Red Bean Congee

It sounded meaningless but I reminded myself I must catch up some of the missed sleep when I switched off the lights at 3:21am.

After staring at the reflection of my face on the clock glass for more than three minutes, I decided to get up but worried that I was going to waste another day working at home.  The clock read 8:13am when I drew back the curtains to find a dull and wet Saturday morning. “That’s fine. At least the temperature’s a couple degrees lower than yesterday,” I reassured myself.

I would love to have congee and deep fried savoury donut but I stopped at the train station and wondered why I made such a fuss to have breakfast afar. I went to Old Mac’s instead. Laziness is the real reason and visiting Old Mac’s becomes a frequent part of my weekly routine. What a life!

That morning, unexpectedly, many old folks were having Deluxe Breakfast and Hotcakes Deluxe Breakfast there.  I had Sausage N' Egg Twisty Pasta; I thought it was less greasy and thus healthier. “Stupid!” I mocked at myself.

I thought Old Mac’s was for the younger ones. Second thought - The cheapest breakfast set in a local cafe is $31 and you won’t get free coffee refills - that explained. I guess one shouldn’t fight his wallet, especially when he’s financially dependent. I pondered how many of these old folks were enjoying the food and how many were merely satisfying a basic biological need.

The loud chattering of some grannies sitting nearby sent me back to the street after 10 minutes. I did not know why they would upset themselves so early in the day with grudges about their in-laws and their possible early dementia due to lead poisoning. My mother never resents - not even at her present age. I went to PARKnSHOP and hoped to get some fresher fruit before the shopping crowds appeared after 10am.

The shopping was quick as the supermarket was small. Checking out the price of micro-wave dinners, I noticed that the shelf nearby was expanded and there were many brands of rice these days, and I never realized their present there. How strange! It must be more than 5 years since the last time I bought rice. I remembered it was a 2 kilo-sized and I threw most of them away a year later.

A sudden thought jumped into my mind – I’m going to cook some red bean congee. “Get started!” I screamed at the inner me, and so I did.  It was exceptional for me to make such a swift decision.

I picked up a 2 kilo-sized, checked its weight label, put it down and searched for smaller bags. There was a 400 gram-sized; it must be a promotional package. I was pleased with the discovery and put it into the shopping cart. Beans were close to the rice and were packed neatly in plastic bags. I was 11 or 12 the last time I bought red beans from a grocery shop. They were wrapped in a sheet of newspaper tied up with a straw. I grabbed a bag, examined it and wondered how long these beans would be tucked away in the kitchen cupboard.

As I was thinking what other ingredients were in the congee, a distant smell of red bean congee started simmering up my nose. It was sweet, not fruity sweet but the kind of earthy sweetness at the tip of the tongue when you slowly chew cooked rice. “Should I get some dried mandarin orange peels to enrich the flavours?” I wondered. “No, it’s only red beans, rice, water and sugar.” I recalled my mum once told me that the secret of good red bean congee was rock sugar, not the granulated refined one. I was standing by her then in the kitchen awaiting her to say the congee was done; she reminded me that rock sugar was expensive when I asked for some as sweets.

That memory is distant and faded and she has not cooked red bean congee since I left school. I have never cooked that for myself either and red bean congee becomes a long forgotten relic down my memory lane.

 

 

I had the three ingredients in front of me and puzzled how to start:

How much water?
How much rice and red bean?
Should I soak the beans and rice in water before cooking?
Which one should I cook first, red bean or rice?
When should I add sugar?
How do I know it is cooked?

Cooking the congee proved to be uneasy! The saucepan was too small and the heat of the stove was hard to control. I had to keep adjusting the temperature and adding water to prevent the congee from boiling over or going dry. After standing by the stove for 90 minutes, tasting the softness of the beans 8 times and adding sugar for more than 3 times, I declared the impossible task was accomplished.

 

 

It didn’t taste as good as I thought. It’s nothing close to my mum’s.

“How can that happen?” I demanded an answer. “I had used the same ingredients.”

“Well, cooking is not about putting the ingredients together, even if you put them in the right order,” I tried to reason that over and over again.

