Children cheer as a vendor makes ppongtwigi, Korean puffed rice.
Whenever a sweet scent catches the breeze on a quiet day, I am suddenly drawn back to the warm, bustling scenes of holidays at my country home. These days, children can easily grab sweet snacks at any convenience store whenever they want. But back then, our holidays were not just a simple break; they were a grand festival where we eagerly waited for treats, longing for our mother's gentle touch. The day before the holiday, holding my little sibling's hand tightly with trembling excitement, the local popcorn vendor's cart was our very own amusement park and treasure chest.
Holidays in the Country: The Journey to the Market
Holiday preparations in the countryside didn't start with grocery shopping in a modern market. They began by carrying a heavy bag of white rice, hoisted over a shoulder, to the local mill or the street vendor.
My mother always sent my younger sibling and me on the popcorn errand. We headed to the market carrying sacks of rice and various grains to be popped. The vendor would pour the rice into a large, dark, kettle-like iron drum, turning the handle steadily as he built the fire underneath.
Even now, looking back, it feels like a small magic show. As the iron drum grew hotter, and we grew more nervous because we never knew when it might burst, we would cover our ears tightly with both hands and hide behind each other. Yet, our curious eyes couldn't look away from the turning drum for even a second.
A moment later, the vendor shouted, "Be careful, it's popping!" With a sharp click of the lever, a deafening "Bang!" echoed through the air, followed immediately by a thick, warm cloud of white steam.
When round, fluffy white popped rice came spilling out into the giant fabric bag, nothing else in the world mattered to us. Grabbing a handful of steaming hot puffed rice straight from the batch, we’d pop it into our mouths and burst into giggles as it melted away with a sweet, nutty crunch.
Making Yu-gwa: An Art of Patience and Care
When we got back home, a batch of lovingly prepared dough, made by our mother's own hands, was waiting in the yard or the pantry. She would knead the dough with great care, shape it, dry it under the winter sun, and fry it up into crisp bases.
Since sweet treats were rare and precious on normal days, we used to buzz around our mother like bees during the holidays, hoping to score some freshly made yu-gwa and gangjeong.
Making these traditional sweets was an art of patience, requiring much more work than you might think. The key was taking the crispy fried rice bases, dipping them generously into warm, sticky jochung (traditional grain syrup), and rolling them tightly in the white puffed rice we brought back from the vendor.
Houses didn't just use plain puffed rice; some packed them densely with black sesame, white sesame, or perilla seeds to maximize the nutty flavor. Others added colorful toppings like black bean powder, kidney bean powder, or finely shredded jujubes for extra visual flair and depth.
Every time my mother brushed on a thick layer of jochung and pressed the puffed rice into place, the sweet, malty aroma of malt barley filled the entire room. That cozy scent remains the warmest warmth in my memory today.
Holidays After Growing Up: Finding the Taste of Nostalgia
Time passed, and we grew up. Now, it’s rare to hear the familiar pop of the vendor's cart in a rural market or find a home making yu-gwa entirely from scratch. Life has simply become too busy to roll, dry, fry, and boil syrup for hours.
Luckily, these days you don't have to make them yourself. You can easily find ready-made yu-gwa and gangjeong online or at the supermarket that capture the traditional taste. From premium yu-gwa made the old-school way with deep, rich jochung to individually wrapped packs tailored for modern tastes, the options are endless.
Sometimes, I place a few store-bought yu-gwa on a plate and brew a warm cup of tea to go with them. Of course, it's not quite the same as standing with my sibling, covering our ears by the popping machine, or feeling my mother's warm touch. But that single sweet, crispy piece of yu-gwa somehow brings the cozy scenery of my childhood home right back in front of me.
This Chuseok, I think I'll buy a neat pack of yu-gwa from the market, brew some warm tea, and set it on the table as I look back on old memories. It's a night when I suddenly miss my sibling's laughing face with their hands over their ears, and my mother's sweet, gentle smile as she made snacks for her children.
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