Grandma's Tet

As the twelfth lunar month draws to a close, my grandmother often expresses a bitter, vague question: will her grandchildren, who have been away from home for so long, be able to return in time for the family reunion?

Hundreds of thousands of elderly women in this delta of nine rivers share hundreds of thousands of similar hopes for Tet (Lunar New Year). At seventy-five years old, she has spent just as much time connected to the rivers and wetlands. She has never once ventured beyond the bamboo groves and rivers to the city.

A few days ago, Long called and said, "Grandma, this Tet holiday is another year of hard work over there, I won't be able to come home. Tet in our country isn't like Tet in other countries. We've scrimped and saved just to be able to come home early one evening to offer prayers at the altar, light a few incense sticks so the smoke fills the house. Just to have the feeling of Tet like other people. Then we cut a piece of banh chung (Vietnamese sticky rice cake) and eat it with pickled onions. That's Tet, Grandma."

Long went to study abroad on a full scholarship to a prestigious university. The day he received his acceptance letter, he drove all the way from Saigon to Co Giang and hugged his grandmother, crying uncontrollably. He was happy, but also worried. "Our family is so poor, Grandma, I'm going to change my life. Only by studying really hard can I hope for a better future. And you know what, Grandma? Out of over a thousand applications, only five were selected. I'm the only one in the whole country, Grandma. Will you be sad when I leave?"

Illustration: Hung Dung

Grandma didn't answer Long. She couldn't possibly say she loved every grandchild. Being close by, watching over them, was reassuring. But going away like this, halfway around the world, to a strange land, who knows if it'll be like home? Who will care for them when they're sick? Will the food be delicious? Things are fine when they're happy. But when they're sad, Long will be all alone there, who will love and comfort him? The more Grandma worried, the more she smiled. She smiled to reassure her grandson before he left. But deep down, she felt like someone was tearing her apart, her heart aching.

***

On the twenty-third day of the Lunar New Year, the night-blooming jasmine began to unfurl its delicate white petals. My mother said to my grandmother, "How about we make sticky rice cakes to offer to our ancestors this year, Mom? We haven't made them for years, so displaying them on the altar during Tet feels incomplete. It's missing the scent of Tet, that's what it is. For the people of Co Giang, making sticky rice cakes is a must during Tet; the thudding sound is what truly feels like the Tet season. The aroma of freshly baked sticky rice cakes fills the whole neighborhood. It fills my heart with the excitement of Tet approaching."

Back then, around this time, Long would start making rice crackers. He was the only one in the family willing to learn the famous recipe passed down from his grandmother. So, ever since Long left, no one in the family has made rice crackers for Grandma. And if we bought them from the market, they weren't the right taste Grandma liked. For six years straight, the altar has been without a plate of rice crackers. For six years, Grandma's Tet (Lunar New Year) has lacked flavor. She smiles less than in previous Tets, is it because of the missing rice crackers, or because of Long? No one in the family knows.

But making those cakes was incredibly difficult. Several times, Loc shook his head vigorously when Grandma called him over to sit beside her and taught him how to make puffed rice cakes. Then Thao and Thom came along, and they both stuck out their tongues and ran away. But as soon as the cakes were baked and still piping hot on the chopsticks, they'd reach in and break them off with a crunching sound. They'd scramble for them, blowing on the pieces to cool them down before popping them in their mouths, exclaiming, "These cakes are so delicious, Grandma!"

My maternal family's traditional glutinous rice cakes are very unique, if not downright elaborate. The finest quality glutinous rice is soaked from dusk the night before, then thoroughly rinsed at 5 a.m. before being steamed. Steaming means cooking in a clay pot, ensuring even and widespread heat, resulting in a more evenly cooked and delicious rice. Once cooked, the rice is immediately poured into a mortar and pounded while still hot; this pounding process helps the dough become pliable more quickly.