“Never mind, there’s always a first time and the first time’s never the best,” I reassured myself. But, this may be the last time.

It was already two forty-five.  The rainstorm had stopped but the sky was still grey. I hit the road after having a pack of cream cracker.

“Oh! You’re early today!” My dad said to me as he turned to look at the clock above the door. It was four thirty-five.

“I’m not working today, so a bit earlier,” I replied and closed the sliding gate behind. “If you’re tired, have a nap in the bed. You’re going to fall if you doze off sitting on a chair!” He was half sleeping on the chair when I opened the gate.

“I’m not sleeping. I’m just listening to the radio.”

He was not but I rested my case. “Where’s mum? In bed? Sleeping?”

“In bed.”

I drew back the curtain and she stared at me. “Alright mum?”

She strained her cheeks for a few moments and whispered my infant name.

“I thought you’re sleeping.”

She fixed her eyes at mine for a moment and said, “No…just resting.” A smile returned to her cheeks.

“Would you like to sit out? I’ve brought you something.”

Her face went vacant for a while and then she murmured, “Ye…s… G…ood.”

With some effort, I walked her to her chair. I could feel that the tremors in her hands were coming back and her legs were dragging on the floor.

“Guess what I’ve got for you?”

She looked at me and tried to find an answer in her mind. She smiled shallowly and reached out to my hand.

“Guess what?”

She smiled and replied softly, “I don’t know.”

“It’s red bean congee. I cooked it this afternoon.” I took out two thermoses from my rucksack. My father laughed and my mum did as well.

“It’s still hot! Smells nice! Ha…ha…ha…!” I said as I unscrewed the lids and sniffed dramatically. “I’m getting the bowls and you want it now?”

“Good!” My father replied affirmatively but mum just looked at me with her eyebrows moving closer together.

“Try it while it’s still warm. You don’t have to finish it all. I know it’s not very nice.” I tried to speak unusually tenderly.

“G…ood.” She said softly.

The congee was still quite hot when I poured it into the bowls. My father couldn’t wait to try it and finished it to the last drop. “It’s delicious! Not very sweet. Delicious!” He said with a big smile.

My mum spooned a small amount of congee into her mouth and started chewing it. “Oh! I forgot your dentures. Let me get them for you,” I said. She waved her hand to signal no. It took her nearly a minute to swallow that small spoon of congee.

“Is it good? You like it?”

She nodded minimally with a discomfort smile and put another small spoon of congee into her mouth. It was hard seeing her like that.

She stopped eating after the third spoon and started slowly stirring the congee with the spoon. “You don’t like it? It isn’t good, is it?” She didn’t answer but looked at me with embarrassment and continued to stir the congee very slowly.

“You don’t like it?”

“I do…I was eating…I...I...”she whispered, and I finished her sentence in my mind - but I could not swallow anymore of it now! Her body was drifting swiftly into the stiff and trembling state in front of my eyes and her voice was off. It was ten to five and I knew she was not capable of eating anything for the next one to two hours.

“Mum, you don’t want any more of it now?” She looked at me with agony all written on her face.

“That’s fine mum. I’m glad you have some already. I’ll cook it again in another day.”

“G...ood! …too sweet!” The words burst out from her throat after some gurgling. I laughed but was saddened.

Red bean congee was a big dish for the five of us for a long time. We were always tired of having plain congee and preserved vegetables or a week old salted fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  We never complained about the meals but always looked forward to the red bean congee. Maybe we had little other dishes to compare with. I guessed she must feel blessed when we were all chasing after the last scoop of the congee. Isn’t she an amazing chef, my mum, who kept us happy and content with the red bean congee when there was so little in the kitchen cupboards? She gives everything she has to us. That’s the mother in my memories; she hasn’t changed. Only her body changes; only her body fails her. How much I hope she felt the same when she was eating my red bean congee. How much I hope she knows that her red bean congee is not forgotten. How much I wish she could eat better and were free from the relentless bodily tortures. Nevertheless, I believe that Saturday was well spent - I'm not sure if she can swallow more than 3 spoons the next time.  

Mum, thank you for the red bean congee.