Vietnamese Sweet Corn Pudding (Chè Bắp) and the Wallflower
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| Vietnamese Sweet Corn Pudding (Chè Bắp) |
A wallflower once told me that there were perks to our standing. "This isn't such a bad place to be," it had said with cheerful denial, towering over me. At the time, I had decided that it was throwing shade and only glanced at it with dripping condescension.
"Truly," the wallflower had insisted. "Look at them. Then look at us: we're experts." It paused for a moment, then added emphatically, as if to convince itself, "Truly".
"Experts? At what, being rejected?" I wasn't being nice, I knew. But it's hard not to sour when you've been left out for so long.
"At observing", the wallflower had burbled wistfully. "Boy, what a view!"
And observe we did. What else was there to do?
Our morning conversation always started that way. 9 A.M., everyday. Like clockwork. (Oh, wait).
The two of us, we were the plain ones. The ones people glanced over and quickly snapped their head away, as if we were reflections of a banana peel their vision had accidentally slipped on. Eventually, their eyes always guiltily trailed back, but we were never interesting enough.
The wallflower had chronically low spirits. The worst was when it started weeping, and random drops inevitably dripped on me. Once, I lifted my eyes to tell it to stop, and I got sucked in perfectly transparent pools of clear blue. Bright and shimmering and, well, full of inherently stupid hope. No wonder it was always left behind. You could drown in so much blue.
There was also the weird one. The one who looked a bit greenish, with big red spots like jujubes all over him. He was always palming a handful of lotus seeds or pearl barley, depending on the day of the week. Today was a lotus seed kind of day. People would bend over to stare and point at him, giggle between each other in curious disgust, then promptly shuffle away in hushed laughter, as if he'd eat them if they got too close.
We were all leftovers. Or the survivors of a social movement. It depends on whether your cup is empty or full I guess.
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| "The perks of a wallflower :P": Boy, what a view! |
The wallflower was right on one account though. You do see a lot when society chucks you back on a shelf. From there, there is not much to do but watch the rush of life. At least it was a decent view.
Lunchtime was the best hour for the motionless observers. As they stole through cherished minutes of break, there was a precious and light-headed energy when crowds congregated. You could almost give it substance, collect it in a teacup and lean back. Sip on it.
There were the hummers, the ones who always had a soft humming song emanating out of them, and the tired ears who scowled when they bumped into them. The indecisives, who always took the all-dressed option at the sandwich counter. Those who chose brown bread over white bread, and those who shamed them for it.
I heard the violinist before I actually saw her, and ironically, by lack of noise rather than a specific one. She always walked with muted footsteps, as though she was stepping on eggshells. Her irises were a melted jade, like pandan syrup, with a splash of freckles across her cheeks and flaming ringlets cascading down the violin case swung over her back. She always hovered in front of the desserts shelving with her fingers trailing over her collarbone. It was her mannerism when she hesitated about something, I knew. She picked up every cup, one by one, contemplating her choices, shaking them gently as if she was plucking music notes, then placed them back down.
A hand almost knocked me sideways, reaching over me to grab a cup of banana tapioca, blindly patting the top of the refrigerated shelf. It only stopped when it got stuck to a pool of spilled dessert. Confused eyes lifted up, slowly and unwilling. They stared at me, uncertain at first, then accusing. Hey, it's not my fault you weren't looking. He was lanky, almost jiggly, with mussed hair that looked like it was their perpetual state and copper-rimmed glasses that were placed everywhere but the bridge of his nose. Probably a freshly-appointed history professor: they all smelled of spilled coffee and burnt strudel eaten on the run. The mausoleums, lyric cathedrals and Romanesque rotundas reflected in his eyes, a dreamy morning fog pulsating around him in a lazy rhythm as he sank back in his thoughts.
Suddenly, a tiny hand sprung up out of nowhere and landed on me with a tacky Splat! ...Oh, God. Where has this hand been? As abruptly as it had arrived, it then lurched away with a disappointed groan. Well damn, I didn't know my emotions were that palpable.
"Urk," the tiny hand squeaked.
Urk yourself.
"...corn," the tiny hand added, disgruntled.
To that, I bristled. Well, as much as my semi-rigid plastic cup allowed me to. Was there really such a person too sophisticated to eat sweet corn?
The tiny hand moved to grab the chè hạt lựu beside me. Ah, of course. The small chunks of water chestnuts, coated in tapioca starch and disguised as pomegranate seeds, gleamed proudly. It looked like a cup of rubies.
