The garlic went in before the oil was fully ready — I could tell by the hiss instead of a sputter. That half-second matters on the left burner, which runs hotter than the knob suggests. It softened fast, a little gold at the edges where I wanted pale, and I pulled the pan off heat to let it settle.
I'd picked up a bundle of wax beans at the Nguyen family stall — third from the right, the ones with handwritten signs — and a small bag of dried shrimp from Thanh Phong on Pacific. The beans were July-crisp, snapping clean when I bent one to test. I blanched them longer than usual because I wanted a soft give rather than that raw grassy resistance, then tossed them into the pan with the garlic and shrimp and a splash of rice vinegar.
The dried shrimp hit the residual heat and bloomed. A low, briny tide-smell that fills a small kitchen fast. I add them to everything in summer when I don't want to run the oven — they carry the depth a stock would bring without the hour.