Those children from the countryside who live far from home can hardly forget the sound of the pestle pounding rice cakes during the Tet holiday season. The rhythmic thudding echoed throughout the village from dawn. The sound of the pestle resonated in childhood dreams and lingered in the memories of those far from home. Much later, Long called home several times to ask about it, but his grandmother just sighed deeply.

These days, the markets are full of imported cakes and sweets. Life is developing, everything is quick and easy. You can go to the market and spend five or ten thousand dong to get a bag of industrially produced rice cakes or sticky rice cakes from factories, so nobody bothers making puffed rice cakes anymore. Now, the sound of the pestle pounding the rice cakes is fading away with the footsteps of those who have left their homeland.

Eating those mass-produced rice cakes is nothing compared to homemade ones. The best rice cakes are those baked over charcoal fire; whether they're large or small depends mainly on the skillful and thorough kneading of the dough. Only experienced hands can sense when the dough is sufficiently pliable and ready for the cake. At this point, sugar and coconut milk are added. But the unique thing about rice cakes from the Mekong Delta is that a little finely ground soybean paste is added to the glutinous rice flour during kneading; this automatically makes the cake larger and puffier.

Once the dough is thoroughly mixed with the seasoning, it's shaped into balls and then rolled out. Rolling the dough quickly and skillfully isn't something everyone can do. An unskilled hand will result in unevenly round and thin dough, and after rolling just ten pieces, your arm will ache. But strangely, Long always rolls the most beautiful dough in the house. As soon as a batch of dough is rolled, it's immediately put out to dry.

The mats used for drying must be new and thoroughly washed and dried before drying the cakes. Otherwise, the hemp fibers of the mat will stick to the cakes, making them look unattractive. On a sunny day, drying takes about half a day. After removing the cakes, they must be tossed and fanned until completely cool before being arranged. Otherwise, the puffed cakes will release sugar and stick together, making them difficult to remove.

My maternal uncle Long went through every step of making puffed rice cakes, so before he went abroad to study, every year around the middle of the twelfth lunar month, he would start making cakes for the family to eat, and if he had a little extra, he would sell it. I don't know where he sold it, but one year he bought my grandmother a stack of Lãnh Mỹ A silk. Long said that the money he earned from selling puffed rice cakes all Tet season was only enough to buy this one stack.

Nowadays, hardly anyone makes Lãnh Mỹ A silk anymore, Grandma. Maybe they make it to sell to the French or Americans. But in our country, only the rich can afford Lãnh Mỹ A; it's incredibly expensive, you know. If you wear Lãnh Mỹ A, then you're a rich person from this swampy region, Grandma. That was when Long was just 20 years old, I think.

***

Like a field waiting for alluvial soil after seasons of drought, filled with longing, Long returned home one morning at the end of the twelfth lunar month, the twenty-ninth day of the lunar year. Against the clear blue sky, sparrows chirped, weaving their way through the spring. Long placed his suitcase on the doorstep. Grandma was busy arranging cakes, sweets, and fruits on the altar. He heard the echoing voices of Thao and Thom's sisters:

Grandma, we're coming home for Tet (Vietnamese New Year)...

Long ran and stood right in front of his grandmother, his eyes red and swollen. The little boy had deliberately kept quiet about his return, drawn by the call of spring. It was like a New Year's gift to warm his grandmother's heart after so much waiting. His grandmother, with trembling hands, gently touched her grandson.

- Damn you, Long… Oh, so Tet is here, honey… give that stack of sticky rice cakes to Grandma. Today we're offering a feast to welcome our ancestors to celebrate Tet with us.

Ut Tai held the stack of rice cakes, looking displeased. "Whose rice cakes are these? They're so thick, Grandma! They haven't all rolled out yet. Let me soak the sticky rice, and I'll make a new batch tomorrow. I'll bake them on the first day of Tet, Grandma, okay?"

It's only the 29th of the lunar month, but the spring season has already arrived in my heart.

Tong Phuoc Bao

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/van-hoa-du-lich-van-hoc-nghe-thuat/van-hoc-nghe-thuat/202602/tet-cua-ngoai-d1a354e/