It had been a gloomy morning in the little village nestled between the green hills and golden rice fields. The sky was thick with clouds, and a soft drizzle painted the banana leaves with droplets that sparkled like silver. In a small bamboo house near the stream lived Lala, the little golden dog with ears like soft dumplings and eyes as bright as polished chestnuts.
Lala was usually full of energy, running through the fields, chasing butterflies, and wagging her tail at every friendly villager. But today, she was curled up on the wooden floor, head resting on her front paws, her tail still. Something was different.
Thuy, a kind-hearted young woman with long black hair and the warmest smile, had noticed right away. She had raised Lala since she was a puppy, and they shared a bond deeper than words.
“Lala?” Thuy knelt beside her furry friend. “What’s wrong, my sunshine?”
Lala gave a soft little whimper and looked away. She wasn’t hurt, but her heart felt heavy. Just yesterday, her best friend Lu, the cheeky baby monkey from the big mango tree, had gone on a little trip with the village elder. Lu had been invited to a temple festival in the next province, and though he promised to return in a few days, Lala missed him already.
Thuy gently stroked Lala’s head. “Oh, you’re missing Lu, aren’t you?”
Lala’s ears perked slightly, but her eyes stayed sad.
“I know,” Thuy said softly. “He’s your best friend. But don’t worry. He’ll be back soon with stories and bananas.”
Still, Lala sighed.
Thuy thought for a moment. She knew exactly what might cheer Lala up—a warm, delicious, comforting dish that could bring happiness even on the rainiest day: Bánh Tét, the traditional Vietnamese rice cake filled with mung beans and tender pork, wrapped in banana leaves and steamed for hours.
“Wait right here,” she said, smiling. “I’m going to make something special for you.”
Lala lifted her head slightly, curious.
Thuy went to the little outdoor kitchen behind their house. The scent of lemongrass and ginger filled the air as she gathered her ingredients. Sticky rice, soaked and ready. Mung beans, mashed and seasoned. Pork belly, marinated just the way her grandmother had taught her.
She cut large banana leaves, passed them over a flame to make them pliable, and carefully layered the ingredients. As she wrapped each roll and tied them tightly with bamboo strings, the drizzle stopped, and a warm breeze rustled the trees.
Steam soon rose from the pot, and Lala sniffed the air. Her nose twitched.
An hour later, the first roll was ready. Thuy unwrapped it like a gift—fragrant, green from the banana leaf, and filled with love.
She placed a few slices in a small bowl and carried it to Lala. “Here you go, sweet girl. Special bánh tét, just for you.”
Lala sat up. The rich aroma reached deep into her little heart. She sniffed it, looked at Thuy, then took a bite.
Her tail gave the tiniest wag.
Thuy laughed gently. “See? Even sadness can soften when shared with food made from the heart.”
Lala licked her lips and looked at Thuy with grateful eyes. The warmth of the rice, the softness of the mung beans, and the savory pork reminded her that she wasn’t alone. Even though Lu wasn’t there, Thuy was, and her love was just as comforting.
After finishing her treat, Lala trotted over and laid her head on Thuy’s lap. Thuy smiled and stroked her back, humming an old lullaby.
As the afternoon sun broke through the clouds, golden light spilled into the yard. Birds began to chirp again, and the sound of children playing echoed from the distance.
Thuy looked down at Lala. “You know what? Let’s make another batch together. So when Lu comes back, he’ll have the tastiest welcome surprise.”
Lala gave a soft bark—her way of saying “yes!”
Together, they returned to the kitchen. Thuy prepared more ingredients while Lala sat nearby, watching attentively, occasionally wagging her tail whenever Thuy glanced over with a smile.
Thuy spoke as she worked, telling Lala stories of her own childhood—how she and her brother used to sneak bites of rice cakes before they had cooled, how her grandmother used to sing while wrapping the banana leaves, and how food always brought people together.
As the sun dipped below the hills and the sky turned tangerine-orange, the house was filled with the cozy aroma of freshly steamed rice cakes.
Lala was curled up again, but this time with a full belly and a happy heart. She wasn’t sad anymore. She knew Lu would be back soon. But even more importantly, she was reminded that love, in all its forms—even in warm sticky rice and banana leaves—could make everything feel okay again.
That night, as crickets sang and stars twinkled above, Lala slept peacefully, her dreams sweet with thoughts of reunion, laughter, and of course, more rice cakes.
And in her dream, Thuy and Lu were there too—laughing, sharing stories, and enjoying the most delicious rice cake dish ever made.
