One of my earliest memories was that at the eve of the Spring Festival after the big family feast, my grandfather, my grandmother, my father and my mother were all geared up, with full collaboration to make these very special rice balls for our traditional family breakfast on Chinese New Year’s Day. I remember the whole “casts” except me were in a perfect choreography of production as if they were performing on a stage.

My father side's ancestry is in Suzhou while my mother and my grandma's root rested in Hangzhou; many occasions two sides would have very different opinions in terms of ingredients, seasonings or cooking methods for many dishes, yet when it comes to make these rice balls, magically, my folks are in this newly formed united front of the alliance.

Normally, my grandfather was the chef in charge of roasting the black sesame seeds using the wok. His task was very technical and crucial because if the sesame seeds are overcooked, it can make the paste bitter thus ruin the taste. According to my grandpa, the sesame seeds have to be stirred frequently with low heat; the secret of getting a good result is to move the roasted seeds out of the wok when they are about 90% done, then let the seeds sit in a cooling pan to be cooked by themselves to the perfection. When the roasted sesame seeds were fully cooled and ready, it would be my father's turn to grind them into a fine powder using a manual grinder made from granite stone. That was one of the best moments I enjoyed for the night, as the sesame seeds were broken their skins under the pressure of the pestle, the house filled with this incredible luxurious and sensational aroma, which not only pleased my nostrils but also imprinted my earliest fond memories about this holiday.

After the sesame paste blended with refined sugar, it was my grandma and my mother's turn to make the rice balls. Before I go further, I'd like to take a step back to describe a bit how the glutinous rice dough was made. The dough was made by grinding the fully soaked glutinous rice with water in hand operated stone mill grinder one day ahead. My mother told me once that the ground and drained rice dough is the most important element to make the rice ball uniquely tasty by giving this smooth and unique texture. Finally, there came the “secret ingredient “- small fine chopped fresh pork lard chunks.

Allow me to sidetrack a bit about the lard. Nowadays, we are so health conscious, especially when it comes to consume any animal fat that we would stay away from those hazardous stuffs as far as we can. Lard, in plain English, is raw pork belly fat which looks like a rough slate of white marble. Today in china, not many people eat pork fat anymore. Yet, during early 80's, pork fat was widely used as supplement protein source and delicacy in many parts of the China. Interestingly, lard has regained some limelight in recent years in western culinary world; some of the famous pastry chefs in Paris and New York City are using lard to replace butter in making the best pie crust.

My grandma and my mom would take a small piece of rice dough, pressing it into a small and thin circular patty, after adding sesame paste and a bit lard chunk, then wrapping the fillings with rice patty and shaping it into a small ball on their palms, Voila, there were these shining small “white jade ball” sitting orderly on special porcelain wares which were only used in our family during the Spring Festival time. Those fine porcelain ware sets were dated back in early Qing dynasty. They were the wedding gifts form my grandma's family when she was married to my grandfather, and they were locked up in a wooden chest which I was not allow to be near in the rest of the year. But, on the eve of the holiday and the subsequent following festival days, I could touch them and eat food with them.

Joining my grandpa and my dad to watch my grandma and my mom to make those rice balls and participating the conversation with all the “authoritarians” in my family made me feel very privileged and very grown-up like. It was those eves in their talks, I found out many interesting things about my folks and family chronicles. For instance, I discovered the house I live was once seized and redistributed by the government to four other families. My family had to live in the attic and share bathroom with other family during so called Great Culture Revolution period. There was another huge annual bonus that went hand to hand with the holiday eve: I could stay as late as I wanted, say anything and do anything without being warned. So I would play games, read books and ask “rare” questions all night long as I knew I was exempt for all my “bad deeds” that night without being disciplined, and if I didn't use my “right” it would be soon expired. In retrospect, I was the one, who take the full advantages of it.

When the morning of the Spring Festival arrived, there was a moment of the joy bestowed by the labors of love from previous night. I would ask my mom to load me up a bowl of these rice balls, and I would enjoy the view of stunning contrast of color - pure white vs. solemn black, and then letting fabulous mixture burst under my palate: it's creamy, sweet and savory at once.

In my mind, food is not just a necessity that we all share for survival; it's a cultural bellwether that defines who we are and where we came from. Few years ago, I went back to China for the Spring Festival. My family once again sat together and made these special rice balls. This time, I took a turn to operate the stone mill grinder to grind the soak sweet rice with water, and my dad handled the sesame roast. Although both of my grandpa and grandma are no longer to play the roles in the cast because their ages, they still enjoyed and laughed happily as usual. It’s hard to believe from the very first time I remember this holiday ritual, roughly thirty years have passed. At the kitchen table, my mom pointed one rice ball in her spoon and said to me “Our marriage is more like this rice ball, I hope one day you will have the same.” I didn't ask her what she really meant then, the closest thing I could come up with was the black tuxedo and white wedding gown. I didn't bother to ask why my mom meant that way as I was afraid she might use the occasion to lecture me for getting married. Now as I look back, somehow, I think I understand what she said.

I'd like to end my piece with the following lines borrowed from Don Draper, a leading character in AMC’s Mad Man “...nostalgia literally means the pain from an old wound. It’s a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone. ... It lets us travel the way a child travels. Around and around and back home again, to a place where we know we are loved.” (Thanks to 苏乡园地 for her blog post on the episode of The Carousel ). It is my hope that as China advances rapidly both in economics and social arenas , as the old life style we are familiar with fades away fast, we are still able to cherish the true spirits of the Spring Festival in our hearts forever.

Note: Photos come from the net