Making Rice Wine Mama gave me some yeast for making rice wine, the best remedy for the homesick. The yeast traveled with me across the Pacific and each day passed with the idea of making good rice wine. When I finally got ready, I forgot how. The recipe had to be resurrected from my childhood memories of good wine making the way Waipo and Mama always did it. In Waipo's village of the camphor trees making rice wine was a grand occasion. A lucky day was picked by a Fengshui Master. Strong shoulders carried fresh well water Rough hands rubbed the new sweet sticky rice. There was the burning of sound timber to make a good fire. A giant rice steamer sat in a giant wok with boiling water puffing out steam filling the kitchen with the fragrance of rice making children's mouths water. Sleeves were rolled and hands washed. When the steaming rice was mixed with yeast, we watched the kitchen turning into heaven with gods riding on clouds.
We hung around to beg for some rice but heard voices roaring like thunder, "Hands off the rice! There is no place for you short-lived ghosts." As the old folks used to say, "In the making it's clean wine and dirty tofu." In the back hall of Waipo's house the fermenting rice was making bubbling noise in a big wooden barrel covered by a big bamboo tray. Standing side by side with it were two big coffins painted in black lacquer covered by a white drop cloth. For longevity sake grown-ups had their coffins custom-made when they reached middle age. The most expensive timber, the intricate carving and painting guaranteed their living poor and dying rich. In the back hall we played hungry ghosts stealing the fermenting rice. The bamboo tray was thrown open dirty hands grabbed the chopsticks to stuff drooling mouths with the intoxicating rice. The alcohol made us bold enough to unveil a corner of the coffin and peep at "Longevity" carved in gold. We would disappear in thin air, when we heard the heavy footsteps of Waipo's bound feet.
If the wine had turned to vinegar, Waipo would know we'd done it and we would be cursed to grow up to become jealous wives or husbands. But, the rice wine in Waipo's house always turned out mellow and sweet and we all grew up unmarried.
So, I started to make my own rice wine in an electric rice cooker doing this and that as if by instinct. It is now sitting in a salad bowl as if waiting for something to happen.
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