“On the 23rd, the Kitchen God ascends to heaven; on the 24th, we sweep the house; on the 25th, we make tofu; on the 26th, we stew meat; on the 27th, we prepare pastries; on the 28th, we fry dough twists; on the 29th, we steam buns; and on New Year’s Eve, we put up couplets.”
The 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month is known as Little New Year, the day when the Kitchen God reports to the heavens. Every household prepares “stove cakes” and offers sweet melons to the Kitchen God.
Stove cakes are provisions for the Kitchen God’s journey to heaven—a type of semi-leavened flatbread. The dough is mixed with five-spice powder, fennel seeds, and salt, made slightly firmer, then pan-fried until golden and blistered on both sides. The result is delightfully chewy, even more so if sprinkled with sesame seeds.
Sweet melons, made from malt sugar and shaped like pumpkins, are also for the Kitchen God. The idea is to sweeten his mouth so he speaks favorably of the household before the Jade Emperor.
On the 24th, sweeping the house symbolizes driving away illness and praying for health in the new year, as well as “sweeping away the old” (dust) to welcome the new.
Every movable item—jars, quilts, bedding, and furniture—is carried outside to bask in the sun, which disinfects and keeps people warm.
The sweeper dons a straw hat, covers their mouth and nose with cloth, and thoroughly cleans the house from top to bottom. After sprinkling water to settle the dust, they sweep again. Outdoor items are wiped down, and quilts are beaten to remove dust. Only when the house is dust-free are belongings brought back inside.
On the 25th, tofu is made—or, in some traditions, windows are pasted.
Before glass became common, windows were covered with cotton paper. Even after glass arrived, its high cost meant most still used paper. Lin Fang remembers her childhood home having paper-covered windows, only recently replaced with glass.
As for tofu, its price rivaled meat, making it a luxury reserved for holidays or guests.
On the 26th, meat is stewed.
First, fermented soybean paste is fried until dark red and fragrant. Water is added to cover the meat, along with a spice bag of Sichuan pepper and star anise. After boiling, the broth simmers until aromatic before adding meat chunks. A vigorous boil is followed by a slow simmer until the meat is tender.
The broth must be salty. Freshly stewed meat isn’t as flavorful as it smells—the taste develops as spices infuse over time. A bland broth risks spoilage before flavors penetrate.
Many families stew meat on New Year’s Eve to prevent children from sneaking bites beforehand, ensuring enough remains for guests.
On the 27th, pastries are made.
The pastry dough combines flour, water, and lard, optionally sweetened. Kneading repeatedly creates flaky, tender layers.
Fillings are typically sugar, jujube paste, or red bean. The ratio and baking must be precise—poor execution yields dry, cloying, or bland results.
Though Lin Fang couldn’t make pastry dough, she excelled at shaping her father’s prepped dough into animals and baking them. With practice, her skills surpassed all but her father’s.
On the 28th, dough twists are fried.
The dough must be stiff for crispiness, requiring strong hands to knead—often a communal effort. After rolling and pressing until glossy, the dough is cut and kneaded into pliable strands, a magical transformation to the uninitiated.
Coated in oil, the strands are twisted and fried at just the right temperature—too hot burns them; too cool lacks flavor. Skilled frying yields straight, presentable twists for guests.
While called “frying twists,” households with means also fry sweet potatoes, tofu, meatballs, or fish. Oil scarcity limits poorer families to minimal frying, reserved for guests.
On the 29th, buns are steamed.
Outsiders confuse “mantou” (steamed buns) and “momo” (steamed rolls), but locals distinguish them by shape and texture.
Momo are nearly square—cut from a rolled log of dough, rough-surfaced after steaming. Mantou are hemispherical, requiring extensive kneading for smooth, springy surfaces with hidden seams. The extra effort makes mantou a New Year’s treat.
Without clocks, steam signals doneness. Wet cloth seals the steamer, though cotton’s breathability makes true sealing impossible. Initial white steam comes from evaporating cloth moisture. When steam weakens, then surges and fades again, the buns are ready.
Lifting the lid too soon causes “ghost-grabbed buns”—some deflating rapidly, turning hard and bluish, with finger-like dents. Superstition blames mischievous spirits, met with curses or offerings to departed relatives.
On New Year’s Eve, Lin Yuanmin prepared red paper and ink, then paused. “Fang,” he said to his drowsy daughter, “didn’t you promise to write the couplets this year? From now on, this task is yours. Let me relax and enjoy the results.”
Lin Fang, groggy from late-night chores, reached for cold wash water until her mother added hot. As she washed, she asked why her father had delayed writing couplets until now, unlike previous years when he’d start by Little New Year.
“To give you a chance to shine,” he claimed, though in truth, he’d forgotten amidst the bustle. Even villagers, aware of his workload, hadn’t asked for help this year.
Lin Fang knew better. With extra hands needed for holiday cooking—especially for workers staying to speed construction—her parents had been swamped. Even she, usually exempt from chores, had pitched in.
Though the foreman insisted the workers would handle their own New Year’s needs, Lin Yuanmin felt obliged. These men had forgone family reunions to work; their meals were barely edible. Overriding objections, he arranged proper holiday fare—a gesture approved by Lin Guicheng after consultation.
[Translation Note: Cultural terms such as “stove cakes” (zàoxuán) and “sweet melons” (tángguā) are translated descriptively to reflect their purpose or ingredients. The rhythmic parallelism in the opening enumeration is maintained. Dialectal variations (like “steamed buns” vs. “mantou”) are clarified through contextual explanation. Superstitious concepts such as “ghost-grabbed buns” (guǐ zhuā mó) are rendered literally with explanatory phrasing.]
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