Land Food

Land Food

　　I don’t know why it’s called “land food” — what does “land” mean? Perhaps it’s another character that sounds similar. But I’ve been eating it for over a decade, and other people from Jingchuan may have been eating it for...

　　decades, and ever since, we no longer know the taste of mung bean cake, mooncakes, or those mass-produced southern pastries. It’s one of the foods placed on the drinking platters during festivals and family gatherings. The land food of the New Year is the most cherished by children, closely associated with a mother’s beauty, virtues, and craftsmanship. The ingredients are nothing more than cornmeal, sifted through the finest silk sifters, or millet and grain that has had its husk removed and then ground

　　into flour — the flour must be yellow. Dry flour is steamed in a pot, then mixed with plenty of wild honey and white sugar until well blended. It should be moist enough to be shaped into small dumplings that hold together without falling apart. There’s a special mold called a “lu tray” used for forming the land food.

　　It’s a piece of good wood carved with four, five, or six indentations — some are round, with a ring of lotus-patterned decorations around the edge; some are square, smaller at the bottom and larger at the top, with grooved edges; some are square but with rounded corners, deeper and much prettier than the molds used for dry cakes.

　　Shaping the land food is more exciting than eating it — the kids put all their hopes on it. During the day there’s no time, but as soon as it gets dark, on the warm heated kang bed, a small chopping board is placed, and a kerosene lamp is lit, shining even brighter than today’s electric lights — back then people must have had better eyesight. A pile of yellow dough, very sweet, is pressed by hand into the mold holes, fingers flattening it firmly, then it’s knocked out onto the board — once, twice — and five or six pieces of land food are ready on the board. Six or seven children scramble for them first, each getting one piece. The most well-behaved girl or the youngest son often misses out at first, but gets theirs in the next round. Still, they always get one less round. They keep shaping and eating, eight

　　or ten pieces — I can’t remember exactly — until they’re so full they’re hiccuping nonstop. That’s when the adults scold them and send them to drink their fill of cold water from the water vat. The ones the mother made are then stacked layer by layer in a large crimson jar. Earlier I forgot to mention — if you add a few drops of liquor or rice wine to the dough, you’ll find the texture is crisp yet holds together. The more you chew, the more flavor unfolds. It’s sweet without being cloying. The cornmeal itself has a natural sweetness, and with the white sugar inside, it makes a slight crackling sound as you chew, reminding you of the sandy texture you get from good sugar or a great watermelon. One by one, this is the first introduction to cake-like sweets for every child in Jingchuan. Once a jar or two is filled, it’s tightly sealed and stored away.

　　Whether or not you make land food is seen as an omen of how well life is going, how good your relationships are, and whether the coming year will be smooth and successful. You might have meat, alcohol, dishes, buns, steamed buns, chicken — everything — but without land food, it feels like something crucial is missing. Actually, it’s just a small cornmeal cake, but its absence makes the New Year feel incomplete, like having a big fight on New Year’s Eve. If there’s any disharmony, unfriendliness, or lack of peace in the family, no one can fully relax or feel completely satisfied. That’s why making land food is something the mother takes especially seriously, and even more so the grandmother. Even careful fathers, grandfathers, maternal grandparents, or elder brothers might remind: “Hurry up and make some — there are kids!” It’s made to be eaten, but not because you absolutely have to.

　　On New Year’s Eve, when all the cold and hot dishes are laid out, there’s always a plate of land food tucked into a corner. Whether it’s the New Year or another celebration, kids aren’t allowed at the main feast table. Even if they were, they wouldn’t be able to sit still — they gather around the kang bed like a pack of puppies, crowding around in layers, their dark, shining eyes darting back and forth, mouths slightly open like baby birds waiting to be fed. No matter how full they are, their throats still twitch involuntarily, and they gulp down saliva. An adult at the kang will hand them a piece of land food, and all little hands will flatten out — as long as they’ve got land food in their palms, they’re happy to leave. One by one, they drift away, and the plate ends up empty. The kids follow the adults to other homes for New Year visits, but really, they’re just there to eat land food from each household. Whether they get to eat other dishes doesn’t really matter. Then, from the first to the fifteenth day of the New Year, and even up to the twenty-third, any occasion involving drinks will always include land food. The kids usually end up eating most of what’s left at the lower end of the table, while the elders at the upper end might have a few pieces too — though they often can’t handle the other dishes. Land food is the New Year cake for elders and children, just a little smaller. For weddings, funerals, and other joyous or solemn events throughout the year, if there's a drinking spread, land food must be made in a hurry — a whole batch is produced in a rush to meet the occasion.

　　On New Year’s Eve, all the cold and hot dishes are laid out, and in the corners are the “land food” dishes. Whether it’s a festival or a family event, children are not allowed at the main table — even if they are seated, they can’t sit still or fit comfortably. They cluster around the kang (heated bed) like a pack of puppies, layer upon layer, their dark, shining eyes darting back and forth, mouths half-open like baby birds waiting to be fed. No matter how full they are, their Adam’s apples still twitch involuntarily, and they gulp down saliva. The adults by the kang hand them a piece of land food, and all little hands flatten out, palms ready — as long as there’s land food, they’ll dart off. One by one, they come and go, and soon the dishes are empty. When children follow the adults to celebrate the New Year at different households, what they’re really there for is to eat the land food from each home. Whether they get to eat other dishes or not doesn’t really matter. From the first to the second, third, and all the way through the fifteenth and even the twenty-third day of the lunar New Year, wherever there’s drinking, there must be land food. Most of what’s left over from the main table ends up being eaten by the children, while the elders often take what remains from the top table — they have little appetite left for other dishes and lack the strength to tackle them. Land food is the New Year cake for the elderly and children, just a bit smaller. For all the weddings, funerals, and celebrations throughout the year, when it comes to setting out drink dishes, the preparation is always intense and hurried, with batches upon batches of land food being made in advance to meet the demand.