It was more than twenty years ago that my father entered the kitchen.

At that time, because I was studying, my family moved from the town to the city. After my mother entered the city hospital, she was busy with her work. Later, when she became a leader, she had less time to do housework. So, the kitchen at home was handed over to my father. Father, at first, he was a little reluctant. There is a saying here, "The more men become women, the poorer they become". Father thinks that cooking is a woman's job, but if he can't beat his mother, he will have to shoulder the heavy burden.

Father comes from a family of calligraphy and painting. Letting him write and draw is his strong point, but when it comes to cooking, it's a bit difficult. At first, the sliced potato chips were either too thin or too thick; The cut meat is always attached to the ribs, like a string of firecrackers; Fry an egg, either burnt or burnt; Sometimes it is often cut by a kitchen knife; I'm as busy as a bee when cooking. The oil smoke in the pot is curling up, and the food on my hand has not been cut. My mother was born in the countryside and has been helping with housework since she was three years old. She is an expert in cooking and has a bad temper, so she often blames him for it. My father is calm, never talks back or gets angry. He humbly asked his mother for advice, and it didn't take long for his father to practice cooking.

Since then, the kitchen has become my father's territory, frying, frying, stewing and cooking, and my father is all fine. Every time I cook, my father is no longer in a hurry as before and suffers from the smell of smoke. Perhaps, the progress of cooking; Perhaps, everyone's praise; Father, he is cooking more and more carefully. Less than a few square meters, the long and narrow kitchen room was actually well managed by him. The floor and walls were specially tiled by my father; The ceiling is also hung by friends; The stove is marble; Even the range hood, because of anti-fume, dad specially put a layer of plastic wrap on the oil spill; My father also made a three-layer knife and bowl rack by the sink. Every time I finish frying vegetables, my father will clean the floor, walls, stoves, doors and windows with detergent and water. Every year after the rainy season, my father will give the kitchen a big cleaning, disinfection, pest control, sorting pots and pans, and often soak his hands in disinfectant all day. However, my father never complains.

Father is not good at words and never argues with others. Since he learned to cook, cooking has become his language. He knows I love lotus root. Every autumn and winter, he will pay attention to the vendors selling lotus seeds and lotus root sections on the street, buy some happily, peel off fresh lotus seeds at home, wash the lotus root sections with thick arms and some wet pond mud, cut them into pieces with a kitchen knife, then add lotus seeds and big bones, add some seasoning and a small piece of ginger and stew them. This soup is the most exquisite. Stew for at least two hours. After boiling, the lotus root fragrance in the room makes people salivate. On the table, lotus root slices and meat slices are all delicious. Put a lotus root in your mouth, and it will break and rustle like incense. I am a person who can't even recite solar terms, but because of my father's dishes, I remember the four seasons. Eat leeks in spring, melons in summer, fish heads in autumn and lotus roots in winter. My father cares about me in his way, and the seasons cycle.

In 2005, grandparents were seriously ill at the same time, and both aunts were very busy at work, and no one took care of the elderly. My mother advised my father to quit his job and go home. At that time, my father worked as an accountant in a friend's factory. Although his income and social status are not as good as his mother's, at least he has a stable job. Father, for this reason, thought for a long time. I think it must have occurred to him that if he quit this job, he might never find a good job again. However, after two weeks of psychological struggle, my father decided to give up his job and become the silent backing of this family. Grandparents, living in mom's hospital, are finally under control, but the food in the hospital is very boring. So, I have no time because I have to take care of my grandparents during the day. Dad gets up early every day, buys food and chooses vegetables, and makes breakfast and lunch for them. Grandpa likes to drink soybean milk. Father always soaks beans in advance and polishes them with a soymilk machine. In order to increase nutrition, he will add a few peanuts, red dates, half a spoonful of sesame seeds and a few petals of walnuts when making soybean milk. As for lunch, I even thought about changing the main ingredients. During that time, I even had the illusion that my father was a magician and the kitchen was his magic box. Among them, various delicacies are constantly made, such as stewed chicken with mushrooms, pigeon with fresh soup, old duck with cordyceps sinensis, tofu fish head, boiled beef brisket, braised pork bones, stewed eggs with loach and eel slices crossing the bridge.

In recent years, my father's health is not as good as before. Due to long-term fatigue, his right foot is seriously waterlogged. My wife can't bear his hard work, and she usually struggles to cook with him. At this time, he always said, young man, business is very important. I'll cook. Of course, his wife won't let him work so hard again. However, on holidays, dad will still seize the leadership of the kitchen! At this time, we always say, let's go to a restaurant for dinner. Father, will murmur, that is more expensive, the home is well burned and can afford it! Because there are many relatives, my father often has to handle two or three tables of food and wine by himself. At this time, he always prepares two weeks in advance and fills the refrigerator. At dinner parties, my wife and I sit at the dining table and have dinner with relatives, while my father is always busy in the kitchen. We're a little sorry. When we want to help, my father always says, I'm not hungry. Go and stay with the guests. Every year, the table is full until relatives can't eat any more. As long as any relative says "well, it's really delicious", dad will be very satisfied and embarrassed to say "wherever, help yourself." In fact, I know that my father is never casual, and he will look through the recipes in advance for what dishes are matched with what colors. Looking at the little flowers carved by dad with carrots on the plate, I can't help but feel a different taste.

Father regards cooking as his dream. In order to let my mother work with peace of mind, my father, as a man, took on all the affairs in the kitchen; In order to make grandparents recover soon, my father gave up his job and turned the kitchen into a magic box. In order to make my wife and I successful, my father ignored his health and took care of the children while cooking. I don't know how my father's dream faded away in the kitchen life day after day. Once I asked him if he had a dream. He said he wanted to be a painter, or at least a successful person. But now, he has wasted his dream on worrying and trivial cooking.

Look, that little flower my father carved with carrots. It suddenly occurred to me that I was not carefully carved by my father with his kitchen knife and years.