In the cold season, I miss the pot of boiled sticky corn.

In the old days, my village cultivated two rice crops and one crop of other vegetables like corn, potatoes, and beans each year. After the corn harvest, my mother would carefully sort the corn, selecting the ripest, plumpest, and most kernel-rich ears, tying them up, and hanging them in the kitchen loft for later use. The corn, hung in the loft, was smoked and warmed by the year-round fire, allowing it to be stored for a long time without being eaten by insects. It was a silent but enduring winter reserve, just like my mother's tireless hard work.

During the cold winter days, when the farm work had temporarily ceased, my mother would take down the reserved corn cobs and separate the kernels. I still remember the clacking sound of the dry corn kernels falling onto the tray, and my mother's hands moving swiftly, faster than the monsoon wind. The corn was washed clean and boiled in lime water to remove the thin husks. Then, after rinsing out the husks, she would simmer the kernels deep in a rice husk stove – a type of stove that retains fire for a long time, enough to cook the corn until soft without it becoming mushy.

I'm often awakened by the aroma of steaming sticky corn. On a cold winter morning, sitting in front of a pot of steaming, fragrant steaming corn brings an indescribable feeling of happiness. Back then, my favorite was a bowl of hot steamed corn with sugar – the sweetness slowly dissolving, blending with the nutty, chewy texture of the corn kernels, seemingly dispelling the cold outside. While boiled young corn offers a mild and delicate sweetness, steamed corn is rich, deeply penetrating, and surprisingly warm.

My mother didn't just boil corn to eat with sugar; sometimes she'd add red beans or black beans, other times she'd sauté onions before stir-frying the boiled corn – each dish a comfort on cold winter days. Every dish she made carried a piece of love, simple yet complete, leaving a lasting impression even as we grew up.

When I was a child, every winter, my mother's pot of boiled corn was always a "signal" of a warm day. Just the aroma of boiling corn wafting through the air was enough to know that my mother's stove was burning. It was the fragrant smell of soft, chewy glutinous corn, mixed with the sweetness of sugar, sometimes the aroma of fried onions, plus the slightly smoky smell of the stove and the warmth from the glowing fire. I still remember those mornings huddled by the stove, listening to the crackling of the firewood, watching my mother stir the boiling corn, the heat rising and reddening her young cheeks.

Now that I'm an adult, living in a more modern and well-equipped kitchen than before, the aroma of steaming sticky corn has become a luxury of memory. Just a slight chill in December is enough to make me feel like I can hear the wind whistling outside the eaves again, see my mother's nimble hands, and smell the soft, fragrant sticky corn that stirs my heart. Those unhurried days, those simple warmthes – a pot of steaming corn, a thick blanket, my mother's laughter – turn out to be things people cherish for a lifetime.

December softens the heart. The cold not only seeps into the skin but also awakens things that were thought to be dormant. Amidst the hustle and bustle of modern life, there are times when I just want to sit down beside a pot of steaming hot corn, letting the scent of childhood permeate every breath.

In these chilly days at the end of the year, even a small memory is enough to warm up the whole morning. And I understand that: the pot of steamed sticky corn in winter is not just a dish, but also a warm part of childhood, of family, of mother.

Huyen Minh

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/dieu-gian-di/202512/mua-lanh-nho-noi-ngo-nep-bung-cfd0c5c/