Five Generations of Zongzi

In the national Chinese battle of sweet vs. savory 粽子 (zòngzi), my family’s heirloom Sichuan zongzi recipe straddles a different border of savory. It’s nothing extravagant—six ingredients including rice, salt and oil. (A far cry from the mouthwatering cured egg yolk, meat-stuffed, nut-filled, mushroom-frequenting zongzi beloved in some savory southern regions). But one bite and anyone could guess its origin: Besides unassuming red bean and a touch of wind-cured pork belly, the sole flavoring is freshly ground 花椒 (huājiāo), the mouth-numbing and citrusy “Sichuan pepper.”

Growing up sprinkling huajiao over my own noodles by the age of five, I never thought twice about the buzzy sensation until 20 years later. I was visiting a friend in the Bay whom I had met while thru-hiking in the Sierras the previous year. I brought my leftover mapo doufu from Shang Cafe in Fremont (incredible experience!), and she admitted she’d never eaten Sichuan food. What?! I can’t imagine my own reality without Sichuan cooking—it’s all my parents eat, even when they eat out and travel—so I had never considered it was possible to be alive so long without trying it once. Especially if you grew up in the Bay (sorry Becca).

Obviously, I made her eat the mapo doufu. I’ll never forget us dissolving into laughter over her reaction when I explained the tingly huajiao sensation she was experiencing for the first time: “It’s so interesting! It’s delicious! But why…” (and here she sounded very careful as she struggled toward what I was sure would be a very deep question) “… do you add it?” I was stunned, speechless save for laughing. I had never considered it an option to not add it. There was no good answer. I had never thought about a “why,” period.

In the end, I think I came up with: “I guess we just… like it?”

Comparing all the different regional Southern savory zongzi vs. Northern sweet zongzi (red bean paste and preserved fruits or jujube are common sweet variations, as are dipping it in sugar or honey) against what I grew up eating made me revisit this question within the context of other mainland Chinese food too. Why do we add huajiao to zongzi?! Why do we make huajiao effectively the defining—if not main—ingredient of our zongzi?

I guess we really, really just like it.

This Sichuan zongzi recipe and wrapping technique come from my 祖祖 (zǔzǔ), maternal great-grandmother and lifelong-matriarch over four generations of offspring up until her death at 96 years young. Although I was barely eight weeks in the womb when her spirit passed on, my mother always praised Zuzu’s legendary cooking (and desserts, probably where we both get our sweet tooth from). She cooked so well—even into her 90s—that my 外婆 (wàipó) never learned how to cook herself, an anomaly among other women and mothers of the time.

Ma ended up being the first and only descendent to learn from Zuzu. And every year she sat down to make zongzi, she would constantly remind me if I didn’t learn from her, no one would be left to carry the tradition on…. well, joke’s on her. Now all of you will know.

Preparing ingredients for Sichuan zongzi

The filling, as mentioned, is dead simple. Short-grain glutinous rice, red bean, homestyle cured pork (or other cured bacon/ham), salt, oil and freshly ground huajiao. Wash and soak the rice and bamboo leaves for wrapping overnight, then drain the next day. Cook the red beans for 30 minutes, until soft. Dice the ham. Mix it all together and prepare yourself for the true task of wrapping.

You can, of course, add whatever you like. I tried southern Taiwanese style zongzi for the first time recently, and now I’m personally partial to raw peanuts. Our recently released dried white flower shiitake mushrooms would be delicious in zongzi. And our newest contributor Zoe Yang shared her mom’s Jiangnan family recipe—also passed down through her great-grandmother!—featuring either red beans or fava beans, which I had the pleasure of trying myself and loved.

