Yellow Osmanthus Persimmon Cakes

Yellow Osmanthus Persimmon Cakes

　　Whenever the golden winds blow and osmanthus fragrance fills the air, a seasonal snack called Yellow Osmanthus Persimmon Cakes becomes popular in the streets, alleys, eateries, and food stalls of Lintong. These cakes are not only delicious but also visually appealing—shaped somewhat like fried pastries but slightly thicker, with both sides golden yellow like the rising morning sun. The center is soft as maltose, with a rich osmanthus aroma wafting from afar and a sweet, glutinous taste up close. Not only are they beloved by the locals of this ancient city, young and old alike, but they also captivate the eyes, noses, and taste buds of countless domestic and international visitors, all eager to savor and fill up on them. During this season, these cakes are often served as a dessert or side dish at banquets. As people enjoy this unique refined delicacy of Xi’an, amid their praise, they can’t help but wonder: how were such delightful treats created?

　　There is a folk legend that goes like this: on a clear, crisp day when wild geese were flying south, Caozhou scholar Huang Chao came to Chang’an to take the imperial examinations for the jinshi degree but failed. Together with a friend, he went to relax by the Qujiang Pool. Looking at the dilapidated pavilions and towers, he thought to himself: “I did well on all three exam sections, yet I still didn’t pass. It’s all because of the corrupt court and the rampant bribery!” He also thought about what he had witnessed on his journey from Heze in Shandong to Chang’an: the poor peasants’ lands had been seized almost entirely by imperial relatives, eunuchs, and powerful elites. Coupled with consecutive years of famine, everywhere was a scene of misery with starving bodies littered across the land and people unable to survive—a tragedy entirely caused by the decayed court and eunuch domination. Yet the emperor paid no attention to governance, indulging in shameless debauchery, even allowing the eunuchs to forcibly plunder goods in the eastern and western markets. They were essentially thieves, yet euphemistically called it the “Palace Market”... Thinking of all this, he couldn’t help recalling words his master, Luo Pingzi, once told him: “If you want to clean up politics, the path of officialdom won’t work—you must take another route!” At the time, he didn’t fully understand those words, but now he realized they were indeed profound truths. As he walked, suddenly something caught his eye—a garden full of blooming autumn chrysanthemums standing proudly. Filled with heroic spirit, he spontaneously recited a quatrain titled “Chrysanthemums”: “Wait until autumn comes on the eighth of September; / My flowers bloom, all others fade away. / Fragrant and soaring through Chang’an, / The whole city clad in golden armor.”

　　Shortly after Huang Chao returned to his hometown, Caozhou (now northern Heze in Shandong), severe drought struck Shandong, Henan, Hebei, and northern Anhui again, leaving the land parched for thousands of miles. In response to the wishes of the people, Huang Chao raised the banner of rebellion... A few years later, the rebel army grew to 500,000–600,000 strong. In the third year of the Wangba era (880 AD), they captured Luoyang, the Eastern Capital of the Tang Dynasty, and pressed on to attack Tongguan, the “gateway” to the Tang capital of Chang’an. At that time, the Tang Dynasty’s defenders at Tongguan, emulating the tactics of Geshu Han during the An-Shi Rebellion, lit beacon fires every night atop the pass, transmitting the signal through a chain of beacons all the way to Chang’an to report that Tongguan was still held and that Chang’an was “safe.” Every evening, Emperor Xizong of Tang would nervously stand on the Qifeng Pavilion of the Hanyuan Hall in the Daming Palace, gazing at the “safety” beacon fire on Mount Li, silently praying to Heaven and Earth and to the ancestral spirits for protection, hoping the “safety” fires would rise daily from the beacon towers of Mount Li like the sun, moon, and stars. Meanwhile, the common people in Chang’an and nearby places like Lintong hoped for nothing more than that the beacon fire on Mount Li would “extinguish” along with the decadent Li-Tang regime. They longed desperately for the “Heaven-Repairing General” Huang Chao to lead the rebel army to them soon. Some scholars even quietly recited a poem Huang Chao wrote in his youth, “Ode to Chrysanthemums”: “The west wind rustles, filling the courtyard with blooms; / Their cold fragrance deters butterflies from coming. / If one day I become the Lord of Spring, / I’ll bid peach blossoms bloom with these chrysanthemums.” They looked forward to the “King Huang” quickly overthrowing the Tang Dynasty, bringing the people back from the desolate chill of autumn to the warmth and vitality of spring. They also thought about what fine things they could offer to reward their own troops.

　　But by the time the beacon fires died out and Huang Chao led the rebel army in an uninterrupted charge toward Chang’an after capturing Tongguan, people still hadn’t figured out what to use to reward the rebel brothers—because it was a year of famine, and they were simply frantic: “We should have welcomed King Huang with food and drink in our hands. But there’s no grain in the house, no silver in our pockets. What do we do?”

