No taste can compare to a home-cooked meal.

On the dinner table was a pot of steaming soup, a plate of braised fish with the fragrant smell of fish sauce, and sometimes there was my mother's gentle scolding for being so engrossed in playing that she forgot to eat. But behind that scolding was still a gentle gaze, a hand picking up more delicious food for me. The meal that day was not luxurious, just rustic dishes, but it was enough to make me remember it until today.

A little older, every afternoon after school, I got used to the fragrant smell of cooked rice wafting from the small kitchen. My mother always worried about my health, told me to eat enough nutrients, to have the strength to study. There were days when I had stressful exams, my mother even woke up early to cook a bowl of hot porridge for me, and put it on the table. At that time, I still did not know that was happiness, I simply thought that it was my mother's responsibility. Only later, when I was far away, did I understand: happiness sometimes is just having someone waiting for me to come home to eat, is my mother's care when cooking dishes for the whole family.

My kitchen is not large, just enough to accommodate a small dining table and an old wooden cupboard. But in that space, mother's love is always abundant. Every early morning, mother wakes up early to prepare food for the whole family. Every afternoon, when the sound of pounding garlic and chopping boards resounds, the whole house is filled with the scent of family reunion. Mother never complains of being tired, but only smiles when she sees everyone enjoying their meal. It turns out that mother's joy is so simple, watching the family gather around the dinner table.

I can’t remember how many dishes my mother cooked. Sometimes it was a simple pot of mixed vegetable soup, other times it was braised fish with pepper. In her free time, my mother also made mung bean sweet soup, sticky rice with gac fruit, or banh duc, banh khoai... The dishes my mother cooked are a treasure trove of memories, so that just remembering them makes my heart feel at peace.

When I grew up, I had to leave my hometown to study and work. During the days away from home, I used to wander around the streets, enjoying all kinds of delicious food. But strangely, no matter how elaborate, those flavors did not warm my heart like the dishes my mother cooked. There were days when I was tired, I wished I could just hear my mother calling from the kitchen: "Come home for dinner, my child...", and I realized that this wish turned out to be the simplest happiness that a person far from home like me always yearned for...

Happiness, sometimes, does not lie in great success, luxury items or lavish parties. True happiness lies in the very ordinary moments that we easily forget: a hot meal, a loving call, a gentle smile. Mother's cooking is not just a dish, it is the crystallization of love, sacrifice and the desire for her children to be healthy and well-off.

Every time I return to my hometown, step into the familiar kitchen, and see my mother's hunched figure beside the rice pot, I feel my heart ache. I know that someday my mother will be old and weak, her hands will no longer be as nimble, and the dishes may not have the same flavor as before. But that is why every meal my mother cooks now becomes even more precious, so that I know how to cherish and keep it in my memory as an irreplaceable part of my happiness.

I realized that my happiness, and perhaps the happiness of many others, is not far away, but lies right on the home-cooked meal, the meal my mother cooks. A grain of sticky rice, a slice of braised fish, a laugh together, all blend together, creating a warmth and happiness that nothing can compare to.

Tea Pot

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/202510/khong-huong-vi-nao-sanh-bang-bua-com-que-me-nau-0c71c0f/