Hakka salty cake is a handmade delicacy limited to the countryside

Thanks to Mr. Deng Qingyu for providing some of the photos.

Hakka Salted Cake: Uncle Xu's Handmade Delicacy

Perhaps some people are not very familiar with these rice cakes and may feel they are not essential to eat; others think that if they want to eat them, they can simply buy them with money, and in this way the deeper meaning is easily lost. Apart from being eaten, rice cakes also carry a cultural heritage, and this inner meaning is precisely the part that fascinates A-Fang most in her study of food.
~Excerpted from "A-Fang's Cakes and Rice Cakes," by Cai Jifang, TTV Culture

PeoPo Citizen News by Lin Ruzhen

On February 20, 2011, I visited Mr. Xu Nengfa. At noon the uncle treated me to "homemade salted cake." The already-cut cake was kept fresh in the freezer; no need to thaw it, just take it out and pan-fry it directly. Because it was so delicious, and this Chinese New Year I wanted to share it with my family, I asked Uncle Xu to please sell me a piece. He kept saying, "We make it for our own family to eat, we don't sell it." We arranged a time and I went south to watch him make the cake.
(Note: Once frozen, salted cake becomes as hard as a stone; it must be cut into pieces first.)

When the uncle was rebuilding the house years ago, he kept the traditional large stove. Now his son has dutifully renovated it, but even beside the new-style kitchen appliances, the large stove is still kept. Because the work is not yet finished, the large stove could not be used today, but the uncle still had an alternative: steaming the cake with "firewood." Firewood gives off far-infrared rays and the heat is gentle and warm, much loved by traditional rice-food experts. Some people use "bamboo heads" as firewood to keep the steaming heat steady and lasting; if the heat is interrupted midway and then resumed, the cake will turn out half-cooked, like badly cooked rice.

Today there were also two photographers filming a Hakka documentary. Uncle Xu first used a hoe, then straw, to scrape the black charcoal off the large pot.

Although the salted-cake baskets are only used as a base, with a layer of cellophane placed inside, Uncle Xu still carefully wiped each one clean.

The aunt felt she did not look good on camera. In the past, during the busy mushroom-growing season, she not only helped with farm work but also slipped into the kitchen and in no time cooked a table full of delicious food for more than a dozen people. The uncle praised her several times to us for being a very good cook.

It seems the uncle does not make cakes only for his own family to eat. Some people bring rice and ask him to make cakes for them, and others ask him to help make the skin for Hakka vegetable buns. (Note: In traditional Hakka vegetable buns, the rice-dough skin is made from "rice.") The Hakka village keeps these fine skills alive. The uncle said, "Many people around here have been recruited by big bosses to go to Taipei to help steam cakes and rice cakes."

First, soak glutinous rice, grind it into rice milk, and press out the water with a weight or by hand to make a rice dough.
The uncle's salted cake uses "glutinous rice" plus a little "ponlai rice," called "broken rice" in Taiwanese, using different types of rice to fine-tune the character of the main rice ingredient. For example, the Hakka rice-cake zongzi in "A-Fang's Cakes and Rice Cakes" adds a little "zailai rice" to give the soft, sticky texture of "glutinous rice" a bit more springy, firm chewiness, so that after steaming the shape is less likely to collapse.

The pressed-out rice milk is very useful; it is a natural, eco-friendly degreaser.

The dewatered rice dough is broken open and stacked in alternating layers. Because glutinous rice is very sticky and does not let air through easily, a hollow bamboo tube is placed alongside to let the steam circulate, so the cake cooks through more easily.

For a cake that is not often made, there are many small props. Several times the uncle searched here and there asking, "...where is that thing?" The diligent aunt with a good memory always found it quickly. She is her husband's great helper and a fine model for modern daughters-in-law.

While the cake steamed, the uncle used the spare time to mill rice to send to the people who buy his rice for the New Year. At 76, he alone hoisted bags of rice weighing dozens of jin; couldn't the two young photographers beside him, who are sturdier than the uncle, help carry them next time?

While watching the rice milling, the aunt had already stir-fried the salted cake's ingredients: dried shrimp, pork, shiitake mushrooms, celery, and a tiny bit of small chili (not noticeably spicy) to lift the aroma.

Steam for about 40 to 50 minutes, then while hot put it into a bucket. The uncle and aunt work together as a couple, using an electric mixer to blend in the ingredients while hot, mixing until sticky (traditionally this is done with a bamboo board and hand strength). Some methods put the ingredients in with the rice dough and steam them together, but I prefer the uncle's method: the ingredients spend less time being steamed and taste better. The sticky cake cloth and mixer are easier to wash if put while hot into the hot water left over from steaming the cake.

Divide the salted cake into baskets; while still hot, taste it fresh. It is sticky, like a savory mochi. The uncle gave one piece each to the photographers. Photographer Mr. Deng Qingyu said, "My wife, who grew up in the city, pan-fried all of it; she kept saying it was so delicious!!"

A Natural Delicacy You Can't Taste in the City

The aunt cooked her own savory tangyuan for us. Uncle Xu loves eating it and can eat several bowls. Uncle Xu said, "Once the tangyuan are made, put them in the freezer; whenever you want some, they're there."

The aunt used a "gentle fire" to successively fry the ingredients until fragrant. After scooping out the ingredients, she boiled the tangyuan in water, and when they were ready, ladled them into soup in another pot, then poured in the previously prepared ingredients. All the ingredients "blend perfectly," with a rich aroma while retaining a fresh texture. This should be the "old-time flavor" that many people fondly remember. In the city, pressed for time, I often just stir-fry the ingredients carelessly, or else cook them too long in the soup. No wonder the taste and appearance are so different.

The savory tangyuan was already lavish enough, but unexpectedly there was also braised pork, homemade dried bamboo shoots, and homemade pickled mustard greens stir-fried with small intestine. Just as everyone had called out several times to the aunt, "So many dishes, come eat with us quickly," she stir-fried yet another plate of delicious pork liver. In the countryside the pigs eat "swill"; whether it is fatty pork with skin, small intestine, or pork liver, all are fresh, sweet, and delicious, without the fishy smell of feed. Even more amazing, after everyone finished eating, I could just rinse the bowls with clean water, and my hands were not coated with a layer of oil at all.

Perhaps some people think livestock farms fed on feed look cleaner and more nutritionally scientific. I hope they too get a chance to carefully taste the difference. Too embarrassed to speak up, I really wanted to pack up these leftovers and take them back to Taipei. That is natural, delicious food you cannot taste in the city.

During the Chinese New Year, when a cold snap hit Taipei, add a little shredded carrot and oil to water; once it boils, put in the cut salted cake and garland chrysanthemum. Do not cook too long or it will turn mushy. Just like savory tangyuan, it is warm and delicious.

Hakka salted New Year cake is one of the traditional Hakka delicacies. In the past every household prepared it for the New Year, and at the New Year's Eve reunion the whole family would eat a bite of it, meaning "rising higher year after year." This year's New Year program "had a traditional mother-in-law on one side and on the other a daughter-in-law who talked a lot about selfhood or nuclear-family values. One of them said, 'Once my in-laws' family ate glutinous rice sausage, and making it hurt my hands so much I nearly died. I will never make it again; whoever likes to eat it can make it.'" Contrast this with Mr. Xu Nengfa and his wife, who put in effort and trouble to make salted cake for everyone to eat. Can you deeply appreciate what Teacher Cai Jifang said: "Apart from being eaten, rice cakes also carry a cultural heritage"--"humaneness"--the regular, fundamental practice and cultivation of "caring for others."

(This article was also published on the author's blog.)