Maisezis

Maisezis

　　“After the Fifth Dragon Boat Festival, the tips of wheat and barley turn yellow.” In Liangzhou during the fifth lunar month, golden waves roll across the fields.

　　The locals have a unique and amusing way of preparing freshly harvested wheat. First, they boil the wheat still attached to its stalks over a high flame. Once cooked, they scoop it out, drain off the water, and let it cool. Then they rub the grains in a snow-white wicker winnowing basket before winnowing away the chaff, leaving behind nothing but clean, jade-like grains. Grab a handful and toss it into your mouth — a burst of milky, sweet juiciness floods your throat, chewy and utterly satisfying. This is what’s called “green grain.”

　　Not long after the Dragon Boat Festival, you can spot vendors selling green grain on the streets of Liangzhou. They’re usually young girls, dressed neatly and carrying small golden bamboo baskets covered with white cloth, topped with a thick blue-patterned porcelain cup brimming with the green grain — their "shop sign." They set up in busy spots, and within moments, their baskets are empty. The townsfolk are especially fond of that fresh, rustic flavor.

　　Farmers, eager to try the new harvest, find this way of eating too mild. So they fire up their bluish stone mills, feeding those emerald, glistening beads into the millstone. Out comes slender strands about the thickness of a pinky finger, dyed in a chrysanthemum-green hue — these are the “maisezis.” Once ground, they’re generously scooped into a big bowl, sprinkled with a bit of fine salt, and dressed with splashes of hot oil-infused chili and garlic. Whoa — the aroma is intoxicating, and the kids end up hunched over from eating too much.

　　In truth, when rural families first started making “maisezis,” it wasn’t really about tasting the new crop — it was purely out of desperation for food. The crops in the field weren’t ready for harvest yet, but the grain stored at home had run out. The fields were half green, half golden — the harvest was close, but not quite there yet. It was one of the toughest stretches of the year. You couldn’t just sit around and starve while staring at your almost-ready grain. That sense of urgency led to the creation of maisezis. And once the maisezis were ground, there was one more step: boiling them in a pot of water to make a porridge, making it last longer and helping families scrape by without going hungry — truly a last-resort solution.

　　These days, fewer people in Liangzhou make maisezis. The main reasons? Farmers now rely on science in their planting, using superior wheat varieties that transition swiftly from green to golden. The window between ripening stages is narrow, and the grain turns yellow too quickly to allow time for making maisezis. In the past, women and children were especially keen on making them, but now they’re all busy with other commitments and have less free time. Moreover, milling is mostly done with electric mills these days, and those old stone mills used for making maisezis have mostly become relics of the past...