In a whiff of Guerlain Shalimar, a matronly hand intercepted the tiny one's grasp and put the cup back on its shelf. I couldn't help but feel a swell of satisfaction. Then, in another decisive motion, it reached for the top shelf. Apparently, the tiny hand was linked to two pigtails, and now they bobbed in indignant tantrum. The pair walked towards the cashier, a human crumple of hiccuping sobs and desperate motherly appeals urging Shhh... honey, shhh...
I could see the water bottle tucked under her arm, held by the elbow under a pack of bánh mì, poker-faced but shimmering with contentment. Its blue was practically glowing. It was clearly trying to play it cool... and failing.
I sighed. Condensation trickled all over it again. At least it's not pooling on my lid anymore.
Overhead, I heard another bubbly exclamation. "Boy, what a view!"
The newbies always liked the edge. That is, until they get close to their expiration date. I'd glimpse at mine but I don't have eyes on my lid. Seems like I was packaged just yesterday... But I guess the retreating silhouette disagrees.
...Maybe i'll have better luck at dinnertime.
Heh. I thought that I'd put a spin on this post because I'm often one of those who overlook that poor cup of chè bắp. ...I mean, there are so many other desserts on those shelves! And they're all colorful, and jiggly, and intriguing... If I wasn't a person with morals (...or a healthcare provider degree), I'd live on Vietnamese sweets.
But by no means am I one of those too sophisticated for sweet corn (what kind of monster would be like that), and this Vietnamese pudding is among one of the easiest to replicate at home.
This recipe doesn't create a chè bắp as thick as many store-bought versions, which makes it just fluid and light enough to be refreshing. However, if you want a thicker chè, simply add 1-3 teaspoons tapioca starch.
Vietnamese Sweet Corn Pudding (Chè Bắp)
Adapted from Luke Nguyen's Aunty Eight's Sweet Corn Pudding Recipe in The Songs of Sapa
Servings: 9 x 125ml (1/2 cup)
Ingredients:
100g / 1/2 cup white glutinous rice
2 1/4 cups water
(Optional) 3 pandan leaves, tied together and knotted
2 teaspoons tapioca starch + 1 tablespoon water
535g cooked sweet corn kernels, removed from the cob (~6 boiled corn ears)
1/3 cup coconut-flavored soymilk (Subs.: coconut milk)
1/3 cup coconut milk
150g palm sugar, coarsely crushed
A pinch of salt
Toasted sesame seeds to serve
(Optional) Sweetened coconut sauce:
1 cup coconut cream/thick coconut milk
1 tablespoons of your choice of sweetener (honey, sugar, etc.)
1/8 teaspoon salt
Preparation:
Chè Bắp:
1. Rinse the glutinous rice with water thoroughly until the water turns clear (it may take 2-3 rinses). Shake off the excess water.
2. In a medium saucepan, pour the 2 1/4 cups water and, if using, the knotted pandan leaves. Cover and bring to a boil.
3. Add the glutinous rice to the boiling water and cook on medium heat, stirring constantly. Once the rice starts to soften, reduce the heat to low and keep stirring until the rice expands, or the water has completely been absorbed.
4. Add the corn kernels, palm sugar and 1/3 cup coconut-flavored soymilk. Stir to cook on medium-low an additional 5-10 minutes.
5. In a small bowl, mix the tapioca starch to the tablespoon of water until it is smooth.
6. Add the tapioca starch mixture, coconut milk and pinch of salt to the saucepan. Continue to cook until you reach your desired consistency.
7. Discard the pandan leaves and remove from heat to cool. Spoon the chè into small bowls. Top with toasted sesame seeds and, if you want, some sweetened coconut sauce (I usually don't add this, but traditionally, Vietnamese people like to drizzle it on their desserts :)).
(Optional) Sweetened coconut sauce:
1. In a small saucepan, pour the coconut cream/thick coconut milk and bring to a near boil.
2. Lower the heat to medium-low and add the sweetener and salt. Stir until the sweetener has completely dissolved.
3. When the sauce thickens, turn off the heat. Taste and adjust for the sugar and salt, if necessary.
4. Cover and cool until needed.
In a whiff of Guerlain Shalimar, a matronly hand intercepted the tiny one's grasp and put the cup back on its shelf. I couldn't help but feel a swell of satisfaction. Then, in another decisive motion, it reached for the top shelf. Apparently, the tiny hand was linked to two pigtails, and now they bobbed in indignant tantrum. The pair walked towards the cashier, a human crumple of hiccuping sobs and desperate motherly appeals urging Shhh... honey, shhh...
