Clay-pot Rice: A Wondrous Art

Clay-pot rice: from folk poems and fairy-tale magic to thrilling cooking contests.

Clay-Pot Rice: The Soul of Vietnam’s Kitchens

Long before aluminum pots, cast-iron skillets, or sleek electric rice cookers took over kitchens, the Vietnamese poured their hearts into humble clay pots. These pots, with their rounded bottoms and dainty narrow necks, kept rice warm for ages without any fancy insulation. The smallest of them, just right for a single serving, were called niêu. 

An old folk poem, wistful as a lonesome banjo tune under a harvest moon, once sighed:

“Searching for love, but love’s nowhere found,
A clay-pot rice and nine cents’ worth of fish abound.”

One tiny clay pot of rice, a modest plate of fish, and a solitary soul dining quietly as dusk settles over the village. The raw emotion in those lines could make anyone pause in awe.

But don’t think clay-pot rice is only tied to melancholy. Another folk poem rings out with a bold, proud voice, like a summer breeze sweeping through golden rice fields:

“That lass with her jug and clay-pot rice,
No husband, no kids, she lives free and nice.
– Husbands and kids? Just debts to repay,
I’d rather stay single, thriving my own way!’”

Look at her, that woman in the poem, fearless under the prying eyes of a traditional village! Her clay-pot rice isn’t just a meal – it’s a declaration of independence, as if she’s rolling up the sleeves of her four-panel áo tứ thân tunic, laughing heartily, and saying, “I’ll take care of myself, thank you very much!” 

Back in the early days of Vietnam’s history, heroines like the Trưng Sisters and Lady Triệu rode elephants into battle, fearless under vast skies. No wonder the folk poem about clay-pot rice carries that same fire: bold, free, and unyielding. A single clay pot, small as it seems, stands for the resilience of Vietnamese women, like a tiny seed sprouting into a mighty tree.

Thach Sanh’s Clay-Pot Rice: A Tiny Pot, A Mighty Heart

The folk tale Thach Sanh, spun in rhyming lục bát verse around the late 18th century with 1,812 lines, tells of a hero both clever and noble. Thach Sanh, undaunted by the jealous schemes of Ly Thong, triumphed over every challenge with grit and grace. 

By the tale’s end, he vanquished his foes and won the hand of the princess, leaving rival princes fuming like kids who lost their favorite toy. They marched armies to challenge him, all bluster and bravado. But Thach Sanh, instead of swinging a sword, simply strummed a tune on his lute, sweet as a campfire ballad under starry skies. The enemy princes, charmed by the melody, laid down their weapons and humbly asked for a meal before retreating.

Thach Sanh brought out a tiny clay pot of rice, setting it before the ravenous troops. The princes scoffed, thinking, “This puny pot? Barely enough for a sparrow!” But as they and their soldiers dug in, the rice kept coming, filling every belly until they were stuffed to the brim, yet the pot remained brimming. 

The poem recounts this scene with a chuckle, like a grandmother spinning yarns by the porch:

“Thach Sanh bids the armies dine,
They eat and eat, bellies full and fine.
The tiny pot still overflows with rice,
Their eyes pop wide in awestruck surprise!”

Thach Sanh’s clay-pot rice is not just a fairy-tale miracle; it’s a symbol of generosity born from a kind heart. Revisiting the tale of Thach Sanh, that humble clay pot reminds us that even the smallest act of goodness can spark grand wonders.

Tru Son’s Clay Pots: Crafted with Soul, Fired with Tradition

Could it be that Thach Sanh’s enchanted clay pot was crafted by the nimble hands of Tru Son’s artisans, nestled in Nghệ An’s pottery village? From the 13th century, Tru Son’s potters have tenderly shaped each pot from silken clay, with no machines, just deft fingers and blazing fires of straw and acacia leaves, forging pots that endure like old folk tales.

Fresh from the kiln, Tru Son’s clay pots glow with the soft pink-orange or pale red of perfectly fired clay. Sturdy yet light, these pots hold the warmth and fragrance of clay-pot rice far longer than you’d expect. Sadly, Tru Son’s silver-haired artisans watch with heavy hearts as the younger generation turns away from their craft. Like a hearth awaiting fresh kindling, Tru Son’s pottery village stands at a crossroads: will it thrive or fade into embers?

Since the early 21st century, Vietnamese people have rediscovered their love for the flavors of clay-pot rice. Cooked in a clay pot, the rice turns out sticky and fragrant, with a golden, crispy crust that’s pure delight. At first, restaurants popularized “smashed-pot rice” (cơm đập), shattering the clay pot to scoop out the rice. What a careless slight to a treasure of culinary, historical, and cultural value! 

