bazhang

I tried to wake up at 5 am to film my grandmother making bazhang. This year it occured to me to do that, like growing out of being a child eagerly awaiting, and knowing that this is something precious that might not happen many more times. Anyway, my grandmother's bazhang is my favourite food in the whole wide world. One year I had 7 in a day. When we were young, it was one of the most exciting things that happened only once a year. We'd run down in our pajamas and go into the outside kitchen of our old house (it's still on the same spot of land, but it's not old anymore) and sit at the sticky pseudo-wooden table, but not before wearing slippers because the floor would be oily with bazhang oil, and we would be presented with a bazhang that just came out of the giant tin pot cooking on the glowing charcoal. And when we split it with a fork, steam would flow out and up, and the smell is wonderful! It's a brown bazhang with rice, pork, mushrooms and a big fat chestnut. I remember one year in primary school where my grandfather was in the outside kitchen too, and he was dressed for work with his heavy golden pen and white shirt and black pants, and it was 7 plus am with glowing sunshine, my bazhang just split open, and I felt blissful. My grandmother is an expert at bazhang and it's very hard to make, you have to twist 2 banana leaves in a certain way, scoop and pat rice into it, meat, throw in a chestnut, finish it with rice, twist the leaves, and tie the whole thing to a hanging bunch or bazhangs. Then put it in the giant pot for 2 hours, then fish the bunch out by the strings. This year she made me vegetarian ones, with hae bee hiam (shrimp paste) and strangely they taste nearly like the meat ones. I hope when I'm 64 I'll still remember the taste of her bazhang and sit in my rocking chair looking at my grandchildren but feeling like a child again thinking of the sweet chestnuts and early morning darkness and her knobbly hands patting the rice into the leaves.