Lotus Root Water: The Pale Summer Sip
Lotus root came home from the market with mud in its joints. My grandmother cleaned the holes with a chopstick, cut the best rounds for dinner, and put the small end pieces into a side pot of water.
Mud at the kitchen sink
My grandmother washed lotus root longer than most vegetables. She turned each joint under the tap and pushed a chopstick through the dark holes until the water ran clear. The even rounds went onto a blue-rimmed plate for cooking. The irregular end remained beside the board.
She sliced that end into the small pot at the side of the stove. No separate shopping had been done for the drink. The root was already there, the burner was already lit, and a lidded pot had room beside dinner.
The palest cup in the kitchen
When my grandmother passed the stove, she lifted the lid and pressed a floating slice down with her chopsticks. The water became faintly cloudy. She poured it into whichever glass was nearest and left the lotus-root rounds in the pot.
Water chestnut and sugarcane made a busier summer pot. Mung beans stayed on the stove until they opened, while winter melon left a darker jar on the counter. Lotus-root water remained pale and close to the dinner work around it.
The slices after the cup
The last cup was kept under the lid for the family member who had not returned. By evening my grandmother lifted the softened slices out with chopsticks and ate them at the counter.
She washed the little pot with the dinner bowls. A faint starch mark remained around the inside until the cloth passed over it.