I had a stomachache, so I grabbed a few pairs of herbs, and the casserole I bought at a high price came in handy again. Wipe off the dust, and the shiny black casserole exudes a faint medicinal fragrance. Fill the pot with water, put the medicine on the stove, and turn to medium heat. In my hometown, I used a heating stove to cook porridge, and a delicate casserole cracked, which really hurt me for a while. The year before last, I spent three yuan to buy a sand scoop. Because I didn’t understand the power of natural gas, it was scrapped after the first time I made medicine!
Casseroles cannot withstand high heat. Traditional Chinese medicine also needs to be cooked carefully so that the properties of the medicine can be slowly extracted and used to transform lesions into miraculous things. The process of making soup in a casserole is also a pleasure. Red dates, lotus seeds and longan porridge, pork ribs, angelica and astragalus porridge are nutritious and delicious.
Isn’t our life like making porridge? Simmer and simmer slowly to get the flavor out.
On the second day of the Lunar New Year, I returned to my parents’ home. Before anyone came in, the door came. My son called me grandpa, and there was already a joyful response inside. When we entered, my father had already stood up and his eyes were lined with smiles. The neighbor next to him, Uncle Wang, also stood up quickly and said that your father was just trying to nag you, so you came. Looking at the neatly tidied house, I felt relieved.
The days flow quietly like running water. It has been many years since my mother passed away. I often worried about my father, worried that he would be lonely, worried that he would not live comfortably, and worried that he would become depressed and ill. I remember that when my mother was seriously ill, my father sat on the bedside and helped my mother rub her while secretly wiping away her tears. His reluctance and heartache were deeper and heavier than his daughter's, but he was still strong enough to go to and from get off work, tidy up his house, buy a TV, and feed the puppies and kittens. Every time I went to see him, it was either in a yard filled with chicken coops and dog kennels, or in a dimly lit cabin. There were always people chatting and watching TV with him. They sit around the stove in winter, and each holds a cattail leaf fan in summer. The old stone house blocked the heat outside. They sat casually in ancient postures and talked about some topics unique to farmyards. Occasionally, I would enjoy the cool air and chat with the old man and lady next door under the shade of a tree on the street. The story of the countryside may have been told countless times, but it is always fresh and interesting in their hearts. They never know what boredom and emptiness are all their lives. My father's life was so plain and mellow, like porridge cooked in a casserole.
When I stayed at my sister’s house for a few days, every little thing, like the delicious food cooked slowly over a low fire, often made me sigh.
I remember that dinner was rice and cabbage stir-fried with marinated meat. My brother-in-law picked up a piece of meat and took a bite. He muttered in a low voice: "When I cut it, it was all lean meat. Why is there so much white meat when I stir-fry it?" The remaining white meat was placed in my sister's bowl. The younger sister pretended to be angry as if talking to a child: "Eating some white meat won't help you." After saying that, she picked up a piece of white meat from the plate, bit off the white meat, and gave most of the remaining lean meat to her brother-in-law, who indeed ate it happily like a child. Gotta relish it. I looked at them as if I were seeing an old couple. Thinking back to decades later, when the sun sets, a pair of gray-haired old people rely on each other, what a beautiful scene it will be.
My brother-in-law is a loyal, kind, down-to-earth and hard-working rural boy. My sister is ingenious, tolerant and generous, and manages relationships with neighbors and relatives happily. When they got married, they only had two dilapidated stone houses. Faced with the dilemma of poverty and poverty, they did not blame others. After the child was born, my sister took care of the child, while my brother-in-law spent two years on his own, hacking away at the hillside behind the house with shovels, and built a large base for a spacious house. Today, five or six years later, computers, televisions, refrigerators, washing machines, and solar energy are all coming to life in the hardworking hands of my sister and brother-in-law. Others get married with new houses and new furniture, but they endure it slowly in obscurity, relying on their own sweat to earn a considerable family fortune bit by bit, and win respectability and dignity.
In the early morning, the snow on the mountains outside the window gradually became clearer, and my brother-in-law had already gotten up to cook. Indoor daffodils and begonias are blooming vigorously, and various flowers and plants are full of vitality, such as clivia, green vine, and dripping Guanyin. In the yard, dogs were wagging their tails happily, roosters and hens were crowing in the corner for food, my son and nephew Xinxin were playing with kittens, sheep were bleating outside the wall, and birds were chirping in the trees. . The mountain village has woken up and is boiling. What a prosperous pastoral scene!
The countryside has survived the difficult years, and now it has ample food and clothing. The material life is no less than that in the city. Farmers are moving forward steadily in a peaceful and prosperous situation.
In this way, the true meaning of life lies in cooking, like cooking porridge in a casserole, slowly cooking out the nutrients and taste.
Making porridge in a casserole is so good!