I hated that it would stick to the roof of my mouth, and the strong taste of radish and shallot lingered in my mouth for far too long. I loved all the activities and dishes but one: turnip cake. After dinner, we would set off firecrackers with our neighbors. A-kong (Taiwanese for grandpa) would roast Taiwan bamboo partridges seasoned in garlic and soy sauce. On this special day, A-má would welcome us with all sorts of delicious dishes, including fó tiào qiáng, or “Buddha jumps over the wall,” a stew with extravagant ingredients like crispy fried spareribs, fish maw, and abalone sweet and sour fish, representing a surplus in the new year and hot pot, representing reunion. Traditionally, on the second day of the Lunar New Year, daughters who are married return to their parents’ home. Nantou is a city that rests in a basin surrounded by mountains. We call it tshài-thâu-kué.) It’s a common dish, but special to me because of my a-má (Taiwanese for grandma).Īs a kid, I always looked forward to visiting A-má’s house in Nantou with my mother. (That’s how it is known in English, even though it is made of radish. Of all the familiar scenes of Lunar New Year growing up in Taiwan, one particularly shines as a treasured memory for me: turnip cake. The adults play mahjong and, in the spirit of the new year, bet small amounts of money, hoping to win as a sign of good luck to come. Children receive special blessings in the form of red envelopes containing money. Traditionally, each dish carries a different meaning, a different way of wishing all of those gathered good fortune in the coming year.

Friends and families from far away gather, reuniting for elaborate feasts. In Taiwan, vendors and families tack up “spring couplets,” short blessings written on strips of red paper in black or gold ink. Like maple trees in autumn, the Lunar New Year paints the streets of many East Asian communities red and gold.

Lunark love