Bánh Ú Tro Wraps the Childhood Joy of Tết Đoan Ngọ Within Its Green Leaves

Since the beginning of our festive history, Vietnam’s special occasions have always been closely associated with traditional dishes. Lunar New Year is the time to enjoy bánh chưng and bánh tét, while the arrival of Trung Thu is foretold by the appearance of moon cakes and bánh pía. In the case of Tết Đoan Ngọ, revelers eat bánh bá trạng and bánh ú tro to get a taste of festivity.

What is Tết Đoan Ngọ?

Tết Đoan Ngọ falls on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, marking the midway point of the lunar yearly calendar. It’s observed by not only Vietnam but many East Asian nations too, such as China, Japan, and North and South Korea. Each celebrates the occasion via different customs, but most involve warding off bad mojo and wishing for health and bountiful harvests.

In Vietnam, Tết Đoan Ngọ’s existence is rooted in ancient Vietnamese’s agrarian life. As researcher Trần Ngọc Thêm explains in the book Tìm về bản sắc văn hóa Việt Nam (Revisiting Vietnam’s Cultural Identity): “[Vietnam] lies across the Tropic of Cancer, so summers are sweltering and uncomfortable, negatively affecting human health. Luckily, as part of the routine of rice growers, farmers must always monitor the weather to minimize its harmful effects and make full use of natural advantages. That was how Tết Đoan Ngọ traditions formed.”

Bánh ú tro as part of an altar offering plate for Tết Đoan Ngọ.

Some Vietnamese refer to Tết Đoan Ngọ casually as Tết diệt sâu bọ (Pest Removal Festival). During the lunar May, the weather is often intensely hot, peppered by bouts of heavy rain, both conducive to the proliferation of bugs while weakening human immunity. To “remove pests,” at midday on the fifth day, families set up festive altar offerings to their ancestors to seek successful harvests, good health, and a peaceful life. Some other customs include picking medicinal herbs, bathing in water steeped with leaves, and dabbing lime water on young children to deworm, etc.

Each region in Vietnam has a slightly different offering platter, depending on local beliefs and produce. This diversity and uniqueness can be observed in the writings of authors like Phan Kế Bính, Vũ Bằng, and Nhất Thanh: “If the platter of northerners must include red watermelons, central platters from Thanh Hóa to Huế can’t leave out duck meat. Those living in the Quảng stretch often put up sticky rice, chè, and bánh ú tro. In the south, chè trôi nước and xôi gấc are a given. People from across the South-Central, South and some locations in the North eat bánh ú tro and bánh gio. It’s common to see chè kê and grilled rice paper in Huế.” Across that eclectic range of altar treats, bánh ú tro is the rare delicacy that appears all over Vietnam.

Bánh ú tro on the altar

Bánh ú tro is made from glutinous rice and wrapped in green leaves. Despite its name, the dumpling is often just the size of a child’s fist. To make it, first, the rice must be soaked in ash water for 24 hours. The soaking liquid’s slight alkalinity helps partially hydrolyze the starch in rice, so when the rice is cooked, the result is transparent like jelly, no rice grain in sight. This soaking is believed to make bánh ú tro easier to digest than other rice dumplings. Just bite into it, one can taste the faint taste of ash, but also a refreshing feeling.

Bánh ú tro (bánh gio) is eaten with molasses in Northern Vietnam.

In each locality, the dumpling manifests in a subtly different form, taste, and eating style. Northern Vietnam calls it bánh gio, bánh nẳng, or bánh âm; this version doesn’t feature a filling and is served with molasses, hence the name bánh gio mật. Via the baskets of street vendors, bánh gio mật travels across the streets of the region, bestowing its sticky, molassy, and “ashy” goodness on eaters.

Shape-wise, makers can choose to wrap it pyramidally, squarely or cylindrically like a banana. To serve, bánh gio is placed on a plate with a drizzle of molasses. Diners section off smaller pieces using a bamboo string. Sweet, refreshing, sparkling with molasses — bánh gio is something to relish slowly, so that elegant taste lingers for longer on your tongue.

Bánh ú tro can be pyramids, squares, or even cylinders.

