Bird’s-Nest Soup

Fu-yen Li lived in the little village of Tao Yuan below the mountains in southern China. Like most children, he spent a lot of time playing. Early one morning, he and Chun were playing pirates when his father Fu-hui appeared. The older man was holding a straw basket in one hand and a lantern in the other. “Fu-yen,” said Fu-hui, “I want you to come with me.”

“But we are playing pirates,” protested Fu-yen.

Fu-hui was firm. “Fu-yen, you can play later,” he insisted, nodding his head.

Fu-yen kicked a pebble out of the way. He glanced at Chun, hoping his playmate would understand, and followed his father up the narrow, rocky path toward the mountains. Every now and then Fu-hui glanced back and nodded his head and Fu-yen hurried to catch up with him.

Fu-yen’s straw hat kept slipping off his head. He retied the strings under his chin, but soon the hat was hanging down his back. It was warm and beads of perspiration began to appear on the boy’s upper lip. He looked down at the village below. The terraced gardens were sparkling like jade in the sun. But the peaceful scene failed to overcome his disappointment. I’d rather be playing with my friend, he thought.

Fu-hui seemed to know what his son was thinking. “You are unhappy, my son,” he began, “but you will learn a great deal today—a special kind of lesson.”

“But,” complained Fu-yen, “I learn in school. Isn’t that enough?”

Fu-hui smiled. He remembered when he was a boy and how he had wanted to play most of the time.

“Sometimes one learns more by actual experience,” explained Fu-hui. “Seeing things in physical form will benefit you all of your life.”

Fu-yen looked away. “Where are we going, Father?” he finally asked.

“To the caves.”

“What’s at the caves?”

“Swifts. The breeding season of these birds must be over by now. The nests can be collected.”

“Nests? What are you going to do with birds’ nests?” Fu-yen asked.

“Make bird’s-nest soup,” answered Fu-hui.

Bird’s-nest soup! Fu-yen wondered. Then he recalled once eating soup that his mother claimed was made from birds’ nests. It had tasted so much like chicken that he had thought she was teasing him.

“Who would want bird’s-nest soup!” he muttered.

“Bird’s-nest soup is a delicacy because the nests are available only once a year after the breeding season,” Father explained. “I shall sell them.”

Fu-yen remembered the village marketplace where farmers gathered to sell their wares. His father had taken him there once. It was so crowded with people that he was glad when they had returned home.

Silence stretched between the father and his son until they came to the caves. Several small brown swifts flew out as they entered. Fu-hui lighted the lantern, and slowly their eyes adjusted to the darkness within. The musty odor in the cave reminded Fu-yen of their chicken coop. Nests lined the walls, and broken eggshells and feathers lay everywhere.

Fu-yen studied the nests clinging to the walls. “I have seen such nests in the village,” he reminded his father. “Why come all this way to collect them?”

“Only a special kind of swift’s nest is used to make soup,” Father said. “There are as many as seventy-five species throughout the world. Many of them are in Europe. There is one type of swift in America called the chimney swallow, because they build their nests in unused chimneys. They make their nests out of sticky saliva and cover it with small sticks, but such nests are not pure enough to eat. These nests used for soup are made wholly of dried saliva and are built by the swift genus called collocalia, of the species fuciphaga. Only their saliva becomes milky white when it dries. The whitest nests bring the highest price.”

Fu-yen stared at the nests that resembled half-saucers on the wall. He held the lantern while Fu-hui loosened some to put in the basket. They moved deeper into the cave.

“Look!” cried Fu-yen. “This nest must have baby birds in it. I can hear them cheeping. Father, please don’t take it.”

Fu-hui smiled. “We will wait until the young ones take flight.”

Fu-hui lifted Fu-yen up so he could see into the nest. The tiny birds were crying for food.

“Oh, Father,” he said, “they are so little and helpless.”

“You know, Fu-yen, parent birds love their babies just as we love our children. They watch over them and teach them how to live so that they can survive.”

“It made me happy to see those baby birds,” Fu-yen said. “I, too, want to watch over them and protect them.”

“Life is precious in any form,” said Fu-hui, lowering Fu-yen to his feet.

Just then the mother bird returned with insects to feed her young.

The baby birds cried out again, stretching their necks to be first. One by one, the mother fed her young.

Fu-yen and his father came out of the caves into the bright sunlight.

“I am glad you came with me,” said Fu-hui. “It is only once in a while you can collect birds’ nests for soup.”

“I’m glad, too,” admitted Fu-yen. “I can hardly wait to see Chun’s face when I tell him about bird’s-nest soup.”