Especially when my chopsticks are held high and I don't know what dishes to hold, my mind can't help but see the scene of my grandmother rolling noodles when I was a child, the image of my grandmother grabbing noodles from a bowl with chopsticks, and the comfort when I hold a bowl of noodles in my hand.
I clearly remember that grandma carefully put her hand into the water in the bowl and sprinkled it on the white flour in order to make the noodles delicious. Little water was poured in, and the flour was deliberately mixed hard. As a result, of course, she was too tired to wipe her sweat when she rolled away. At that time, because I was young, I often didn't understand my grandmother. Now think about it, grandma's happiness was actually hidden in that rolling pin at that time. Tired but happy.
When the noodles were rolled up, my mouth was watering, but grandma spread the noodles evenly on the chopping board in no hurry, saying that she would "wake up" and do it later. In today's words, it is called "waking up noodles", which means putting noodles in an unventilated place for a period of time to let gluten play a better role, so that noodles will become soft, increase their toughness and taste good.
At that time, noodles were cooked in a pot in the yard at home, and dry firewood was burned. When the water boils to the bottom, grandma always turns the fire in the furnace to the highest level with a fire stick first. Grandma said that the noodles cooked by fire are delicious, otherwise they will fade if they stay in the pot for too long.
After the cooked noodles floated, grandma took a pair of chopsticks to pull the noodles apart, and sprinkled the prepared amaranth on the bubbling boiling water-sometimes red amaranth, and the soup in the pot turned red instantly, just like pouring red ink into the pot to correct the teacher's homework.
After the noodles are cooked, quickly scoop them into the cold water prepared in advance with a colander, which is usually drawn from the newly hoisted well in the underground well. At that time, my neighbor's cousin happened to have a well, and he sent us a bucket full of cold water. The water is as pure as grandma's heart, and there is a little white smoke floating on the water.
The process of taking the cooked noodles out of the boiling pot and putting them in cold water frightened me when I was a child. I can't understand the huge contrast from hot to cold. If noodles are life, will they laugh or cry, so the delicious feeling like eating meat probably comes from this.
I always feel that every time I eat noodles, I have to wait until I am hungry and drooling. I happily fished out a big bowl, drenched it with garlic juice, balsamic vinegar and sesame sauce, cut the cucumber shreds and whistled (sometimes not). Every time I eat my stomach, I can't eat it, but I want to eat another bowl.
Now living in this kaleidoscope-like gorgeous world, the material is getting richer and richer, but the desire to eat is getting less and less. Every time they order takeout and snail powder, I can't help but think of the noodles cooked by my grandmother. I once owned them, but they were ruthlessly confiscated by the years. ...
(This article was written in July10,20213)