麻球可不是汤圆哦

All those years, I had it all wrong aboutmaqiu, a traditional winter solstice food for my husband Jun’s family in rural Zhejiang.
“麻球”是我丈夫的浙江老家人在冬至吃的食物，但是多年来我一直误会了什么是麻球。
Whenever Jun mentioned the sesame balls he had eaten for the holiday while growing up, I had always imagined a version oftangyuan, those delicious glutinous rice balls stuffed with sweet sesame or red bean paste typically enjoyed in southern China. Except, he called them sesame balls ormaqiu, nottangyuan. So I thought, maybemaqiuwas just another name fortangyuanin the local dialect?
我丈夫说他小时候都在冬至时这种芝麻馅的麻球，而我总认为这就是汤圆。我以为也许麻球就是当地称呼汤圆的土话？
But then years ago, one night before winter solstice with Jun’s family, I watched my mother-in-law preparemaqiuin her kitchen and did a double take. She dropped inch-sized balls of glutinous rice dough, made from glutinous rice flour and cold water, straight into a wok of boiling water without tucking anything inside. Had she lost her mind? Where was the muss and fuss of filling the dough with sesame paste that I’d had to slog through all those years before, when Jun and I used to live in the US?
多年前的一个冬至前夜，我看到婆婆在厨房准备麻球，她没有放馅料，而是直接把糯米球扔进开水里煮。她怎么没有放芝麻馅呢？
Once the rice balls floated to the top, which took only a few minutes, she fished them out of the boiling water and then rolled them in a sweet mixture of toasted black sesame seeds and white sugar that coated every inch of the dough. That’s when I realized it -- it was my mistake, not hers.
几分钟以后她把捞出来的糯米球在黑芝麻和白糖上滚了一圈。这时我才认识到，错的是我，不是她。
“Here, eat them while they’re hot,” my mother-in-law said as she pressed a steaming bowl of them into my hands.
她把一碗麻球递给我，说：“趁热吃。”
“But that’s it?” I replied, my face almost flushed with embarrassment. Could she tell that I had confusedmaqiuwithtangyuanall along?
“这就能吃了？”我尴尬地脸红，她知不知道我一直把麻球误认为是汤圆？
“Eh, it’s simpler! You don’t need to worry about all that trouble of filling them.”
“这么做更简单！不用操心放馅料。”
Oh, I knew all about that trouble. All those years in the US, I had slaved hours upon hours to make so-calledmaqiu— never realizing the actual recipe could be so quick and easy.
我知道放馅料有多麻烦。在美国的时候，我花费数小时来做麻球，从未意识到其实过程如此快速简单。
Sometimes, family traditions get lost in translation when you’ve never experienced them. Previously, I had only learned aboutmaqiuthrough long-distance phone conversations with Jun’s family over the years and through my husband (who had clearly omitted a few critical details in his descriptions of the cherished holiday dish).
有时，你会因为缺乏经验而误会了家族传统。以前我只在长途电话里听到过麻球，我丈夫明显也省略了很多麻球的细节描述。
But aren’t you bound to misunderstand when you learn something secondhand? During our huge winter solstice dinner that year, I tried sharing some of the foods we used to eat for Christmas — cranberry sauce, turkey and mashed sweet potatoes. How do you describe “cranberry sauce” to them when they’ve never even seen the actual berries at the heart of this sweet-and-tart holiday delight? How can you explain the aroma of a turkey fresh from the oven when they’ve never tasted turkey and don’t have an oven? Even though people grow sweet potatoes in the village, including Jun’s family, chances are they’ve never tried anything like my creamy, buttery sweet potato and parsnip mash. I wonder what went through their minds when I chronicled Christmas dinners of the past?
但是二手信息缺失容易造成误会，不是吗？在那年的冬至餐桌上，我试图分享美国人的圣诞节美食——蔓越莓酱、火鸡和甜土豆泥。怎么和没有见过蔓越莓的亲戚解释蔓越莓酱呢？他们没吃过火鸡，也没有烤炉，怎么解释火鸡端出烤炉的香气呢？尽管这里的人们种甜土豆，但他们没吃过土豆泥。我在提到圣诞节晚餐时，他们会想到什么呢？
Well, you live and learn — especially when you’ve had the opportunity to live with family. And what I learned brought me enormous holiday relief. Never again would I have to fiddle around with filling balls of rice dough in the name of tradition.
生活就是要不断学习，特别是和家人生活时更要学习。我学到的知识让我假期很放松，我再也不会弄混麻球和汤圆了。