Sticky Rice and Emotional Damage
How Bánh Chưng Became My Family’s Sacred Glue
This year, I returned to my hometown with flour-dusted hands and a full heart—ready to learn, once and for all, the sacred art of making bánh chưng from my mother’s legendary recipe. For years, this square parcel of sticky rice, mung beans, pork, and pandan leaf has been the glowing centerpiece of our Lunar New Year—a dish that somehow contains the weight of our history in each bite.
The ritual begins the day before. My mother moves with calm precision, selecting each grain of glutinous rice, slicing the pork, rinsing the mung beans, and choosing the perfect leaves. There’s no written recipe—just memory and muscle, passed down in the folds of time and banana leaves. Her hands, seasoned by decades of practice, don’t just prepare food. They conjure something more: the feeling of home.
As I stand beside her, peeling back layers of tradition, I realize I’m not just learning how to wrap a rice cake—I’m learning how to hold on to something deeper. In our family, bánh chưng is more than a dish. It’s a shared language, a ritual of care, a piece of our identity wrapped in string and steam.
Back in Vietnam, the two weeks leading up to Tết are dedicated to this practice. My parents would prepare sixty to a hundred cakes—not for sale, but to give. Each square parcel, wrapped with care and tied with day lạt giang twine, was a symbol of love, memory, and pride. Neighbors, cousins, family friends—each received one. We didn’t need to say much. The cake spoke for us.
As kids, we were the assistants. My siblings and I would wash leaves, rinse rice, and shred twine. The real wrapping was left to the grown-ups. We weren't even allowed to stay up all night to watch the cakes boil over the fire. The water had to be refilled constantly, the fire fed with charcoal. I envied that part—staying up late, watching the steam rise into the cold air. It felt like magic. Messy, smoky magic.
When we moved to the U.S., the tradition didn’t stop—but it had to bend. La dong leaves were hard to find, so we used banana leaves. My father built a wooden mold to shape the cakes, and my mother adapted the cooking process for a pressure cooker. It wasn’t quite the same, but it was ours. Somehow, even with substitutions, the flavor stayed true.
After my father passed away, it would’ve been easy to let the tradition go. But my brother-in-law stepped in, learning to wrap from my mother, treating the craft with the same quiet reverence. His technique is a thing of beauty—tight, even, respectful. It means everything.
This year, it was my turn to learn. My mother guided me, gently correcting folds, showing me how to tuck the leaves just so. I burned my fingers. I got rice everywhere. And still, she smiled.
Now, when I hold a finished cake, I feel more than pride—I feel connection. I feel the past pressed into every corner of that square. It’s my father’s quiet skill, my mother’s patience, my family’s story—boiled, wrapped, and waiting to be shared.
Because food—especially food like bánh chưng—doesn’t just feed us. It remembers us. And in remembering, it carries us forward.
Rice Cakes
The Recipe:
Yield:
Make 4 rice 5X5 inch squares
Supplies:
Cutting board
Banana leaves/ la dong
Wooden mold/stainless steel for wrapping
scale
Pressure cooker
String to tight /bamboo string
Foil to wrap the rice cake
Bowl mixer
Drainer basket
pot/ sauce pan
Rice Cake Recipe:
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🧾 Ingredients for Bánh Chưng (Vietnamese Sticky Rice Cake)
Yields about 5–6 square cakes, depending on size
Sticky Rice Layer:
1 kg sweet glutinous rice (white variety)
1 pack frozen pandan leaves (defrosted, pureed, and strained) – for soaking rice to add subtle flavor and light green color (optional)
2 tbsp salt
📝 Tip: Soak the rice overnight in water (or pandan water) for better texture and color absorption. Rinse and drain before assembling.
Mung Bean Filling:
1 package split mung beans (approx. 400g–500g)
1/2 cup neutral oil (canola or vegetable)
2 tsp sea salt
📝 Soak mung beans for at least 4–6 hours or overnight. Steam or boil until soft, then mash and season. Some families lightly sauté it in oil for added richness.
Meat Filling:
1 kg pork belly (cut into thick slices or chunks)
4 tbsp crushed or ground black pepper
1 tbsp sea salt
1 tsp sugar
Optional:
1–2 tsp fish sauce (for deeper umami)
1–2 shallots (finely chopped)
A pinch of MSG if you want to taste your ancestors
📝 Marinate the pork for at least an hour (overnight is better) to let the flavors develop. Pork belly is preferred for its layered fat and flavor.
See my videos instruction how to wrap the rice cake here : https://youtube.com/shorts/A9_CrgGcEFk
How to Wrap & Cook Bánh Chưng Using a Wooden Mold
Prepare the Wrapping Station:
Cut banana leaves to size based on your wooden mold. Wash them thoroughly and wipe dry. You can briefly steam or blanch them to make them more pliable.
Place 4 overlapping pieces of banana leaf inside the mold in a cross pattern, shiny side down. This creates a strong base to hold the filling without tearing.
Set the mold on a flat surface, leaf-lined and ready to fill.
Assemble the Bánh Chưng Layers:
Start with a layer of soaked sticky rice at the bottom of the mold.
Add a layer of cooked mung bean paste, pressing it gently to flatten.
Place a chunk or slice of marinated pork belly in the center.
Add another layer of mung bean, followed by a final layer of sticky rice to cover the filling completely.
Gently press everything down—firm and compact is key. Use your hand or a pressing board to ensure there are no gaps.
Wrap and Secure the Cake:
Fold the banana leaves tightly over the top to close the package.
Use string (day lạt or cooking twine) to tie the cake securely in a crisscross pattern. The goal is to keep the filling tightly packed and prevent it from leaking during cooking.
Optional pro tip: Wrap the outside in foil to reinforce the shape and prevent leaks if your banana leaves aren’t perfect.
Press the rice down evenly inside the mold
Boil the Bánh Chưng:
Line the bottom of a large stockpot with extra banana leaves to prevent scorching.
Gently lower the wrapped cakes into the pot and fill with water until they’re fully submerged.
Bring to a full boil, then reduce to a gentle simmer.
Cook for 8 hours, making sure to constantly top up the pot with hot water as needed to keep the cakes submerged.
Drain and Press (This Part Matters):
Once the cakes are done cooking, remove them carefully using tongs.
Place them on a tray and set a flat board or tray on top with a heavy weight (books, another pot, etc.). This helps press out excess water and gives the cakes a firm, dense texture.
Let them press for several hours or until fully cooled.
Finishing Touches:
Once cooled, remove the foil and inspect your masterpiece. Rewrap in decorative plastic wrap or banana leavesfor presentation, if desired.
Store at room temperature for a few days or refrigerate for longer shelf life. To reheat, steam or pan-fry slices for crispy edges.
The final bánh chưng should be dense, slightly gooey, and deeply aromatic—with every bite carrying that rich blend of sticky rice, creamy mung bean, and savory pork.
Use instant pot for small rice cake
Congratulations, you’ve successfully made a food that could emotionally cripple someone with its nostalgia.