I could see the water bottle tucked under her arm, held by the elbow under a pack of bánh mì, poker-faced but shimmering with contentment. Its blue was practically glowing. It was clearly trying to play it cool... and failing.
I sighed. Condensation trickled all over it again. At least it's not pooling on my lid anymore.
Overhead, I heard another bubbly exclamation. "Boy, what a view!"
The newbies always liked the edge. That is, until they get close to their expiration date. I'd glimpse at mine but I don't have eyes on my lid. Seems like I was packaged just yesterday... But I guess the retreating silhouette disagrees.
...Maybe i'll have better luck at dinnertime.
 |
| Tee-hee. |
Heh. I thought that I'd put a spin on this post because I'm often one of those who overlook that poor cup of chè bắp. ...I mean, there are so many other desserts on those shelves! And they're all colorful, and jiggly, and intriguing... If I wasn't a person with morals (...or a healthcare provider degree), I'd live on Vietnamese sweets.
But by no means am I one of those too sophisticated for sweet corn (what kind of monster would be like that), and this Vietnamese pudding is among one of the easiest to replicate at home.
This recipe doesn't create a chè bắp as thick as many store-bought versions, which makes it just fluid and light enough to be refreshing. However, if you want a thicker chè, simply add 1-3 teaspoons tapioca starch.
 |
| Vietnamese Sweet Corn Pudding (Chè Bắp) |
Vietnamese Sweet Corn Pudding (Chè Bắp)
Adapted from Luke Nguyen's Aunty Eight's Sweet Corn Pudding Recipe in The Songs of Sapa
Servings: 9 x 125ml (1/2 cup)
Ingredients:
100g / 1/2 cup white glutinous rice
2 1/4 cups water
(Optional) 3 pandan leaves, tied together and knotted
2 teaspoons tapioca starch + 1 tablespoon water
535g cooked sweet corn kernels, removed from the cob (~6 boiled corn ears)
1/3 cup coconut-flavored soymilk (Subs.: coconut milk)
1/3 cup coconut milk
150g palm sugar, coarsely crushed
A pinch of salt
Toasted sesame seeds to serve
(Optional) Sweetened coconut sauce:
1 cup coconut cream/thick coconut milk
1 tablespoons of your choice of sweetener (honey, sugar, etc.)
1/8 teaspoon salt
 |
| Ingredients prepping! From the left corner, clock-wise: coconut-flavored soymilk, corn kernels, glutinous sticky rice, knotted pandan leaves, and palm sugar |
Preparation:
Chè Bắp:
1. Rinse the glutinous rice with water thoroughly until the water turns clear (it may take 2-3 rinses). Shake off the excess water.
2. In a medium saucepan, pour the 2 1/4 cups water and, if using, the knotted pandan leaves. Cover and bring to a boil.
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| Glutinous rice and pandan leaves :) |
3. Add the glutinous rice to the boiling water and cook on medium heat, stirring constantly. Once the rice starts to soften, reduce the heat to low and keep stirring until the rice expands, or the water has completely been absorbed.
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| Cooked white glutinous rice |
4. Add the corn kernels, palm sugar and 1/3 cup coconut-flavored soymilk. Stir to cook on medium-low an additional 5-10 minutes.
5. In a small bowl, mix the tapioca starch to the tablespoon of water until it is smooth.
6. Add the tapioca starch mixture, coconut milk and pinch of salt to the saucepan. Continue to cook until you reach your desired consistency.
7. Discard the pandan leaves and remove from heat to cool. Spoon the chè into small bowls. Top with toasted sesame seeds and, if you want, some sweetened coconut sauce (I usually don't add this, but traditionally, Vietnamese people like to drizzle it on their desserts :)).
(Optional) Sweetened coconut sauce:
1. In a small saucepan, pour the coconut cream/thick coconut milk and bring to a near boil.
2. Lower the heat to medium-low and add the sweetener and salt. Stir until the sweetener has completely dissolved.
3. When the sauce thickens, turn off the heat. Taste and adjust for the sugar and salt, if necessary.
4. Cover and cool until needed.
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