As the moon swells to full rotundity at this time of year, I think of cake. More specifically, mooncake.
In the lunar calendar, late September typically marks both the end of the harvest and the rise of the supermoon, when the moon is closest to Earth: the perfect time to reflect on nature’s bounty by translating the harvest of summer crops, like lotus seeds and red beans, into a portable form. So arose the culturally and calorically rich mooncake, enjoyed throughout Asia—from China and Malaysia, to Taiwan and Vietnam—to celebrate the perigee of community, family, and the joy of harvest.
Many are familiar with the shelf-stable varietals of mooncakes—waxing with additives, flavor that never wanes; tin-packed in fours, sixes, or eights then piled in bulk at the 99 Ranch. When I was a kid, I could walk into mom’s pantry and find a way bygone mid-autumn mooncake three years later.
These days, the mooncake is showing us a different face, as its modern makers incorporate clean, single-origin ingredients into fresh pastes, custards, jams, and other flavor-forward fillings. Across New York City, Chinatown mom-and-pops and Asian-American pop-ups alike are pushing out their unique takes on the durable nutcake of old.
As the weather cooled from record highs this summer, I roved the streets for yuebing that embraced the romance of ephemerality with fresh interpretations of reflection, gratitude, and togetherness.