Last week, my mum said you know Chinese New Year is coming, when the wind rushes down and about the block’s corridor. She said my late dad told her that. I look around the flat and take in the memories, timelessness, and the age of the place. I associate CNY with nian gao, and remember that I took some photos of my mother making fried nian gao last year. I think I wanted some photos for memory’s sake.
I found them, and thought they were so precious. My mother will no doubt make them again this year, but I remember her posing for me, she smiling at the silliness of it all, and she very earnestly asking me whether I want a shot of this or that stage.
They look so bashed up but its irresistible sweetness and the love that went into them make them the prettiest food.