By the 2020s, things took a turn for the better: clay pots are now treated with care and reused time and again. This shift opens doors for pottery villages, not just Tru Son, to craft higher-quality pots and fetch better prices.

Beyond clay-pot rice, these pots shine in braising fish or meat, yielding flavors that linger like a cherished memory. A gentle fire simmers softly, the broth bubbling faintly, spices seeping slowly to make the fish or meat tender and rich with aroma. In days gone by, a clay pot of fish, just beginning to bubble, was sealed tight and nestled in a heap of glowing straw, letting it cook gently until the flesh firmed and the bones softened to a melt-in-your-mouth delight. Fish braised in a clay pot remains an unforgettable taste of home.

If pottery villages craft clay pots that are simple to use, resist sticking, wash easily, and work on gas stoves, electric ovens, or microwaves, how could demand not soar? Adding pots sized for two or four servings would also fit modern families.

The Tradition of Rice-Cooking Contests

Centuries ago, in the villages of Northern Vietnam, people didn’t just cook rice. They turned it into a thrilling contest rivaling any modern Top Chef showdown. They called it thổi cơm thi (rice-cooking contests), and let me be clear: “thổi” here doesn’t mean blowing on hot rice to cool it, but puffing with all your might on straw and leaves to coax a stubborn fire to life, transforming humble grains into a delicious feast.

Imagine you’re a foreigner, wide-eyed and wandering into a Vietnamese village for the first time, marveling as women roll up their sleeves, busily coaxing fires from damp straw, wet firewood, or even fresh sugarcane scraps. Their cooking vessels? Delicate clay pots, plump and round with narrow mouths, fragile as a glass ornament.

These rice-cooking contests were no simple task of whipping up a tasty dish. They were grueling tests where contestants had to be chef, circus performer, and fearless warrior all at once. Imagine cooking rice in a wobbly bamboo boat bobbing on a pond, like trying to grill burgers on a surfboard. Or picture balancing a carrying pole on your shoulders, tending a fire, and singing folk tunes, like a Broadway star belting out a ballad while flipping pancakes! Some even had to soothe a crying baby while the clay pot bubbled away – name another cooking contest in the world that demands such multitasking wizardry!

Scholar Toan Ánh, in Village Festivals (Nam Chi Tùng Thư, 1969, pp. 38–39), described the Hạc Đình village festival in Vĩnh Phúc, held near Tết. Young women perched in wobbly bamboo boats on a pond, balancing like tightrope walkers while tending fires and shielding them from the wind to cook rice and steam sticky rice with soggy straw. Wet straw – good luck getting that to blaze! Yet they made water boil, cook rice and steam sticky rice to their perfection. The winner wasn’t just honored at the temple ceremony; she became the village’s most sought-after bride.

In Nostalgia for Twelve Months (NXB Văn Học, 1993, p. 156), writer Vũ Bằng describes the winning rice in a contest as a work of art: “To be deemed skillful, the rice must meet two conditions: first, it must be smooth as hand-molded rice, so flawless that it can be sliced with a knife into neat portions, free of any burnt grains or crusty shell; second, the clay pot used for cooking must remain untouched by fire’s mark, its base as pristine as when it first left the kiln.”

Unfortunately, the Tradition of Rice-Cooking Contests now flickers like a candle in a storm, barely glowing in a few villages like Chuông (Hà Nội), Tích Sơn (Vĩnh Phúc), or Tam Tảo (Bắc Ninh). In an age when electric rice cookers reign supreme and straw fires have given way to gas and electricity, how can we keep this charming tradition from fading?

Perhaps Vietnamese villages should transform this tradition into a cultural stage, where young people learn to kindle fires, cook rice with wet straw, and savor the poetic deliciousness of clay-pot rice. Classes on cooking clay-pot rice should be held regularly, inviting grandmothers, those legendary “rice-cooking masters”, to pass down their secrets. What could be more enchanting than young women today, adorned in flowing áo tứ thân tunics, gathered around a crackling fire, learning to cook clay-pot rice as if mastering an ancient, poetic dance?

Only then can the fearless spirit of Đại Việt warriors, fanning flames to cook rice on the march, and the nimble multitasking of villagers of old be passed down to future generations. Thus, the wondrous clay pot will not merely endure but shine as a treasured gem in Vietnam’s cultural and culinary heritage, like a cherished recipe glowing through the ages.

mlefood – Minh Lê

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/leminhnt.le