Lisbon has a 1 pm COVID-19 curfew on Saturday’s, so I get up early. The sun rays are warming my face. So good! Sun in November! As a Swede you do get excited about those things. Never take the sun for granted.
Walking up the steep hills of Lisbon to reach the market, I am thinking about my favourite food stalls in Hanoi. The ones where I used to go for lunch break, each one specialised on one dish only: Phở, bánh xèo, bún bò nam bộ, bánh cuốn. The Vietnamese cuisine is so rich with subtle flavours – for me it’s the first thing that comes to mind when the main ingredient is herbs.
One of the market stalls has an offering of herbs that is outstanding, always seasonal. My head is full of flavours like mint, coriander and other Vietnamese fragrant leaves. Those thoughts disappear in an instant when I spot it: a box standing on the ground, by the side of the other herbs. I walk closer. It’s nettles. Urtigas!
My grandmother and I used to go out and forage nettles in early springtime. They are a sign of summer and life, breaking through the cold Swedish winter. There are two reasons to pick nettles before they get too big: one, the leaves “burn” and gives rashes after a while. Two, they tend to get bitter and a bit though in texture.
All I can think of is my grandmother’s nettle soup. The lady right next to me is surprised when she spots my bag of nettles: “Are you sure you are buying the right thing, menina?” Here in Portugal, only the older generation knows how to cook nettles. It’s them, and the Swede that has been doing it every year with her grandmother since she was 4 years old.