Chapter 30 — Vegetarian Restaurant Behind the Temple Gate

That morning, Yen Nhi woke up earlier than usual mornings, when the sky had not yet dawned, when Bo De Alley was still covered in a thin layer of mist hanging on the mossy tiled roofs. But this was not a normal morning, and she did not wake up early because of the old habit of someone who was exhausted racing against time. She woke up early because her heart was filled with something warm and excited, like the feeling of a child before Tet - today, she will cook a meal to invite all the dearest people in her life.

She stood still for a moment in the middle of the kitchen, looking around - the shiny black cast iron pan that had accompanied her through so many mornings of struggling with herself, her mother's recipe book placed neatly on the shelf, the familiar yellow filament light, and the window overlooking the yard with a trellis of Thien Ly flowers that now filled a corner of the sky. She took a deep breath, letting the smell of damp soil, the scent of natural flowers, and the lingering smell of kitchen smoke from the previous night penetrate into her chest, then got to work, without haste, without stress, but with a peace she had never felt in the two years since her return.

Thien Tam arrived while it was still dusk, carrying a bundle of newly split dry firewood and a basket of straw mushrooms picked from the garden behind the temple, still wet with night dew. He didn't say much, just quietly lit the stove, carried water, washed vegetables, letting Yen Nhi focus entirely on the pots and pans on the stove - a chemistry that had been formed over many mornings of them preparing small meals together, now becoming a rhythm as familiar as breathing. Occasionally he glanced at her, his eyes filled with a quiet pride, and Yen Nhi, even though she was busy with her knife and chopping board, still fully felt that look, making the corners of her lips curl slightly even without raising her head.

She cooked sour soup with chopsticks and cotton balls first, following the recipe her mother left behind. Her hands were no longer trembling and fumbling like when she first learned to cook this dish, but moved slowly and firmly, knowing exactly when to add tamarind to make it sour enough, when to drop the cotton and chopsticks to maintain the natural crunch and sweetness, and when to add a little palm sugar to bring out the characteristic aftertaste. The sour smell of tamarind mixed with the strong aroma of braised vegetables and coriander rose up, spreading throughout the kitchen and then out to the yard, like an invitation sent to anyone passing by the alley.

Next was the vegetarian braised scorched rice dish. She carefully pressed each thin layer of cold rice and then fried it crispy over low heat, golden and fragrant, while the braised pot simmered beside her - soy sauce, sugar, pepper, and minced lemongrass combined into a rich dipping sauce, reminiscent of the afternoons long ago when her father was still alive and often stood by the stove making this dish for her to eat before going to school. Then came the mugwort mushroom soup for Mr. Lanh Van Dat, the sweet longan-and-lotus-seed soup for Ms. On Bich Ha, and a batch of small vegetarian banh it gai leaves, each carefully wrapped in banana leaves and heated over fire to soften, reserved for monk Mr. Giac Vien.

Near noon, the restaurant yard began to bustle with people. Uncle Nhan Duc Phong arrived first, carrying a bottle of homemade medicinal wine - even though he knew the shop only served vegetarian food, he still brought it "for atmosphere", explained with a smile, then rolled up his sleeves to help Thien Tam set up more tables and chairs in the yard under the Thien Ly flower trellis. Che Hoai Nam arrived later, camera hanging around his neck, but this time not to write articles, but just to capture a few private moments of a special day, he said when Yen Nhi jokingly asked if today was "work".

Mr. Lanh Van Dat arrived with several children in the neighborhood, all of whom followed him, demanding that he finish telling the unfinished story from the previous afternoon. Ms. On Bich Ha arrived a little late because she stayed at Ms. Hanh's house to teach her the recipe for next week's cooking class. In her hand she held a stack of small bowls that she had hand-woven from bamboo to give to Yen Nhi as a congratulatory gift. She smiled and said, "Consider it a wedding that hasn't come yet, give it in advance for good measure." Finally, the slowest, was the wheelchair of monk Thich Giac Vien, pushed by the young monk Nho, with Venerable Thich Tue Thong walking beside him to help him cross the small ramp in front of the temple's side gate.

Yen Nhi stepped forward to welcome him, clasping her hands in front of her chest and bowing to the monk. Then, unable to hold back, she grabbed his thin hand, her voice choking: "I'm so happy to have you come." The monk smiled gently, nodded, his eyes swept across the bustling courtyard, through the trellis of white blooming thien ly flowers covering a corner of the sky, through the familiar faces busy preparing the table, and he spoke softly, his voice just loud enough for Yen Nhi to hear: "I cooked this meal with all my heart, you know. The fragrance wafted all the way outside the temple gate, I smelled it from the moment I was still in the hermitage."

