Every year, as the twelfth lunar month draws to a close, with its lingering calls for family reunions, I think of my grandfather and how he instilled the traditional Tet holiday in the hearts of his descendants, spreading the spirit of welcoming spring to the villagers. The extended family remained together, a wonderful model of four generations living under one roof.
Every time I go home, I often gaze at the family kitchen, as if it were a fairytale land where each member can become a culinary artist of the family. Seeing my grandfather preparing, washing the cake molds, splitting bamboo strips… I feel the kindness and generosity stemming from that. The warmth of Tet (Lunar New Year) also radiates from there.
Over the years, as I followed the river back to the village, I suddenly felt a pang of sadness thinking about the fading atmosphere of Tet, even though the fields, the river, and the sky still welcome spring in nature's generous way.
Not only in my hometown, but in many places, for many years, people have been rushing around trying to make a living and traveling everywhere. But when Tet (Lunar New Year) comes, they rush to shop online and order food. They buy a pair of sticky rice cakes from the market to offer as incense offerings… and that's how Tet feels. It's rare to see the bustling scene of people gathering to help their families wash banana leaves, wrap cakes, build a fire to boil them, and anxiously waiting for them to cook during Tet.
The lack of enthusiasm for Tet (Vietnamese New Year) has been going on for over a decade. My grandfather is saddened. For over half a century, he has maintained his love for Tet, personally wrapping the rice cakes. He said, "Rice cakes are not just a dish, but the soul of Tet. No matter how convenient technology becomes, it can't bring the joy of Tet. How can technology bring the true flavor to New Year's Eve, to the cultural, humane, and heartfelt way of behaving?" He told his children, daughters-in-law, and sons-in-law that they must take the lead, delay Tet, and preserve the tradition of wrapping rice cakes. He also told his parents and siblings on his side. If his extended family sets the example first, the villagers will see and follow suit.
While chatting with the village elders under the ancient banyan tree, he skillfully incorporated stories about preserving memories. The elders agreed. The village was prosperous, lacking nothing in terms of food and clothing. Perhaps what was lacking was the spirit of welcoming spring, the excitement of reunions and gatherings. The elders returned to do as their grandfather had done. Even more delightful was that many people came to my house to "learn from me," impressed by the wonderful way I prepared for Tet.
My grandfather assigned each person a task, because making a pot of banh chung (Vietnamese sticky rice cake) required many steps. Beforehand, my mother measured the rice and bought the meat, my grandmother meticulously selected the leaves and found the bamboo strips, and my father took care of the firewood and prepared the pot. Banh chung is made from ingredients familiar to farmers' lives, such as sticky rice, pork, mung beans, onions, pepper, dong leaves, and bamboo strips. The family would arrange a time to wash the rice and mung beans, rinse the leaves, and chop the meat. When they gathered to wrap the cakes, some folded the leaves, others cut them to fit the mold, and my grandfather would take charge of wrapping the cakes. The fun of wrapping the cakes by hand was being able to make many different fillings to suit everyone's taste. So there were savory cakes, cakes with mung bean and meat fillings, cakes with honeyed mung bean filling, vegetarian cakes, and tiny cakes specifically for children.
Gathering around the pot of boiling rice cakes is the most heartwarming, bonding, and enjoyable feeling. More firewood must be added, and water constantly replenished. The slightly pungent smell of burning wood, the acrid smoke, and the crackling sounds make the spring atmosphere even more cozy. In the garden, the plum and apricot trees, assigned by nature to beautify the place, are also in full bloom. They gaze at the host, at the pot of rice cakes, eagerly anticipating spring. This is the traditional way of celebrating Tet in the village, a tradition that, for a time, faded away. Thanks to the enthusiastic recollection of the old man, this beautiful custom has been preserved. He has kept this fairy tale and memory not only for us but for many generations of young people and children in the village. The connection of hands creates these meaningful rice cakes. The culmination of this is not just food; the cake carries warmth and family affection, encapsulating the joyful laughter and chatter of children and adults.
In the old days, in my hometown, there were no refrigerators, so families often used the well as a large cupboard. After boiling the cakes, they would take them out, wash them, and then put them in the well to soak for a few hours. The low temperature in the well helped the cakes "self-preserve," so they wouldn't spoil even in humid weather.
Industrial life rushes by too quickly. Returning home, to the garden with its birdsong, slows life down, making it cozy and peaceful. Things I can't find in the noisy outside world, I can find in the kitchen, in the garden, in the hands of my grandfather who carefully preserved a "ritual" for everyone to gather and share. Ultimately, what matters most about Tet (Vietnamese New Year) is the lively atmosphere, the joyful celebration!
DIEN KHANH
Hang Trong - Hoan Kiem
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