Actually, I'm not sure whether it's a tribute meal or a dinner. I looked it up in the dictionary, and the word "salute" means "first". In fact, traditional Chinese characters, like "page", mean "first", and sacrifices in ancient China were basically related to killing, so the word "gong" was chosen.
Gong Mi, in a nutshell, is to cook a good meal for the deceased ancestors. Since the seventh day of July, every household has received a great grandfather and great grandmother. In Zhongjiachong, most Li families originated from one ancestor. By my father's generation, ten brothers had begun to spread their branches and leaves, so they would take turns. While the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl are busy tryst and the whole country is celebrating Valentine's Day in China, China families are rushing people to worship their ancestors until July 14.
When I was a child, I always regarded Gong Mi in July and a half as Chinese New Year, because at this time, my parents would buy red dates, apples and loquats, fry peanuts themselves and cook a very delicious meal, including chicken, duck and fish that were usually difficult to eat. There is also a sacrificial ceremony, which makes me curious and mysterious.
My shift is in July 13. The place of sacrifice is in an ordinary ancestral hall of the Li family. Speaking of ancestral temple, it is actually a big adobe house, because my grandfather and his brothers moved out from here, and everyone agrees that this place is the most suitable for sacrifice.
On the day of the sacrifice, my mother finished her work from the field early and began to work in the kitchen. Gong Mi is divided into two steps, one is tribute tea, namely peanuts, red dates, fried peanuts and so on. And then the real Gong Mi. At about 10 in the morning, my mother put out the tributes, gave some to my sister and me after a simple sacrifice, and put the rest away. 1 1 o'clock, the tribute meal began, and my mother cooked all the meals early in the morning. Then prepare firecrackers, paper money, incense and kerosene lamps (later replaced by candles).
When I can help a little, my mother lets me set chopsticks, pour wine and serve rice. Wine is homemade sweet wine, and the tools for holding rice are all wine glasses at home, and each cup holds a spoonful of rice. After I am busy with everything, my mother will light a kerosene lamp and then burn paper, muttering something while burning paper. Most of them are good wishes for my sister and me not to get sick, grow up healthily, have a prosperous family and have a good weather. From this time on, my side began to become particularly quiet. The leaves of the buttonwood tree in front of the door are also quiet and motionless. I can only hear cicadas screaming in despair in the tree. I stood in the big empty room, watching everything silently. According to my mother, my late grandparents are sitting at the table eating at this time.
My grandfather died when my father 15 years old. I have never met my grandfather in my life. I once dreamed that a little old man came to see me. When I looked up, I only saw a back. My uncle said it was my grandfather. So whenever I see other grandfathers lovingly rubbing their grandson's face with calloused hands, I will think of him.
At this time, I will open my eyes and want to see where Grandpa is sitting. The sacrifice used a square table and four stools. The children's minds are curious: I have never seen grandpa's figure. I don't know which ancestors my mother invited, can I sit at such a small table, and I don't know where my grandfather sits. Are they drunk after drinking? Will you get lost on the way to the next tomb? Moreover, I always feel that there is not enough food in the cup for them to eat, but every time I don't see chopsticks moving on the table, the food on the table doesn't move at all. Then not long after, my mother set off a set of firecrackers, and the ceremony was over. I said, "I haven't eaten rice yet." My mother gave me a white look and ignored me. She poured all the food in the cup together, just enough for my sister and me to share, saying that eating such food would make us.
China's sacrifice is always full of mystery. For children, it is fun and curiosity, but there is no fear. My grandmother always told me that she wouldn't scare me when she died. Of course, my own grandparents can't scare me. Most old people in rural areas are kind, and I believe they will be the same after death.
Tribute After dinner, I began to eat. Mother took a bowl, picked some good dishes from each bowl, divided them into several portions and gave them to the neighbors in the village. Our dialect calls them "table dishes", which means to divide some dishes. Table dishes and Gong Mi have always been one. It seems that there is no table of dishes, and it is insincere for anyone to share their ancestors' blessings after the sacrifice, and the ancestors will blame them.
In July and a half this year, it happened that my wife gave birth to a second child, so I took my mother to see the children. After his wife was discharged from the hospital, it happened to be July 1 1 day. My mother consulted me and said that the day after tomorrow is Gong Mi Day and I have to go back tomorrow. I know the custom at home, so I agreed. My great uncle is over 60 years old and has lived in the city for nearly 20 years, but every July and a half, he rides a motorcycle and brings all kinds of food from the city to the village to pay homage. In fact, his old house is basically dilapidated, and he goes back and forth for nearly 2 hours every day, just to facilitate his ancestors to eat familiar meals at familiar places at familiar times.
Mom is carsick, so she can't travel far, not by car, not by train. So I had to send her back with the window open. Even so, I threw up when I got home, and finally I lay down and rested for an afternoon before I recovered.