The dining table is arranged in a long row right under the Thien Ly flower trellis, spread with a simple white cloth, light blue flower clusters fluttering down with each gentle breeze, some flowers even fall straight into the bowl of soup, making the children giggle. Mrs. Nu sat at the head of the table, wearing her latest Ba Ba shirt, her hair tied in a bun with a small jasmine flower, her eyes kept looking at Yen Nhi and then at Thien Tam who was busy carrying food, smiling and unable to hide the contentment of a grandmother who had been waiting for this day for a long time.

When everyone was seated, Yen Nhi and Thien Tam brought out each dish one by one, placing it down in the middle of the table amid the admiration of everyone - a steaming pot of steaming sour soup with chopsticks, a plate of fragrant golden braised scorched rice, a bowl of green mugwort mushroom soup, a plate of golden sticky rice studded with plump green beans, a cup of sweet and clear longan lotus seed sweet soup, and finally a plate of shiny, fragrant black thorn-leaved cakes. was solemnly placed right in front of the monk. Each dish, when presented, made someone at the table quiet a bit - Mr. Dat looked at the bowl of mushroom soup with slightly wet eyes remembering his late wife, Ms. Bich Ha held a cup of lotus seed sweet soup and smiled softly calling her son's name, the monk looked at the plate of thorny little leaf cake and nodded with satisfaction.

Before everyone started eating, Yen Nhi stood up, her hands shaking a little but her voice steady, looking around at all the dear faces sitting around the table - her grandmother, monk, teacher Tue Thong, Mr. Dat, Bich Ha, uncle Phong, Che Hoai Nam, and Thien Tam standing right next to her. "I want to say a few words, before we eat." She spoke, her voice slow. "Two years ago, when I returned here, I thought I was just temporarily holding on to a shop, waiting for the day to find another way out. I did not expect that this small shop, along with everyone sitting here today, would be the thing that saved me, taught me how to live again, how to love again, how to believe in life again."

She stopped, her eyes lit up, looking towards the Thien Ly flower trellis gently swaying in the noon breeze. "My mother once said, whatever you give with all your heart, no matter what, one day it will come back. Today's meal, I cooked with everything I have learned - not only from my mother, but from everyone here. I invite everyone, eat well, be happy, consider this as your family's meal, because to me, everyone is family." She bowed her head, her hands clasped together, and the whole table was silent for an emotional moment before Mr. Nhan Duc Phong broke the solemn atmosphere with a bright joke, making everyone laugh and the sound of chopsticks and bowls began to shake loudly.

The meal took place in warm laughter, mixed with the sound of temple bells ringing every hour, and the chirping of birds on the ancient Bodhi tree behind the side gate. Mr. Dat told stories to the children between crispy pieces of burnt rice, occasionally stopping to sip a spoonful of mushrooms, eyes closed to enjoy the familiar sweetness. Ms. Bich Ha and Ms. Hanh - whom she invited to come along because they had become close friends through cooking lessons - sat next to each other, whispering and exchanging sweet soup recipes, occasionally laughing softly. Master Tue Thong sat next to the monk, personally tearing off a piece of banh tat gai leaf and feeding him small pieces, his eyes full of respect and love, no longer any distance like the first days he first returned to the temple.

Yen Nhi sat between her grandmother and Thien Tam, her hand quietly found his hand under the table, gave it a gentle squeeze, and he responded with an equally warm squeeze. She looked around the table, at every smiling face, eating and drinking deliciously the food she had poured her heart into preparing, and she suddenly realized she was experiencing exactly the feeling she had been searching for throughout her long journey - the feeling of being fully present, not half-heartedly, not with her mind stuck somewhere else, but here, right now, amidst the warmth of loved ones, amidst the aroma of simple vegetarian food, amidst the bustling laughter under the arbor. Thien Ly flower.

The noon sunlight penetrated through the leaves, pouring shimmering streaks of light onto the table, onto the empty bowls and bowls, onto Ms. Nu's silver hair, onto the peaceful face of the monk, and onto the hands clasped together under the table of Yen Nhi and Thien Tam. The gentle wind shook the flower trellis, a few petals of Thien Ly flowers fell, landing lightly on everyone's hair and shoulders, like a silent blessing from the very yard that had witnessed so many ups and downs of Yen Nhi's family over the past twenty-five years.

From the side gate of the pagoda, the bell rang at noon, gong...bo...bo..., each sound echoed far away and then dissolved into the clear space, blending with the sounds of laughter, the sound of chopsticks and bowls, the sound of the wind in the Thien Ly flower trellis, creating a simple but complete harmony of a peaceful day. Yen Nhi looked up at the deep blue sky above the moss-tiled roof of Tinh Lien Pagoda, her heart filled with a deep gratitude that was immeasurable, and she knew that no matter what tomorrow brought, no matter what challenges life brought, she had found the most precious thing - a place to call home, people to call family, and a way of living, cooking, and loving with complete presence, that she would carry with her for the rest of her life. the rest of me.