　　Rencun Village in Lintong District is the birthplace of huojing persimmons, but that year, both summer and autumn crops had failed. Only the huojing persimmon trees bore fruit abundantly and largely, sweet as honey and red as agate—truly a heartening sight. But Old Man Ren, looking at these persimmon trees laden like red lanterns, was still deeply worried: “If only all these red persimmons could turn into white rice, flour, chicken, duck, fish, and meat—that would be something to reward the rebel army with. But...” It was just about lunchtime. His eldest daughter was getting ready to roll out dough to make noodles with some wild vegetables, and the flour was already scooped into the earthenware basin, though she hadn’t added water yet. The girl, feeling hungry, casually picked a ripe, soft huojing persimmon, peeled it, and was just about to pop it into her mouth when, by accident, the persimmon fell into the flour basin, coating itself with a layer of white flour. The girl poked out her tongue in fright, afraid her father would scold her with his tobacco pipe. To her surprise, however, not only did Old Man Ren not reprimand her, he actually cried out joyfully: “Now we’re talking—we’ve got a great treat to reward the rebel brothers!” The girl was utterly baffled. Old Man Ren picked up a sieve of soft persimmons, told his daughter to help him peel them, and poured the whole sieve of ripe persimmons into the dry flour. Then he used the persimmons to knead the flour. Before long, they’d kneaded it into a lump of golden-yellow persimmon dough. Once the dough was properly mixed, they debated whether to steam it in a steamer basket to make persimmon buns or to take out the long-unused griddle to bake it into persimmon cakes. The daughter, with her bright, clever eyes, quickly spoke up: “I think we can only bake it into persimmon pancakes, because we didn’t add any yeast to the persimmon dough!” After all, the girl was young and quick-witted. So Old Man Ren found the griddle, set it over the fire, and started pressing lumps of persimmon dough onto the edge of the griddle. The daughter grabbed her father’s hand and said, “Don’t put them in just yet. This is unleavened dough—you need to oil the griddle!” But theirs was a poor household, and even salt was rationed by the grain. Where would they get cooking oil for the pan? Just then, the daughter quickly walked over, brought the lamp filled with clear oil over to the stove, and greased the griddle with the lamp oil before pressing the persimmon pancakes onto it. Instantly, a rich, sweet aroma filled the entire yard, drifted over the wall, and wafted through the neighborhood. People soon gathered, drawn by the scent, to ask Old Man Ren and his daughter for their “secret recipe.” Before long, every household in Rencun Village, and indeed throughout Lintong, was baking persimmon pancakes.

　　When Huang Chao’s rebel army rested along the ancient road in Lintong County, the villagers of Rencun and other nearby villages carried the persimmon pancakes in gift boxes and served osmanthus wine sweetened with fermented glutinous rice in earthenware basins to reward “King Huang’s” rebel forces. Deeply moved, Huang Chao praised the persimmon pancakes as “fine food for the rebel army,” and ordered half of the military provisions from the supply train to be distributed to relieve the local people. He even took off his own yellow robe and draped it over Old Man Ren, who lacked proper clothing. The soldiers below followed their king’s example, taking off or offering their extra clothes to aid the disaster-stricken villagers. When they beat the drums to resume the march, the tens of thousands of rebel soldiers under Huang Chao had their ration bags filled with the sweet, delicious persimmon pancakes. After eating these tasty and filling sweet cakes, the rebel army’s morale soared. With renewed vigor, they pressed on straight to Chang’an. Emperor Xizong of Tang, hearing the news, fled in terror to Sichuan. When the vanguard of Huang Chao’s army, led by Chai Cun, entered the territory of Chang’an, Tang Dynasty’s Grand General of the Imperial Guards Zhang Zhifang led dozens of civil and military officials to welcome them in surrender at Baqiao. When Huang Chao led his troops into Chang’an City, the entire populace set up incense altars, displayed chrysanthemums, osmanthus, and other autumn flowers, and lined the roads in tribute. Fluttering petals of osmanthus rained down upon the rebel soldiers’ heads, shoulders, and persimmon pancakes, filling the air with fragrance.

　　The next day, Huang Chao ascended the throne in the Hanyuan Hall of the Daming Palace, proclaiming the establishment of the Great Qi dynasty with the reign title of Jintong. He repeatedly proclaimed to the people: “King Huang raised his army for the sake of the people, not like the Li clan who did not care for you. You all can live in peace without fear.” He also announced policies such as suppressing the royal family and corrupt officials who oppressed the people, as well as “returning goods to the people” (confiscating the wealth of fleeing imperial nobles and suppressed corrupt officials and distributing it to the poor). Hearing this, the people erupted in cheers, and the rebel soldiers were even more elated. They happily ate the persimmon pancakes dusted with osmanthus, finding the flavor even sweeter. Later, upon reflection, they realized it was because the cakes had accidentally been coated with the richly fragrant osmanthus. Therefore, when making the persimmon pancakes, they intentionally added dried osmanthus powder (huanggui), and thus the cakes came to be named “Yellow Osmanthus Persimmon Cakes.”