How to fold and pack cone-shaped Sichuan zongzi

This can be tricky to get the hang of, so watch the video below for help while you follow along with these instructions:

1. Keep your cut string within arm’s reach. Grab an unbroken bamboo leaf from the soaking vessel. Squeegee off the excess water by sliding the leaf through your index and middle fingers. Be careful not to give yourself a leaf cut, as the edges are surprisingly sharp and will definitely draw blood. Grip the ends of the clean bamboo leaf with both thumbs, as depicted, just outside the middle majority of the leaf where the ends begin to taper. It takes a couple (okay, closer to a dozen or two dozen) tries to get it “right” the first time you try, so don’t worry if you have to unfold and readjust.
2. Using your dominant hand (we’re right-handed) in the same gripping position, fold in the dominant end at the center of the leaf, creating a perpendicular edge where the respective end stem now points in toward you. The side furthest from you, where the perpendicular “edge” starts, is the pointy tip of the cone. Don’t change your dominant hand’s shape once in this position! Allow the back four fingers to gently round out and “cup” the back of the perpendicular leaf end. This hand is creating the cone hollow.
3. Keeping the shape of both your hands, fold the non-dominant side in over the dominant hand and now tilt the pointy tip down so that your dominant hand fingers are pointing straight down, into the tip of the cone. Still holding the leaf like so, spin your dominant hand toward your dominant side (counterclockwise for righties, clockwise for lefties) to tighten the cone until the pointy tip comes through with no hole.
4. That’s it! You’re ready for filling. Be careful not to loosen your non dominant hand, which should now be gripping the end of the cone like an ice cream cone. The tip risks expanding into a hole if you loosen or overly tighten your grip, and you’ll have to readjust so that the rice mixture doesn’t burst through.
5. Use a spoon to fill the cone gently, tamping down with a chopstick every now and then to get rid of air pockets and make sure it’s tightly packed. Be careful not to poke too hard through your newly-created cone, or you might tear the bamboo leaf and have to start all over. Try not to adjust your non-dominant hand, so it better protects the original shape of the cone.
6. When the filling is roughly flush with the edges of the cone “mouth,” grip the top flaps with your dominant hand.
7. Fold the flap over the mouth, creating a triangle top. Gently lift just the thumb of your non-dominant hand to press down on the sealed top (above the tip facing you, we’ll call this Tip A) as you use your dominant hand to fold the excess flap back onto itself, toward your dominant side.
8. Now you can move your non-dominant thumb, and you should be able to reach the excess flap with the fingers of your non-dominant hand. Squeeze all three sides of the top triangle to seal tightly. Grab a length of cut string and bite one end with your teeth. Thread the string down the side of Tip A opposite from you, wrap it under the cone and back up the side of Tip A adjacent to you, repeat the motion one more time, and finally knot it by releasing the free end from your mouth to tie a shoelace knot.

Cooking, eating and storing tips

For ease of retrieving from the cookpot, we tie 4-5 zongzi together into a bundle using the tail ends of the knotting string.

Bring a large stockpot of water to a boil and submerge as many zongzi as you can, leaving several inches of overhead space. You’ll need to operate in several batches. Once the water comes back to a boil, continue cooking for at least 40 minutes. Since the ingredients are soaked or already cooked, this zongzi does not require such a long cook time.

Definitely enjoy them while they’re hot with pickles and some classic homestyle Sichuan chili oil! I grew up eating savory Sichuan zongzi for breakfast or lunch, but you can enjoy them any time. Sweet northern-style zongzi are generally eaten as dessert.

To store, allow the cooked zongzi to cool down to room temperature on a wire rack. You don’t want to bag them up while they’re still warm, since the heat will condensate into ice crystals. Freeze once cooled in produce bags or gallon ziplocks. Enjoy later by steaming for 10 minutes (or longer, depending on the size of your steamer and how many you’re reheating at once). We’ve kept these in the freezer up to 9 months with no issues.

For Zoe Yang’s Jiangnan family recipe for 小脚粽子 (xiǎojiǎo zòngzi), “small foot” zongzi —also from her great-grandmother!—visit Changzhou’s Small Foot Zongzi!