A Taste of my Mother’s Love
four vignettes and a recipe
Silkie Chicken Soup (乌鸡汤)
There are few dishes as warm and comforting as my mom’s silkie chicken soup. Silkie chicken, recognizable by its black skin, is commonly used as an immunity-boosting ingredient in Chinese home cooking. Whenever I visit my family in Toronto, the rich aroma of chicken and shiitake mushrooms wafts to the door to greet me. I follow the scent to the kitchen, where my mom is invariably tending to the soup, simmering in its customary vessel, a heavy ceramic pot. She greets me with a hug and a bowl of luxurious broth, small plump mushrooms floating at the surface amid a sea of thinly sliced scallion. I ladle and carefully blow on a steaming spoonful before taking my first delightful sip. I am home.
In honor of Mother’s Day, I would like to share my mother’s silkie chicken soup recipe with you. Bear in mind that this preparation is more of an art than a science, as my mom refused to include quantities when I asked her for the recipe. It’s dead simple to make – combine the prepared ingredients in a large pot, cover in water and bring to a boil, reduce and simmer for several hours, add salt to taste – but the final result is shockingly rich. I wonder if part of the nuance in flavor can be attributed to nostalgia, a reminder of being home and feeling cared for. I attempt to weave this nostalgia through a series of vignettes, one for each ingredient, in the recipe that follows.
Silkie Chicken
I often mourn the fact that I didn’t get to enjoy much of my grandmother’s cooking. My mom is one of the best cooks I know, and she doesn’t bat an eyelash when asked about the best cook she knew. I don’t remember much of my maternal grandmother: she lived with us when I was a baby, but we moved to Canada when I was three, and I only saw her once more before she passed five years later.
Somehow, the only memory I do have of her is as vivid in my mind as if it happened yesterday. She was making soup that evening and took me to a local market to procure a whole chicken. I was walking then, so I must have been at least two years old. I remember her holding my hand as she navigated us through a labyrinth of stalls until we reached the poulter.
He had a cage of live chicken beside a large chopping block with a massive cleaver resting on top. They conversed briefly before he grabbed a hen from the cage and laid it on the block, which was about eye level for my toddler self. I had no concept of death at the time, but even as my grandmother covered my eyes, I think I understood what was happening. I wasn’t afraid.
Later that night, the intoxicating scent of rich chicken broth filled our small apartment. I remember running to the stove every so often to check on the progress, but from my low vantage point I could only see the talons of the bird clasped to the lip of the pot.
I have eaten at some of the best restaurants in the world, and have forgotten the specific taste of just about every dish I’ve tried. And yet, I am still able to conjure the flavor of that soup nearly 25 years later. The broth was golden after hours of steeping in chicken fat, which my grandmother skimmed until there was only a very thin layer left. The flavor was rich, savory, and bursting with umami. Each silky spoonful evoked the wholesome comfort of - quite literally - grandma’s home.
Ingredient: 1 whole silkie chicken, skin on, head optional
Preparation instructions: Cut drumsticks and wings off, add all the parts to a deep saucepan. Add water to cover them, and cook on high heat until the water boils. Turn off the heat, and skim out any scum at the surface.
Shiitake mushrooms
Dried shiitake mushrooms are like little umami bombs, absorbing and amplifying the flavor of whatever they’re rehydrated in, while releasing their own deep woodsy aroma. In my blog post Home for the Holidays, I describe how a package of these mushrooms nearly moved me to tears:
As I savored the beautiful broth, I made an offhand comment about how the shiitake mushrooms my mom used were so much more flavorful than what I could find in New York. The next day, she came home from the grocery store with a bag of dried shiitake for me to take back with me.
…As I get older, I’ve come to appreciate these little acts of kindness. How do I describe what it means to me to feel listened to, looked after, loved? When I make little comments that my parents deliver on, often without any expectation of doing so, I feel like they take me more seriously than I take myself. I’m endeared by the earnestness of their actions. It’s such a sincere expression of thought and care that I can’t help feeling moved.
This was not an isolated event. On their recent visit, my parents arrived with a car trunkful of Chinese herbs/spices/teas, wood ears, and of course shiitake mushrooms. On another occasion, my mom took me to Chinatown to find the right brand of fungus so that I would be able to acquire it myself in between our semi-annual visits. I believe it was as comforting for her as it was helpful for me, knowing that I would be able to indulge in little tastes of home when we were apart.
Ingredient: 2 dozen dried shiitake mushrooms, medium size preferred
Preparation instructions: Bring 6 cups of water to a boil. Pour hot water into a separate large bowl, and soak the mushrooms stem side down for 2 hours. After they are rehydrated, drain the water and lightly rinse the mushrooms to clean them being careful not to squeeze any liquid out of them.
Ginger
One third of the trifecta of Chinese aromatics, ginger is ubiquitous in my mom’s cooking. However, the preparation of ginger that I think of first is not in a savory dish; in fact, cooking is hardly involved. Instead, I recall with fondness how every time I was sick with a cold, my mom would cut a ginger root into thick slices and brew a potent and spicy elixir to soothe my aching throat. To make the concoction slightly more palatable, she would throw in a piece of brown rock sugar, which is less sweet than white sugar and has a slightly caramel-y taste.
Ingredient: One knob of fresh ginger, approximately 2 inches in size
Preparation instructions: cut the ginger into quarter-inch slices
Scallion
Scallions or green onions are symbols of spring and eternal growth. They are frequently hung above the front doors of Chinese households before Lunar New Year, and comprise another third of the holy trinity of Chinese cooking. I recently read a quote along the lines of “Be nice to your parents, because it’s their first time living too”, and was reminded of my mom’s evolution over the years.
For example, I called her up one afternoon last summer, seeking advice after getting laid off. I wanted to take a break from the corporate world in order to soul search, maybe try my hand at writing. I was afraid of sharing these thoughts with her — growing up, she always emphasized the importance of a stable career and financial independence. However, when I revealed my feelings to her, she told me that she was happy I was considering this path, because she always wanted me to be a writer.
These days, I am frequently surprised by how supportive my mother is of me. I am not a parent, but I can imagine that it's difficult to reserve thoughts and judgement, to stand back and watch your child march into risky situations, trusting them to chart their own path. I am proud at how openminded she has become (for she was not always this way) and grateful for how she has embodied a state of eternal growth.
Ingredient: 2-3 stalks of scallion
Preparation instructions: Separate the scallion whites from greens. Throw the white stems into the pot with the rest of the ingredients. Thinly slice the greens and reserve as garnish.
I’m afraid that I have become what I despise most: a recipe writer that shares their entire life story before getting to the point. I didn’t even give you the option to “jump to recipe”, but if you’ve stuck with me this far, I hope I was able to impart how nostalgic this simple soup is, and how important the taste memory it confers is to me.
As I grow older, I realize that the greatest gift we can give our parents is our time. What a rare relationship we share with them, to be given so much and have so little demanded of us in return. Our mothers are the first to feed us, first with their bodies, and then if we’re lucky, with their constant thought, concern, and affection. This Mother’s Day, whether you’re celebrating with your mother or missing her from afar, I hope that my mom’s recipe for chicken soup can be as nourishing and comforting to you as it always has been and always will be for me.
Such a beautiful tribute to family and tradition. It filled me with tears of joy and and a quest for freshly made chicken soup- made by your mom,
So beautiful. Happy Mother’s Day!!