wipe the tears rolling down her cheeks, a gentle gesture that contained all the understanding without needing any further words.

"We did it," he said softly, his voice also carrying a bit of contagious emotion, his eyes never leaving her face. "You fulfilled your promise to your mother." Diệp Chi nodded, hugged her mother's recipe book in her arms, feeling a deep relief spread throughout her body - not only because she had found the complete recipe, but because she realized that her long, twelve-year journey had finally found a perfect convergence point, where the past, present and future blended together, just like the simple ingredients in the small cup of tea in front of her.

"Now I have to name it," she said, drying her tears, her voice regaining its usual excitement. "We can't keep calling it 'Third Flavor', it sounds a bit too mysterious, not suitable for the menu."

"What do you think is a suitable name?" Thế Khôi asked, leaning back in his chair, observing her with affectionate eyes.

Diệp Chi pondered for a moment, looked down at her mother's recipe book, then looked at him, an idea suddenly flashed. "I thought of the name 'Chè Khói Bếp Xưa'. It evokes the unique flavor while preserving the nostalgic spirit that my mother always wanted to convey through each dish."

"That's a nice name." Thế Khôi nodded in agreement. "Both rustic and profound." That night, Diệp Chi called to tell Tường Vy the good news, her voice still filled with emotion. On the other end of the line, Tường Vy shouted so excitedly that Diệp Chi had to put the phone away from her ear a little.

"Oh my god, is it finally done?" Tường Vy shouted. "Let me immediately notify the marketing team to prepare a campaign to launch new dishes on the occasion of the opening of the Quarter Coi store!"

"Slow down," Diệp Chi smiled, trying to stop her friend's excessive excitement. "Let me test it a few more times to make sure, then consider officially launching."

"Okay, okay, better be careful." Tường Vy's voice softened, but she still couldn't hide the joy in her voice. "But I'm telling the truth, hearing your voice so happy, it's probably not just because of the new sweet soup."

Diệp Chi glanced at Thế Khôi who was sitting cleaning the small kitchen, a warm smile that could not be hidden appeared on her lips. "Yeah, it's not just about the sweet soup."

After hanging up the phone, she returned to the kitchen and saw that Thế Khôi had washed all the dishes and placed them neatly on the shelves in the exact order she was used to - an image that made her laugh, recalling that afternoon last year, when he clumsily held a sponge to wash dishes for the first time under her patient guidance.

"Washing dishes is much better than before," she teased, leaning against the kitchen door frame to look at him.

"Twelve years of practice," Thế Khôi replied, smiling slightly, turning to look at her. "Even though no one taught me directly, I still remember every move you taught me that day."

"I really remember it." Diệp Chi shook her head, both amused and touched.

"Because it was one of the most beautiful memories of my life," Thế Khôi replied, his voice sincere without any joking. "How could I forget?"

She walked over, stood next to him, and looked out the small window of the apartment, where the city lights at night sparkled like a strip of artificial stars. The two stood there for a long time, not saying anything else, just letting that warm silence fill the small, simple space but containing so much meaning after a long journey to find each other again, a journey that both believed that, from now on, they would no longer have to walk alone.