On July 13, my father got up at 5 o'clock and went to town to buy tributes. In my dream, I heard my father start a motorcycle, just like when I was a child, I often woke up in the middle of the night and heard my parents get up to cut rice in the field. I got up at 7 o'clock and saw my second uncle and my father come back. Uncle bought some tweezers and handed them to me to eat. Mom looked at it and said, I really forgot. I should have made some cakes. There is some guilt in the words.
Hearing this, my brain suddenly opened a crack. What I have been thinking about in July and a half is always lacking. So it's this broom with tung leaves. Zongzi on May 5, Ciba on July 30, and the blessing of New Year's Eve are all handmade specialties in my hometown for many years, especially the latter two, which I have never seen in other places since I left my hometown.
When I was a child, I was very excited to hear that I was going to make hairpins. Early in the morning, I went to the village with a basket to look for tung leaves. Why do I insist on tung leaves? Because, on the one hand, the packaged seeds are particularly fragrant, and on the other hand, there is no refrigerator in the countryside in hot summer, so the seeds wrapped with this kind of leaves can be preserved for a long time without rancidity. This is all the experience handed down by our ancestors.
But picking tung leaves is not so easy, because there are many caterpillars on this tree, and they are the kind of "fire moths" that have crossed the Yellow River. Changsha dialect is spicy, and its scientific name is thorn moth. You can see the characteristics of this insect from these names alone. If you accidentally touch him, just touch him with a crackling sound, and the feeling of stabbing pain, fire, pepper, lightning and knife cutting will be unforgettable.
To pick tung leaves, you must climb the branches to avoid these fire mites, and then take them to the pond to wash them. Mother grinds glutinous rice into pulp with a stone mill at home, wraps it in gauze, puts it in a basin, and puts fire ashes around it. When the glutinous rice slurry is sucked up, you can start wrapping rice. Wrap the cake and put it in a steamer. It won't take long for it to be cooked.
However, the best rice cake is not the fresh finished product just out of the pot, but the next morning, before mom goes out to work, she cooks porridge with firewood. When the firewood is the most prosperous, throw the rice cake into the most prosperous charcoal fire in the kitchen and cover it with some ash. After brushing your teeth and washing your face, scrape it out with a poker, and wipe off the ash-burned tung leaves on the outer layer. This kind of fragrance simmered with firewood, one is sweet potato, and the other is this cake in July and a half, which is considered as a noble product everywhere. Every time I go to my grandmother's house to play, my grandmother will reward me with the rice cake she baked. Every time, her lines are full of pride: "My baked rice cake is more delicious than steamed bread."
Zhuangzi told the story of a big bird and a small bird in Happy Travel. The abilities of two birds are completely different. Big birds can fly to Wan Li, but small birds can't fly from this tree to that tree. But as long as everyone does what they can, everyone loves and is equally happy. I think grandma realized that the taste of baked goods is the same as that of many people eating delicacies.
By the time my mother remembered to do this, it was already past 9 am. Considering that I am leaving in the afternoon, my mother quickly left everything in her hand, soaked glutinous rice with her father, and then went to her neighbor's grandmother's house to find the stone mill she had just used to grind glutinous rice. When she finished all the work and started making rice cakes, she was discovered by Lu Lu badminton, who was over three years old. She was curious about all new things, washed her hands and asked her mother expectantly, "Do you need any help?"
Looking at her curved eyebrows and pink hands, a pair of dimples emerged from her smiling face. Although her mother didn't think she would be helpful, she was very happy and moved a stool to sit her down. My sister's son, Pengzi, also came back. Seeing that Lu Lu badminton was busy, he joined in the fun, so the whole family was very happy. I look at this picture and feel very warm in my heart.
My mother picked me out 10. I hardly cook. If I refuse directly, it may hurt her kindness. I said with a little regret, "It's a pity that there is no firewood there, otherwise it would be delicious to stew." Mother said, "Here, give some to Archie. I can't eat it outside. " You can't simmer, you can cook and eat. It's always good to bring more. "
In fact, at this time, I have lost too much interest in the taste of my mouth. I liked eating when I was a child, because there was a shortage of snacks at that time. I don't like snacks since I was a child, not to mention there are many snacks to choose from. Just like my mother makes other things I like to eat. Go to the table every time you finish eating and say, look, this is your favorite food before. I always smile and say to my mother, "I like eating. You don't have to do so much." But looking at my mother's persistence and expectation, I still try to eat as much as possible, although the taste is completely different from when I was a child. Part of the reason why I am interested is because of the long-lost taste, but most of it is because it reminds me of my childhood memories and homesickness that I will soon forget, as well as the feelings of life, affection and hometown complex behind making this food.
I didn't tell my mother in the end. In fact, my stomach is the same as hers, and I can't eat glutinous rice Baba.