It's almost two o'clock, and the last guests have been sent away. I was about to put out the fire and go home when I suddenly saw a small figure skipping towards the distant stall in the dim light.
"Oh, I can't sleep again!"
I muttered discontentedly, but without hesitation, I fanned the fire, strung the last corn cob, brushed it with oil, and put it on the grill, moving smoothly and in one go. When I finished, I looked up and she was swinging in front of the stall.
"Uncle Wang, have a roast corn."
Ha, as expected, it's roasted corn again.
"Okay, I'll bake it for you. Sit there and wait. It will be ready soon! "
After listening, the girl bowed her head and smiled, and gently sat down on the stool beside her. I thought as I turned the corn in my hand. I am deeply impressed by this little girl, not because she comes every day, but because she always orders only one roasted corn every once in a while, so I call her little corn privately. One more thing, the little corn man looks smart, but unfortunately there is something wrong with his leg. He limps.
As I spoke, the corn was baked, and it turned out to be light yellow corn kernels. Under the dual action of oil and fire, it presents bright and attractive colors. Although a few grains were blackened by too much fire, it did not affect it to become a perfect roasted corn. I picked up this corn and studied it for a while, then sniffed it carefully until I smelled that every corn had a unique fragrance after baking, and then I gave it to her on a plate with satisfaction.
I put the roasted corn on the table, said enjoy your meal, and was about to leave when the little corn stopped me and wouldn't let me turn around.
"The taste of your roasted corn is not good at all!"
Not good at all? I baked you corn in the middle of the night, and you said it wasn't delicious at all? You have eaten dozens of corn here at least. Now you tell me it's not good at all? The fire in my heart is suddenly stronger than the charcoal fire on the barbecue. I stood in front of her again, trying to question her loudly, so that she could explain clearly where Lao Tzu's roasted corn offended her, but my words changed.
"What's the matter?"
Speaking of the back, it's still a little empty, as if I really have technical problems. In fact, I don't think we can scare little girls. If she can't say a word or two, I'll get even with her.
"Actually, it's not bad, but the taste is different from that baked by my grandfather."
"oh? Then how did your grandfather bake it? "
"Every time before making a fire to cook, grandpa will put the corn that has just been picked from the ground under the stove. After the firewood is burned, the remaining ashes will continue to leak and bury the corn. When the rice is ready, the corn is boring. The corn just scraped out of the ash is still hot. Every time, Grandpa peeled the corn and handed it to me when it was not hot. "
The little corn stared at the roasted corn and smiled stupidly. In a trance, I really want to grab the corn and blow it for her, for fear of burning her mouth.
"Oh, that's the smell of plant ash. It must smell better!" I can't help admiring.
"Yes and yes, that kind of baked corn is particularly fragrant and delicious, but it's a pity that I haven't eaten it for a long time ..."
Say, little corn bowed his head.
"cough"
I coughed twice to ease the awkward atmosphere.
"Daughter, if you are homesick, go back and have a look."
"No, I want to earn money in Beijing and let my grandparents live a good life."
When he said this, the little corn's eyes sparkled, a little brighter than the stars in the sky.
It turned out that when she bought corn, her words were no more than ten words: "Boss, a roasted corn." "Thank you." Today, she seems to be talking. I wonder if she accidentally brushed the roasted corn with oil. In the chatter of little corn, I slowly heard the general meaning.
Little corn was born in a small mountain village in the north. Every such story will have a tragic beginning. Unfortunately, little corn was born with a disability in both legs.
Xiaomei knew nothing before she was five years old. Like all ordinary children, she is naive and leads a simple and happy life. Later, when Little Corn grew up, she gradually realized that she was different. She found that what her father said to her the most was "you are shameless". She found that her mother always kept her distance when she went out with her. She found that the children around her were whispering, and she found that the villagers gave her strange eyes.
Later Xiaomi's parents went to Beijing to work hard. Little corn only knows that Beijing is far away and can be far away from her. Beijing is so big that she can't find her parents anymore. Gradually, the little corn became silent and stopped laughing.
Hearing this, I lit a cigarette, the light went out, and the thin figure of the little corn gradually blurred, and then I seemed to see my son. That boy doesn't live up to expectations. He plays around all day, fights and curses, but he just doesn't make progress. Even so, if anyone touches that mud boy's finger, or he doesn't say a word, I will die. Alas, how can there be parents who don't care about their children? ...
Fortunately, Xiaomi has grandparents to take care of him. When I was a child, Xiaomei didn't know Helen Keller and Hawking, but the hero of the War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression in Grandpa's mouth always encouraged her not to give up no matter how hard it was, let alone roast corn and peanuts. Grandpa could always conjure up all kinds of delicious food from the ground. Grandma will carefully arrange her life and exercise her legs with her. In this way, day after day, in the smell of roasted corn, with grandpa's encouragement and grandma's care, little corn's legs gradually got better, and finally, he could go out by himself.
I lit the cigarette in my hand, but I still smiled. I don't know. I've never been so happy all day today.
When she first came to Beijing, she took a fancy to the roasted corn in my booth. She said that although the taste is different, it is the only connection she can find with her hometown in this city.
The first time she took the subway by herself, the first time she went to the zoo with her friends, and the first time she got her salary, she came to my stall to eat roasted corn. The first time she got lost, the first time she was touched by a thief, and the first time she was scolded by her boss, it was all here.
Little corn said that she is a tea artist now. I can imagine her kneeling in front of the coffee table, making tea: in the smoke, her gentle face like a southern woman looms. The white porcelain cup in her hand is clear and slow to sip, and there is tea fragrance between her lips and teeth. Under the fine products, there must be the fragrance of cooked corn. It must be delicious
When the story is finished, the corn is just finished. As usual, the little corn thanked it gently and disappeared at the end of the alley. I looked at her distant figure for a while, thinking that the corn I entered in the future must be tender, and it would be better if I could get some firewood. ...
Joint essay: Tell a food story and write our own midnight food store activity link: /p/b437542e56fd.