October's gift from the sea: going to scrape Nam O sea laver, the precious seaweed that grows on Da Nang's rocky cliffs

Every year, when the last rains have just ended and the wind begins to turn chilly, the people of Nam O fishing village (Da Nang) once again look out eagerly toward the rocky reef. That is when the "sea's bounty" returns: patches of glossy black, silky-soft seaweed clinging to the rock faces right at the water's edge, which the locals here simply call sea jam. Sea jam cannot be planted, nor can it be farmed. It grows on its own, only on the very rocky reefs around Nam Ô village (Liên Chiểu district), and only during a short season. Seaweed usually starts to sprout around October on the solar calendar, after the rainy season, and lasts all the way until just before Tết — so, strictly speaking, right now is the very start of the season. But the sea doesn't follow people's calendars: some years there's no rain, the seaweed grows late, and the locals have to wait until mid-November before they can go out and scrape their first harvest. And "going out to scrape" here is no easy task. Pickers have to time it just right with the tide — only when the tide goes out do the submerged rock flats appear. They usually put on warm coats, wear gloves, and wear socks to keep their feet from being cut on the sharp rocks, then feel their way out to the rocky outcrops between 3 and 5 a.m., when it is still dark and the water is still icy cold. The tools are just a thin, flattened piece of iron for scraping and a mesh bag worn at the hip. Each person can only gather about 3–5 kg of fresh seaweed per session. What's special is that most of the people toiling away on the rocks at that early dawn hour are elderly men and women over 60, some even 70–75 years old. Laver seaweed must be picked while it is still young to taste good; if left to grow old, it loses its flavor. Once scraped off, the seaweed is rinsed right away in seawater, then washed twice more in fresh water at home and left to drain. If you want to keep it for later, press out some of the liquid and sun-dry it for a day into a dried preserve — and here's why it's so pricey: it takes about 10 kg of fresh fruit to make just 1 kg of dried. Labor goes one way, the sun goes another, so every kilo of dried candied fruit holds a whole season of the fishing village elders immersing themselves in the work. How do you eat it? The most common way is to make soup — laver seaweed cooked with small field shrimp for a light, naturally sweet flavor, and in some places it's cooked with Bombay duck fish during Tết. Besides soup, it's also stir-fried or stewed with bones. Fresh seaweed has a crunchy, snappy bite and gives off a salty, pungent, very "sea-like" aroma. Those who are used to it get hooked, while newcomers may find the smell a bit unusual at first. Where can you buy it, and what should you keep in mind? - Head to the Nam Ô area (Liên Chiểu District) — visit Nam Ô market or ask the fishing village locals directly. It makes a great specialty gift to bring home, especially the sun-dried kind. - Price (figures reported around 2020, for reference only): fresh seaweed ~200,000–300,000 VND/kg, dried seaweed ~2.5–3 million VND/kg. Current prices may differ — ask carefully before buying. - Because it is rare and seasonal, it is easy to come across adulterated products. It is best to buy during the right season, choose seaweed that is still young and glossy black, and buy from a reputable place in the village. - The smell is quite strong — if you're buying it as a gift for someone who isn't used to it, it's best to let them know in advance and suggest cooking it in a soup so it's easier to "get into". Sea jam isn't as eye-catching as other local specialties, nor does it have any grand, impressive shops. It is just a few patches of seaweed on the rocks, one season in the year, and the figures of people stooping amid the waves before the sky has brightened. But perhaps that is exactly why anyone who has ever sipped a steaming bowl of Nam Ô mứt soup on a chilly day always remembers it — it is the taste of the sea, and of human toil.