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When my mother was growing up, her mother would prepare nian gao for the Lunar New Year. These sweet rice cakes rarely made an appearance because they were so tedious to make: A-ma had to soak an entire sack of glutinous rice in water, then grind the rice with a millstone, and squeeze the water out through a linen to make a wet dough. The dough was sweetened with brown sugar, formed into little cakes and then steamed.

There are, apparently, many different kinds of nian gao; sometimes the rice cakes are used in a savory stirfry, sometimes it might come with red bean (like the version pictured here) or sesame paste, like tang yuan (and many other Chinese desserts). (Photo by u m a m i)

These days, it’s much easier to make nian gao, since there’s glutinous rice flour readily available and even pre-made rice cakes you just have to steam and serve. Or forgo the sticky mess and get them at a pastry shop. Unfortunately, you might have to wait a while for these; I’ve been combing the bakeries in Chinatown (Manhattan) this week and have come up empty-handed. (Though they always tell me “No more,” which could either mean they’re no longer being offered for the New Year, they’re out by the time I get there, or they just never make them.)

Anyone out there with a nian gao tip, I’m all ears.

While on my tang yuan expedition, I came across a shop that seemed to specialize in all things Lunar New Year-related. I neglected to jot down the name or address of this place, unfortunately, but you won’t miss it if you walk down Mott south of Canal. It’s on the west side, a tiny storefront that would completely escape notice were it not for the fact that some red creature made of paper and plastic seems to have exploded inside.

Not only are there fake oranges and fake firecrackers to hang and plastic gold ingots to decorate with, but you’ve got hundreds of different kinds of hong bao to choose from and lion masks to boot. There are a couple of other similar shops at the corner of Bayard and Mott, but I think this one might be the best, if only for sheer product-to-square footage ratio.

The best part about this time of year, kids will tell you, is getting the hong bao, or red envelope. Like noodles, hong bao make an appearance at birthdays and other times of year (I saw them handed out most recently at a cousin’s wedding), but they’re most associated with the New Year.

They’re red, of course, the luckiest color, and stuffed with money — some token amount, like $10 (or $20, maybe, if you’re extra lucky). Or people who pay special attention to such things might stick some amount with an “8″ in the envelope, since the number 8 sounds like the word for “wealth” and is therefore considered lucky. Man, we’re a superstitious bunch.

Hong bao are given to children and supposedly also to anyone who’s unmarried, but that starts to get a little humiliating at a certain point in one’s adulthood, as my friend Francis can attest.

I had the good fortune this year to receive a hong bao from my friend Allison, who happened upon an especially interesting envelope specimen, from an anthropological standpoint: above, the characters across the top say, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” The rat (I don’t know about you, but none of the rats I’ve ever seen in NYC look like that) is surrounded by gifts and gold ingots (like dumplings!). He’s even wearing a number 8 on his jersey. Maybe roller skates are good luck too.