Xiangxi Rice Flour Tamales

Xiangxi Rice Flour Tamales

　　In Xiangxi, particularly in the rural areas around Chenxi in Xiangxi, there is such a custom: on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month, whether married or unmarried men must give a gift (locally called "sending a basket") to their father-in-law or future father-in-law. Among the gifts—aside from items like cigarettes, sweets, alcohol, and meat—there is one indispensable item, and that is the rice flour tamale. Omitting it would upset the recipient, or even result in being refused entry at the door. There was once a young man who, on the day of gift-giving, bought a hundred steamed buns as a substitute for the rice flour tamales. As a result, his fiancée blocked the door and wouldn’t let him in. Later, the young man had no choice but to return home and buy a hundred rice flour tamales from a neighbor before giving them as a gift. Only then did his future father-in-law’s family finally let go of their displeasure and open the door.

　　　　The rice flour tamale is not only an essential gift for Xiangxi people during the Mid-Autumn Festival, but also a unique local delicacy, with a flavor unmatched by any other food. Moreover, many expatriates who work far from home find that during the Mid-Autumn Festival, images of these tamales often appear in their dreams.

　　　　Although the rice flour tamale is delicious and unforgettable, making it is quite labor-intensive. First, you have to gather mugwort. These mugwort plants grow on high ridges or in thorny thickets in the hills of Xiangxi. To get them, you must not fear falling off high ridges, not mind having your clothes and hands scraped by thorns, and even not be afraid of being stung by hornets. Once the mugwort is gathered, the stems are removed, the leaves are carefully picked and washed, then boiled in a pot until they become mushy and turn black. Then, they are taken to the pounding shed along with glutinous rice flour to be pounded. Pounding alone isn’t enough—you need two people: one operates the pestle, while the other squats by the edge of the pounding stone, holding a wooden stick. With every pound, the tamale mixture is turned over—pound, turn, pound, turn—until it’s well pounded. But knowing when it’s “well done” depends on personal experience and patience. The better the pounding technique and the longer the time spent, the more chewy, soft, and delicious the rice flour tamale will be. That’s why when it’s the elders’ turn to pound, they show great patience, pounding a little longer than the young folks. After returning from the pounding shed, there’s another crucial step—this is the most laborious part of the entire process. The method is as follows: first, use a knife to cut the pounded tamale dough into several large chunks, then knead it thoroughly on the dough board until it’s soft. Next, tear it into small pieces, roll them a few times, then press them heavily with both palms to form a thick piece of dough. This is then handed over to an assistant, who spoons in a filling made of crushed sesame seeds and brown sugar, wraps it up, spreads a bit of sesame oil on the outside, wraps it in a tong leaf, and then sends it to the pot on the stove. It is boiled over high heat for one or two hours, until the rich aroma of the rice flour tamales fills the whole house. At this point, you can uncover the pot, grab one, and take a bite.

　　　　Once cooked, the rice flour tamale, when unwrapped from the tong leaf, is about the size of a child’s fist—shiny and black. Take a bite, and your mouth is filled with fragrance, as well as sweetness and softness. After one bite, you’ll definitely want a second. After three bites, you’ll never forget Xiangxi.