Bake Around the World: Write In the Kitchen: China, Mooncakes and Steadiness

This year, I am endeavoring on a monthly challenge to bake around the world; write in the kitchen. The idea is inspired by Erin, my friend and author of This Footprint blog (IG @thisfootprint_blog) who participated in a cooking challenge for every country. Each month, I will randomly select a country and make a vegan version of a traditional dessert from that nation. And, each month, I will put intentional time into writing at least one non-Smile Project related piece. I look forward to expanding my confectionary acumen and baking around the world. And I look forward to sitting closer to home, writing for myself.

The random country generator wheel spun around and as has come to be a tradition, I felt the anticipation mounting. China. 

My first Asian nation. I almost immediately knew what I wanted to make but I did my obligatory “search for their traditional desserts” anyway. From an online article on the topic: “Similar to the English custard tart, the Chinese egg tart is a dish that consists of an outer pastry crust and filled with an egg custard.” Fa Gao (“fa” meaning prosperity or expand; “gao” meaning cake), is a steamed cupcake-like pastry often eaten during Chinese New Year. Tangyuan is glutinous rice shaped into balls which are served in a hot broth or syrup and are typically served during the Lantern Festival or at weddings and family reunions (the name is a homophone for “union.”)   

But as soon as the wheel landed on China, I knew what I wanted to make: mooncakes. Mooncakes are mini cakes that fit in the palm of your hand and consist of a thin pastry layer and dense filling of, most traditionally, red bean paste (but also black sesame, melon puree, mixed nuts, lotus seed paste, etc). They are typically consumed during the Mid-Autumn (or Moon) Festival which is celebrated in China on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month each year (this year, October 6). 

Outside of China, mooncakes are found across the wider East Asia region. In South Korea, songpyeon are often eaten in celebration of Chuseok, another mid-autumn festival and in Vietnam, banh trung thu are enjoyed at Tet Trung Thu. In Japan, dango are consumed at Tsukimi, a fall festival which loosely translate as “looking at the moon.” I highly recommend this article from Smithsonian magazine about the history and tradition of mooncakes.

Mooncakes first came to my radar when I moved to New York City and was more readily exposed to cultures beyond my own. I began to crave them more seriously when I moved to Queens and began spending more time in Flushing, which, according to Languages of New York City, hosts the largest Chinese population outside of Asia. A sucker for all things dessert (obviously) and allured by their beautiful designs (mooncakes are traditionally made with with a mooncake press or mold and are often stamped with words like harmony, prosperity, or peace), I have been wondering how to get my hands on a vegan version for years.

When the country spinner landed on China, I decided I didn’t want to wait until mid-Autumn. I would just learn to do it myself. 

In sitting down to write this reflection post, I am grateful for the Smithsonian Magazine article which says: “Mastering a mooncake recipe demands time and patience… I make many Asian sweets from scratch, but mooncakes are not the easiest for home cooks to execute. In fact, they are tricky even for professional chefs.”  I am, of course, grateful for reading this after the fact. Let blind faith lead you places.

I began searching for a recipe and was delighted to find Plant-Based Wok, an incredible online community created by Hannah Che, a Chinese-American author and chef. Her first book, The Vegan Chinese Kitchen won a James Beard Award and seems like a great addition to any bookshelf. 

On her blog, she has “The Ultimate Guide to Vegan Mooncakes (6 Ways!)” which serves as a guide to Cantonese-style baked mooncakes with six different filling options: red bean paste and vegan salted egg yolk; matcha lotus seed paste with black sesame; caramelized pineapple jam; Chinese red date walnut and chocolate truffle; Sichuan peppercorn peanut sesame; and salty seaweed pistachio and nut.

The first thing I did was post in our neighborhood Buy Nothing Group to see if anyone had a mooncake press or mold I could borrow. Nobody responded. Undeterred, I headed to my grocery store—torn between the red bean paste filling and the matcha lotus seed filling. When my store didn’t have dried lotus seeds, I felt momentarily discouraged until I remembered I had an H Mart within an arguably reasonable walking distance. With that, I was off.

