BÁNH CHU’NG

This traditional sticky rice cake is made of glutinous rice, pork and mung beans and then wrapped in banana leaves. It’s also loaded with the trials and tribulations of family rituals, writes DIEM TRAN.

Lunar New Year is a time for family reunions and feasting, but the first thing that comes to my mind is my grandmother’s scorched lawn, accidentally destroyed by her church friends and their makeshift bánh chu’ng production line. They were assembling the parcels of steamed banana leaf and glutinous rice for Tê´t Nguyên Ðán, the celebration of Vietnamese Lunar New Year. Also known as Tê´t, it coincides with Chinese New Year.

For me, 2023 is especially fortuitous: it’s the year of the cat if you follow the Vietnamese zodiac. The animal is missing from the Chinese version because it failed to attend a feast and consequently was left off the table (literally and metaphorically). The year of the cat is my year and my mum’s, too. The creature is known for its speed and intelligence and many people under this zodiac are apparently successful in areas like maths and accounting.

Leading up to Lunar New Year, I look forward to the ubiquitous stacks of square-shaped bánh chu’ng. Their tightly folded banana leaves encase more than glutinous rice: there are layers of mung bean and pork, too, seasoned with black pepper, green onion and fish sauce. The rice has the tendency to stick to everything but the banana leaf, so fingers, forks and crockery are all left to soak afterwards, lest you enjoy rewashing dishes.

The aroma is savoury and grassy, which lends itself to its humble folklore-ish origins. Thousands of years ago, the king of the sixth Hùng dynasty challenged his 18 sons to bring him a dish that showed they were capable of ruling, as well as respecting their ancestors. Lang Liêu, his poorest and youngest, offered up bánh chu’ng (square to represent the earth) and bánh tét (its cylindrical sibling, to symbolise the moon). Lang Liêu ascended the throne as ruler of the seventh Hùng dynasty (1631-1432 BC) and his legacy lives on in the bánh chu’ng stacked on modern-day home altars and via exchanges during Tê´t.

Preparing bánh chu’ng is strenuous and labour-intensive. Yet for as long as I can remember, the bánh chu’ng in South Australia has been prepared by volunteers from the Vietnamese Catholic community, including my 90-something grandmother and her friends. One of my most vivid childhood memories involves my grandmother offering up her house for this annual production.

Volunteers took over her living room and garden, each component of the cake being prepared in organised chaos. For weeks, they worked in overlapping shifts, soaking rice, marinating the pork, wiping banana leaves, assembling, wrapping, tying and finally loading the cakes in giant home-made steamers for their 12-hour sojourn. After orders were fulfilled and tray tables packed down, it turned out bánh chu’ng wasn’t the only thing they cooked. If you looked at her yard, and its impromptu use as a rice-cake factory, you saw the aftermath: rings of scorched and singed lawn, her tiny outdoor kitchen in disarray.

The pandemic has seen many elderly volunteers pass the baton to a younger generation. Across the sea, VietnameseAmerican chef Diep Tran runs annual bánh chu’ng-making workshops under the Bánh Chu’ng Collective banner. These lessons moved online in 2020, with hundreds of Vietnamese diaspora signing up to carry on the tradition.

Closer to home, my parents will stretch out our allocation by freezing bánh chu’ng and prising them out many weeks after new year has ended. We cut off thick slices to enjoy and pan-fry them until the edges crisp and the rice becomes stickier. It’s the perfect way to prolong the season – without damaging anyone’s lawn.

Diem Tran is a Melbourne-based freelance writer.

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