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Published: February 16th 2010
One morning I was taking a relaxing exploratory walk through town and I stopped by my friend’s house to see if she wanted to join me. Instead, Ieung invited me to come along with her to her village, where they were preparing for a festival to celebrate the New Year. Her family is Tae Dam, an ethnic group originally from China, and thus they share the same New Year as China and Vietnam. She said her village was only 4 km away and that we’d just stay two hours to watch the preparations. I ran home to grab my camera, and ten minutes later Ieung picked me up on her motorbike, with her two-year old daughter, Eeung, in tow, and we were off.
En-route, we bumped in to Ieung’s mother, who told us today’s preparations were at Ieung’s aunts house. So we turned off on to a dirt road, and about ten minutes later we’d arrived in a small village. The women of the house were busy bustling about the kitchen preparing a feast. A key part of this, I quickly learned, was the cow tom, a delicious sticky rice, lentil, pig skin and pig fat bundle, wrapped tightly in
a waterproof banana leaf and boiled for 24 hours in a big pot on a wood fire. When cow tom came out of the big black pot, the tight lace of bamboo that binds each little present is unwrapped and the banana leaf unwound. What you then have before you is a sticky, soft, sweet, dyed-green sticky rice burrito-sized delicacy. The bamboo strap can be used to slice it in to cross-sections.
The interior of the rice consists of soft, yellow egg-like lentils and melt-in-your mouth, buttery pig fat. The ratio of soft, sticky sweet rice to pig fat is about 5 to 1 and is just perfect. The rice is so divinely flavored, with just a bit of salt and sugar and flavoring from the pork, one needn’t even eat the interior pig fat and lentils. During New Year, these cow tom are continually made, boiled and consumed every day for one week. I thought this sounded like a great idea as they were one of the most delicious yet simple foods I’ve ever put in my mouth.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Trying these cow tom didn’t come until later in the afternoon. First came,
hanging around the house, as often happens when I visit villages, and then came asking if I want to drink beer, which also often happens. I said no, as it was 11 AM and I thought we’d just be staying in the village a short time. I met Boun and June, two of Ieung’s cousins and good friends. The preparations were occurring at Boun’s house that day, and I soon learned that each day during the festival, the preparations shifted to a different relative's house. The preparations/festival itself involved making cow tom, communally, boiling them, and then making more food and eating together and drinking lots of beer and lao-lao together.
But I’m getting ahead of myself again. First we walked down the street to meet Ieung, Boun and June’s grandmother, who is surprisingly old at age 89, seeing as Ieung is only 19 and her mother is only 38. The poor woman was seated on a tiny stool, low to the ground, clutching her foot, her face in a grimace of pain. She’d had her big toe amputated two months ago due to severe pain and was now without a toe, and still, in severe pain. The poor
woman. The wound was open, covered in a toeless sock and fairly clean, but her pain medicine was not strong enough for the nighttime, when the old woman said her pain was worse. Also she was running out of her other medicines as well, for cleaning the wound, and for her ulcers. I made plans with Boun to go to the pharmacy later and find stronger pain medicine for the old lady, as well as replace her other medicines.
Everyone in this village was lovely, though it was only a few homes that were Tae Dam, all related, and so it was about 15 people, hanging out, getting ready together. Boun was working hard in her family kitchen preparing food with her father, which was really quite a feat considering the kitchen. They worked on cutting boards on legs, like tiny little tables, maybe six inches from the ground, sitting on tiny wooden stools themselves, chopping away on the cutting boards. The kitchen was a small room with a dirt floor, and crooked wooden walls, probably a godsend as they allowed smoke and smells to easily escape the kitchen. A wok was held upon a small stand, underneath which
Flipping the Cow Tom
The ones on the bottom must be rotated to the top and vice versaa wood fire was lit, with two long pieces of wood that could be pulled in and out of the fire to alter the heat. Three starving puppies and two sick and thin kitties loitered around the kitchen, waiting to lick a cutting board or grab a scrap of meat whenever a back was turned. It was surprising to me that even though the animals seemed afraid of humans, jumping back if I tried to touch them, they did not stay out of the kitchen, despite occasional danger. Maybe they were that hungry. And the people working took little notice of them, just occasionally shooing them away, but not making any effort to keep them out of the kitchen for good.
A few times I pointed out to my friend that a dog was eating from the lap, a traditional Lao beef and mint salad, already prepared and ready, that we would soon be eating, or that a cat’s mangy tail was in the tamarind dip, up on a wooden shelf, with four levels, that held the entire pantry and counter space for the whole kitchen. Then my friend would shoo the animal away but with no great concern
or anger. Everything was washed in a tub of water in one corner. (When I washed my hands in that tub before eating, the water was thick with blood, from a rooster that had just been killed. After that, lettuce was washed in there.)
I watched my friend wash a cutting board after cutting meat upon it. There was no soap employed, just several rinses in the tub of water plus a bit of shaving off the top of the wood with the knife, rubbing the meat from the knife’s edge, and then putting the tools back on the shelf for later use. Soon after I saw a dog licking the cutting board. So these sick animals were constantly in and around the food, but nobody seemed concerned. This was normal. I was the only one alarmed. And I chose not to get too alarmed, because really, what would be the point?
My friend had a lot to do, as people kept bringing more food for her to prepare, but I honestly couldn’t help. The way everything was done, I was quite sure I’d just be cutting off fingers and slicing legs trying to help. She peeled cucumbers
in the air with a big butcher knife. She chopped mint with on the tiny cutting board between her knees. Her mom and dad grabbed a rooster, who moments before had been happily strutting about the yard, and held it tight, quickly slitting its throat in to a metal bowl. After ten seconds of struggle, it mercifully died, although it was difficult watching them slice in to its moving throat and seeing the layers of skin separate, just as they would with a human.
