(NLĐO) - Amidst the vast array of millions of Vietnamese dishes during Tet, I still fondly remember my mother's cassava flour cake from Tet of yesteryear. It embodies a lifetime of maternal love for her husband and children.
My hometown is Nga Tan commune, a brackish alluvial land in Nga Son district, Thanh Hoa province, where the people mainly make a living by weaving sedge mats.
Unlike the neighboring communes of Nga Trung and Nga Hung, who cultivate potatoes and rice, the people of Nga Tan have to rely on the market for food and water from the river, "eating hand-to-mouth," working tirelessly year-round, yet still not having enough to eat, depending on the sedge plant for survival. Therefore, every year during Tet (Lunar New Year), finding a kilogram of fatty pork to stew with pickled onions and white rice is a "luxury," only affordable for well-off families.
Cakes made with honey are a traditional New Year's treat (illustrative image).
To have a proper Tet (Lunar New Year) celebration, starting in the tenth lunar month, my mother bought bottles of sugarcane molasses to keep in the bedroom, while my father walked all the way to Den Market (a mountainous market in Thach Thanh district, Thanh Hoa province) to buy "deer antler" cassava to make cakes using the molasses. On a freezing winter night, the whole family gathered around a pile of dried cassava roots. My older sister peeled them, my strong father pounded them with a pestle, my mother sifted the cassava to get the flour, and my youngest brother kept running around asking my mother, "Give me some flour to make cakes to bake over the charcoal fire." My mother said, "It's for offering to our ancestors; eating it beforehand would be a sin."
My mother told me that when my parents got married, their only possessions were an earthenware pot and three bowls. Every year during Tet (Lunar New Year), they would braid ropes to sell and buy sweet potatoes. Despite their impoverished and difficult life, they still managed to raise seven hungry mouths. During Tet, only well-off families made sticky rice cakes with honey, but for my family, cakes made with sugarcane flour were considered "top-class."
My family gathers around the dinner table on Tet holiday.
The night of the thirtieth was pitch black. The biting cold of mid-winter was bone-chilling. Before pouring three cans of tapioca flour onto the tray, my mother lit the stove to boil water. The oil lamp wasn't bright enough in the small kitchen, so she scooped the boiling water and poured it into the flour. Her hands kneaded each round cake, placing them around the rim of the tray. The pot of water had been boiling vigorously for some time. I held up the lamp, and as my mother put each cake into the pot, she said, "Every Tet holiday, our family makes cakes to offer to our ancestors. After the offering, I'll let you children eat them."
My mother held the pot of rice cakes, drained off the excess water, poured in a bottle of molasses, turned off the heat, and covered the pot. While waiting for the molasses to soak into the cakes, she instructed us to wake up early on the morning of the first day of Tet to prepare the offering meal and wear beautiful clothes to receive New Year's greetings.
The molasses-covered rice cakes were scooped into small bowls. Carrying the tray of cakes to the ancestral altar, and lighting three fragrant incense sticks in the quiet of the thirtieth night, my mother prayed: "Tonight is the thirtieth day of the Lunar New Year. I bow to the nine directions of heaven, the ten directions of the Buddhas, and my ancestors, to offer these gifts to the family so that they may be healthy and prosperous…"
As Tet (Vietnamese New Year) approaches, my relatives and I spend time together, catching up and reminiscing.
My mother was short and petite. Her worn, old cotton jacket wasn't warm enough for the cold winter. With freckles on her face, she called out, "Where are you all? Get up! The cakes are delicious. Thang, spread the mat, Dung, get the tray, Chien, get the bowls..."
The whole family sat together on an old mat on the ground. They ate and talked about how to make cakes using cassava flour. Mother said, "We're full for three days during Tet, but hungry for three months in summer. With so many children in the family, even the best food will be gone."
Taking a bite of the cake, its rich, sweet syrup filling my mouth, I said, "Mom, let's make this cake again next Tet, okay?" My mother's eyes welled up with tears as she looked at me. I understood the happiness overflowing in her heart...
...It's hard to believe that almost 40 years have passed!
Forty years have brought so many changes, but the homemade cassava flour and honey-coated cakes made by my mother remain deeply etched in the memories of my sisters and me, never to fade.
With the country's reforms, the people of my hometown, Nga Tan, are no longer as impoverished as they were during the subsidy era. Nowadays, fewer families eat cakes made with honey because they're afraid of getting fat from the excessive sweetness. However, it remains an indispensable part of my family's New Year's Eve feast. It's not only a beautiful memory for my family but also a memento of a bygone era of poverty and hardship.
Preparing for the traditional New Year's feast and cake-making session in my hometown.
The Year of the Tiger is drawing to a close, making way for the approaching Year of the Rabbit. Amidst the vast array of millions of Vietnamese dishes for Tet (Lunar New Year), I still fondly remember my mother's cassava flour cakes from the old Tet seasons. They embodied the maternal love of a lifetime of devotion to her husband and children. We grew up, matured, nourished by my mother's sweat-soaked cassava flour cakes from the moment we were born.
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