Winter popped rice

In my warm winter dreams, I still hear the sweet call of “Mrs. Cach! Are you going to pop rice?”. From that moment until now, whether awake or dreaming, I still look forward to a season of popping rice to know that winter has returned.

In my hometown, there is a custom of using the first child's name to call the parents. Sometimes I wondered, but my grandmother just smiled and said that people saw the grandchild coming back from the city so they called her mother instead. But that's not true, later I learned that this way of calling represents the emotional bond between parents and children in the family as a continuation of generations, so when I heard my mother's name called, I immediately knew that people were calling my grandmother to come along.

Green rice flakes is a dish that we children always eagerly await because it signals that Tet has come... ( Internet photo )

I remember on cold winter days or just before Tet, to prepare sweets and cakes for the children and grandchildren, my grandmother would prioritize popping green rice first. She would carefully choose the fragrant rice stored for Tet, measure it into several cans of cow's milk and then quickly go in the direction the person had called. Just waiting for that moment, I lifted the blanket, followed the shortcut through the neighbor's field and ran out. The children were already standing outside the popping workshop.

Uncle Dung’s explosives workshop was located at the end of the village. Although it said workshop, there was no signboard. Looking inside, one could only see a group of people sitting around a fire, chatting animatedly among rows of baskets and tubs, waiting for their turn.

Uncle Dung was spinning the rice popper placed on the stove, sweating profusely. The popper had to be spun continuously, evenly and quickly. This step required strength, endurance, and agility to ensure each grain of rice popped evenly until the timer rang, indicating the batch of rice was ready to be baked.

I still remember that moment, like a sublimation, when Uncle Dung stretched out to carry the explosive out of the kitchen, put it in the net bag, while his foot kicked the explosive and his hand hit the trigger on the lid. A loud "bang" sound rang out as thousands of pure white rice grains flew into the net. While the adults were still engrossed in their conversation, the children were silent, overwhelmed by an indescribable beauty. They could not believe that the tiny, plump rice grains in the blowpipe could be so light and fluffy that they flew up like clouds.

No one knows when green rice flakes first appeared, but they are a nostalgic snack of the countryside. ( Photo: Internet )

My family rarely asks people to caramelize the rice on the spot. I carried the big bag of popped rice home on my head. Grandma told us to caramelize as much as we could eat.

I sat by the fire waiting for my grandmother to cook green rice in a large pan with sugar and some sliced ​​ginger until it thickened. I watched her use a pair of chopsticks to stir the green rice evenly so that the sugar coated grains were smooth and even, sticking together with a layer of sweet and fragrant sugar, then pouring the pan of sugared green rice into a wooden mold and rolling it out evenly. The green rice had hardened and cooled down, she used a knife to cut the green rice into small pieces so that the rice could be held in the hand. I waited anxiously for the moment the green rice cooled, only a few minutes, and I was restless. Those few minutes, to me, I would remember for a lifetime.

Nowadays, children rarely know about popped rice, and they also rarely know about the cold and hunger in winter, so craving for a pack of popped rice is normal, but for old people like us, it is a happiness. A simple but extremely lasting happiness when feeling the sweet aroma of sugar, the little bit of ginger mixed with the crunchiness of the rice grains of childhood, which when grown up, no matter how far away, we will always remember.

Lam Lam

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