Boun told me that for every festival a chicken must be sacrificed and a baci ceremony must occur. A baci ceremony is ancient animist tradition, integrated in to Buddhism in Laos, wherein one’s spirits are called back to their body. The belief is that each person possesses thirty-one spirits, but these spirits have a tendency to wander off, putting the body, mind and spirit out of sync. In a baci ceremony, prayers are said to call the spirits back, and white strings are tied around each person’s wrists to call their spirits back to the body, bringing the soul, mind and body back in to unison and therefore, good health. Each time I’ve been to
a baci, it’s always a bit different, as each family and ethnic group celebrate differently. Ceremonies are also quite different, naturally, depending on if it’s in the city or the country.
At this baci ceremony everybody stopped what they were doing and came in to the home, grasping hold of the small, low central table. Boun’s father, said some prayers and then everybody took some sticky rice and some of the rooster, which had been boiled simply, and handed it to the other people, to eat. Then white strings were cut from a long spool of thread, and everybody took turns tying the strings on each other’s wrists, saying prayers of good luck whilst tying. Thirty-one is the ultimate amount, but often, as was the case on this day, the actions are more symbolic, and everybody gets only one or two or maybe five strings. As I’m really in to the ceremony, I hoped to get as many strings as possible. But other people, Boun and Ieung and Boun’s mother, didn’t want any strings, saying later they don’t like the way they look.
Then the men feasted inside together, while the women ate outside together. The men took
many, many shots of lao-lao, homemade by Boun’s father, whilst the women drank beer, preferring the taste, outside. As I had been invited to sit with the men, as a foreigner guest, I also took many shots of lao-lao. There went my plan not to drink in the morning or in the middle of the day. But by then I had also discovered we would not be staying only two hours, as the preparations were not only today, the festival also began today. I always love to visit villages, and to be invited to partake in festivals, so who was I to say no to any shot of lao-lao whiskey kindly offered to me? And this lao-lao was smooth and tasty. I’ve had many lao-lao’s that taste of gasoline, so this was a good day.
As this was Boun’s home, I learned a lot about her family. She has five older brothers, who are away working, and two younger sisters. She is twenty-one while her sisters are 14 and 6. Her father is 62 and her mother is 48. Boun, her mother and her older sister are beautiful. The youngest girl is missing all her front teeth, I think
from eating candy and not brushing her teeth. Many Lao people don’t worry about teaching children to brush their baby teeth since those teeth will fall out. Dental care begins when the adult teeth come in. The youngest sister was also wearing dirty clothes, had a dirty face and very dirty hair. But the adults were dressed impeccably, neatly and cleanly. It was like everyone cleaned up for the festival, but they didn’t stress about cleaning the children, because the children are children and will just get dirty again anyway.
On another note, children in Laos are adored, spoiled rotten and given whatever they want. I don’t know how they grow from spoiled kids in to such wonderful adults as most Lao people are. I have noticed that kids under seven are much loved and spoiled, but once the kids get older than that they are pretty much considered adults and treated so. So maybe that long period when they are no longer spoiled, but before adulthood teaches them how to be good adults too.
But from the time we arrived in the village, the 2 year old Eung was plied with bags of chips and candy, one
bag after another. Actually, all the children were constantly eating sweets and snacks. There has been a recent emergence of cheap Chinese junk food in Laos and parents seem delighted to buy it for their kids, anytime of day. Ice cream or chips at 8 AM? Of course! Perhaps because many of the parents grew up with food insecurity they are just happy to be able to give their children anything they want, whether it‘s healthy or not.
But back to the story: I sat with the men eating, understanding some of what they said but talking more than understanding, and drank toast after toast of lao-lao. Then I went outside to sit with the ladies, who had finished eating and drinking and were sewing cute beanbags with long tails which we tossed around for awhile. We had eaten the first round of delicious cow tom with our feast, but now another round of cow tom was being made. Everybody sat around the table, rolling the tight little bundles together, and chatting. Did I mention there were already about one hundred bundles of cow tom currently being boiled in the big pot? But apparently they need a lot of
cow tom for these fifteen people for one week. I mean, I can understand why, it was really, really good.
I noticed it was around 6 PM, and then 7 PM and then 8 PM. I began to think maybe we would sleep over. I didn’t mind. By this point I’d been drinking lao-lao for about 7 hours. Somebody turned on some music and we all began to dance, in the bamboo house and outside in the dirt. Then one of Boun’s older brother’s showed up, with his wife and children and some fish. He began cooking. Boun asked if I wanted to go dancing at the club in town. I said I didn’t think I’d be able to as I'd had a lot of lao-lao. She told me we would leave after we ate with her brother. No matter that we’d eaten all afternoon. This was a festival! Her brother prepared tom yum, a sweet Thai fish soup, very popular around here, and we all ate together at the small table inside. The party was winding down. Boun’s father had gone to sleep an hour ago, but come back out to eat. Boun’s godfather was napping aside the
table. Who knows where Boun’s brother had shown up from? These new children were very afraid/fascinated by me, perhaps not having been around too many foreigners, and I had fun scaring/delighting them by fake lunging at them and trying to give them hugs.
Around 9:30, Boun, Ieung and June told me it was time to go. I thanked the family profusely, told them I'd see them again soon and hopped on to a motorbike with my lady friends. The ladies dropped me at my guesthouse and headed off to the nightclub while I happily and instantly fell in to bed.
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Neal Rosenblum
non-member comment
following your journey
Hi Brit, From time to time I read of your lovely travels and feel like I'm there as you so clearly describe events. I mentioned your blog to Kate Turner who's a Chinese and Asian studies professor at Holy Cross College and sent her the link. Hope you're fine with that. I'm a fan of what you're doing. Keep living large and best wishes to you. Neal