In Central Vietnam, bánh ú tro appears as pyramids, sold in bundles of 10. Some say the pyramid shape symbolizes a mountain’s stability, but others believe that the dumpling represents elemental harmony: fire creates earth, like how the burnt ash forms the glutinous coating, shielding the rice in the middle, which was nurtured by earth. Central Vietnamese like both bánh ú with and without a filling, but children adore the chewy outer layer, especially when dipped in molasses or rock sugar grains.

Down south, bánh ú tro is best known as bánh ú lá tre. The shape is still a pyramid, but the filling is much more diverse: apart from the traditional mung bean paste, there are also durian, coconut, candied coconut, and candied winter melon. This version is already sweet on its own, so there’s no need to dip in anything. All you need to do is peel away the leaf wrapping and then go to town on them, one by one.

How to make bánh ú tro

Bánh ú tro might seem unassuming, but its preparation is a whole tedious process that often begins every year from the end of lunar April. Bánh ú bakeries often operate around the clock during this peak season to meet orders for Tết Đoan Ngọ.

Bánh ú lá tre.

Across Vietnam, many craft villages are nationally famous for their bánh ú tro, like Đình Bảng (Bắc Giang), Đắc Sở (Hoài Đức, Hanoi), Tây Đình (Vĩnh Phúc), Phú Yên (Bình Định), Hoán Mỹ (Quảng Nam), Yên Lãng (Thanh Hóa), and even Saigon has its own bánh ú neighborhood.

In the most traditional preparation, bánh ú makers must begin the process months before the midyear period. They gather firewood, leaves, and fruit peels of ideal plants. The plant matter is dried, burnt and then sieved to produce fine ash. In each locality, the plant species might vary: dền gai, xoan, pommelo peel, and banana peel in the north; Thanh Tiên Village in Huế uses the ash from brick kilns; Quảng Nam prefers the ash from mè trees, as the oil from the ash is believed to improve the texture of the dumpling’s outer layer. Some families just use the ashes from their kitchen, which come from straw and charcoal.

How to wrap a bánh ú.

The ashes are mixed with pickling lime and water, then left alone for a few days. After the sediments have settled down, the alkaline water on top is removed and used in cooking as ash water. The concentration of the ash water plays a key role in whether the texture and taste of bánh ú would be ideal. If the alkalinity is too high, the dumpling will turn out pungent and bitter. Conversely, low alkalinity will produce dumplings that are tough and grainy. Glutinous rice, when soaked, will turn different colors, like opaque grey, sienna, or even hay yellow. Once the grains get to the desired translucence, the cook will remove them and rinse them a few times to remove the ash water.

There are many choices of leaves for the wrapping, including bamboo, dong, banana, or đót. The leaves are washed then blanched in boiling water or sun-dried to make them more pliable. A few layers of leaves are folded into a funnel and then filled with rice. The filling is added in this step too. The leaves are then pinched on top into shape and tied up using grass strings. Each bundle of bánh ú has 10 dumplings. The bundles are boiled for 4–6 hours, removed and soaked in cold water to stop the cooking. Finally, the bundles are hung on bamboo canes to dry.

A sweet memory of Tết Đoan Ngọ

Although not as widely celebrated and popular as other special occasions of the year, Tết Đoan Ngọ is still a nice occasion to check in with one’s family, perhaps over a bánh ú tro or two.

“The simple joy of Tết is just seeing the block of dough appear like sparkling amber. The rice grains have completely mushed together, soft and elastic to the touch.”

I still remember vividly the weight of bánh ú in my hands as I heave in a lungful of bamboo leaf scent, carefully peeling away the wrapping to reveal the dumpling inside. The simple joy of Tết is just seeing the block of dough appear like sparkling amber. The rice grains have completely mushed together, soft and elastic to the touch. The outer layer is jiggly and chewy, tastes of ashes — perfectly accompanied by the nutty and sweet mung bean filling. If that year my mother decided to go all out with a durian bánh ú, then that would be another layer of special fragrance. Vegetarian bánh ú is also good for dipping in table sugar, rock sugar grains, or even molasses.

Every time Tết Đoan Ngọ comes, I can’t help but yearn for the flavors of bánh ú tro, not just because of its inviting taste, but also because of everything that this humble dumpling encapsulates: the aroma of the leaf wrapping, the meaningful customs of our culture, and the bond linking generations of our family together.

This article was originally published in 2025.