H Mart is a Korean grocery store that started in 1982 in Woodside, Queens. Most of its food is of Korean origin, but they also offer a wide variety of other cuisines like Japanese, Chinese, and other East Asian products. Today, H Mart is the largest Asian supermarket chain in the United States. I figured they would have everything I might need and I could make a game day decision on my filling once I was at the grocery store. 

After a warmer-than-anticipated walk to H Mart, I found myself at a loss for dried lotus seeds. Finally, it dawned on me to Google what they looked like and later it dawned on me to ask for help. At this point, I had red beans (adzuki) and black sesame seeds in my cart. When I learned they didn’t have dried lotus seed, I decided I could improvise and combine the two filling options I was most interested in. I would make red bean, black sesame filled mooncakes. (Worth noting, I did check the home and kitchen aisles to see if they had a cheap mooncake press but seeing as it’s not necessarily mooncake season, I remained out of luck.)

Nevertheless, H Mart—and specifically our giant H Mart—is always an inspired experience. It’s exciting (and sometimes overwhelming) to walk down the aisles reading about ingredients that I’ve never cooked with before and thinking about what it means to expand beyond your usual cuisine and grocery stores. On my walk home, I also stopped at the Japanese grocery store just in case they had dried lotus, but once again came up short. Armed with my new ingredients, I was eager to get home and begin soaking the beans.  

This was by far the most intensive dessert I have made for this series thus far. I made homemade golden syrup (for the dough). I soaked the beans for hours. I toasted the sesame seeds. (This set off the fire alarm.) Things had to sit. Things had to cool. Things had to bake and then sit and then bake again. It was an all evening affair and by the end of it, I was desperate to have something that tasted somewhat good. 

When they finally came out of the oven, around midnight, I was hesitant. They definitely didn’t look like mooncakes. My partner and his friend (who grew up in Flushing and has been eating mooncakes as long as he’s been alive) were my first taste testers. This isn’t just my first time making mooncakes, I said, it’s my first time eating them, so please be honest in your review. 

Upon first bite, I was tickled. But I was even more tickled when my mooncake expert said they were “really good.” They don’t look like traditional mooncakes. But as I showered the kitchen sweat off myself and got ready for bed, I realized that I had made mooncakes—a complex dessert that requires patience. To say I was thrilled is an understatement. 

Two mornings later, I found myself at my favorite local coffee shop to write. June had passed me in a blink and making mooncakes with 3 days to spare and writing with 1 day to spare felt like pushing this monthly challenge to the limit. Yet making mooncakes had reminded me that I could do hard things—something that slipped from my mind as I had been on pretty mandatory rest in the immediate weeks following last month’s concussion. 

At the coffee shop, I wrote a story about steadiness in relationships. About what it means to feel certain about some things and not certain about others. I wrote the story of our lives. But one thing I was newly certain about was my ability to step outside my comfort zone. I’d never baked with red bean or made homemade golden syrup or toasted black sesame seeds. Do you know how magical it is to listen to black sesame seeds pop over a skillet?

After finishing my June write about certainty and then crafting this reflection, here are a few things I know for sure: I am certain that life is beautiful. I am certain that this baking challenge is expanding my horizons. I am certain that I’ve become more daring and patient and inspired as a result. As I review my first six months of the year, my first six bakes and my first six writes, I am humbled by everything I’ve learned, experienced, and tasted. And I can’t wait to continue the adventure next month.

January: to beignets and book proposals (Gabon)

February: to spice cake and sunscreen (Grenada)

March: to rice pudding and Gregory (Colombia)

April: to puff puffs and how we relate (Nigeria)

May: to shendetlie and choosing new endings (Albania)

June: to mooncakes and steadiness (China)

Can you imagine—I said, pulling my arms into a wing shape behind me—if I did? And can you imagine if all of the sudden, I morphed into a crunchy beetle a la Metamorphosis.