Northeastern sticky bean buns

Northeastern sticky bean buns

　　Northeastern sticky bean buns

　　Nowadays, it’s rare to find authentic bean buns in Heilongjiang. Most are now made with glutinous rice instead of the traditional ingredients, and the taste just isn’t what it used to be. In fact, sticky bean buns are a winter food made by grinding yellow millet into powder to form the dough, wrapping it around a filling of beans, and steaming them in a big pot.

　　There are two types of yellow millet: large yellow millet and small yellow millet. The grains of large yellow millet are slightly larger and more yellow in color. The grains of small yellow millet are about the size of millet grains and are slightly lighter in color. There’s not much essential difference in taste. The fillings for the buns come in two varieties: soybean filling and red bean filling. The soybean filling doesn’t actually use soybeans but rather large kidney beans, which are red with white stripes. The red beans are smaller in size and entirely red.

　　Every year when the lunar calendar enters the twelfth month, farmers get busy washing the millet. Here, “washing the millet” has a special meaning: first, the yellow millet is soaked in hot water, then it’s transported by sled to the commune’s milling room to be ground into powder. Since this is a collective effort, each household must strictly follow the designated schedule, making the process tense yet orderly. Once ground, the flour is immediately mixed into dough using two large clay basins, then placed in the warmest spot on the kang (a heated brick bed) to ferment. Nowadays, the dough used for bean buns in restaurants isn’t fermented, which greatly diminishes the flavor.

　　Once the beans are all thoroughly cooked in a big pot, they’re hand-rolled into spherical dumplings and left outside to freeze solid in temperatures as low as minus thirty degrees. This work was all done by my mother alone throughout the day, as my father never lent a hand. If we were in a hurry to make and steam the buns, my siblings and I would be called in to “help,” though of course we’d also have to listen to my father telling all kinds of ghost stories while we worked. If there had been TVs or broadband back then, no one would’ve bothered making bean buns just to hear stories.

　　The buns needed to be steamed continuously for several days. Once steamed, my mother would use a wooden board to separate them on the steamer tray, then transfer them to a tray and store them in the cold storage room to harden before packing them into a large earthenware jar. Each time my mother divided out the hot buns, our big yellow dog would squat underneath, drooling as it stared at the fragrant food. Among all the animals raised at home, the cat held the highest status, followed by the pigs, poultry, and finally the dog. The dog basically survived on leftover rice bran from the pig’s trough. But this time, six of my mother’s bean buns slipped from her hands and were caught mid-air by the yellow dog, who swallowed them whole. Ah—too hot—the dog yelped in pain and ultimately died a tragic death, all because of the bean buns it had never gotten to eat in its life. In winter, when we were hungry, we’d gnaw on the frozen, rock-hard bean buns. Southerners probably don’t have this experience.