Winter puffed rice

In my warm winter dreams, I can still hear the sweet call, "Grandma Cach! Shall we go make puffed rice?" From that moment until now, whether awake or dreaming, I've always longed for the puffed rice season to know that winter has returned.

In my hometown, it's customary to use the firstborn child's name instead of the parents' names. I sometimes wondered why, and my grandmother would just laugh, saying it was because people saw the child had come from the city and were calling them by their mother's name. But that wasn't true. Later, I learned that this way of addressing each other reflects the emotional bond between parents and children, a continuation of generations. So when I heard my mother's name called, I knew immediately they were referring to my grandmother.

Green rice flakes are a dish that we children always eagerly look forward to because it signals that Tet (Vietnamese New Year) has arrived... ( Image from the Internet )

I remember those cold winter days or the days leading up to Tet (Vietnamese New Year), when my grandmother would prioritize making rice puffs first to prepare the sweets and treats for her grandchildren. She would carefully select the rice she used, saving the fragrant rice for Tet, measuring it into several condensed milk cans, and then hurrying off in the direction someone had called. At that moment, I would throw off my blanket and run along the shortcut through the neighbor's fields. The children would already be crowded around the puffing workshop.

Uncle Dung's explosives workshop is located right at the end of the village. It's called a workshop, but there's no sign whatsoever; all you see is a crowd of people sitting scattered among baskets and containers around a glowing fire, waiting their turn and chatting animatedly.

Uncle Dung was turning the rice puffing machine placed over the fire, sweating profusely. The machine had to be turned continuously, both evenly and quickly. This process required strength, stamina, and agility to ensure that each grain of rice was popped evenly until the timer indicated that the batch of puffed rice was ready to be served.

I still vividly remember that moment, a moment of transcendence, when Uncle Dung stretched to carry the firecracker out of the kitchen, placing it in a mesh bag. While his foot pressed the firecracker, his hand flicked the trigger on the lid. A loud "boom" echoed, and tens of thousands of pristine white rice grains flew through the mesh bag. While the adults were still engrossed in lively conversation, the children were speechless, overwhelmed by an indescribable beauty. They couldn't believe that those tiny, plump grains of rice inside the blowpipe could be so light and fluffy, floating like clouds.

Sticky rice flakes, whose origins are unknown, are a beloved snack that evokes fond memories of the countryside. ( Image from the Internet )

Usually, my family doesn't ask someone to make the puffed rice on the spot. I carry the large bag of puffed rice on my head and bring it home. My grandmother says we only make as much as we want to eat.

I sat by the fire, waiting for my grandmother to cook the glutinous rice flakes in a large pan with sugar and a few thinly sliced ​​ginger, simmering until the mixture thickened. I watched her use chopsticks to stir the rice flakes evenly, ensuring they were coated in a smooth, fragrant, sweet syrup. Then she poured the cooked rice flakes into a wooden mold and flattened them. Once the rice flakes had hardened and cooled slightly, she used a knife to cut them into smaller, bite-sized pieces. I waited anxiously for the rice flakes to cool, a few minutes that filled me with anticipation. Those few minutes hold a special place in my memory, a memory I will cherish for a lifetime.

Nowadays, children know little about puffed rice cakes, and they also know little about the cold and hunger of winter, so craving a pack of puffed rice cakes is quite normal. But for us old people, it's a source of happiness. A simple yet incredibly enduring happiness, feeling the sweet aroma of sugar, the pungent scent of ginger, and the crispy crunch of the rice grains from our childhood, a memory we'll cherish even after we've grown up and moved far away.

Lam Lam

Source: https://baohatinh.vn/van-hoc/com-no-mua-dong/258180.htm