In the ordinary daily life, we all often come into contact with the composition, right? Composition is a way of narrative in which people express in written form the relevant knowledge, experience and ideas stored in their memory. I believe that many people will find it difficult to write essays, the following is my carefully organized memory of the food essay, just for reference, I hope to help you.
I loved eating cinnamon lotus root in my childhood, a plate of cinnamon lotus root, steamed pink with light purple lotus root slices on a white porcelain plate. The holes in the lotus root are filled with soft glutinous rice, and the porcelain plate is dripping with golden, wrapped in a few petals of osmanthus honey, use chopsticks to gently pick up a piece, you will see thin threads from the lotus root slices are elongated, dripping with sweet osmanthus honey.
Children love to eat sweet and soft things, and I am no exception. If I came home from school and smelled the sweetness in the air, I would have cheered with joy.
Later, as I grew older, the heavy schoolwork brought me to my grandmother's house, which was closer to the school. Grandma was a native of the north, used to the sand and rainstorms of the northwest all her life, and always spoke and acted with an eye-opening competence.
But she can't do cinnamon root.
This should belong to the Jiangnan water town, with the sweet and sticky Huainan flavor of the dish, Grandma had not eaten, more did not do.
The day-to-day study also made me gradually forget the sweet taste of childhood lingering in the nostrils and corners of the mouth, until that day.
An ordinary afternoon, I pushed open the door of my grandmother's house, that light, familiar sweetness into my nose again. I was so energized that I left my bag and went straight to the kitchen. Sure enough, my grandmother was turning her back to me, her short body busy back and forth, with a jar of cinnamon honey by her hand.
"I know you like it, and I've always wanted to learn how to make it for you. I don't know how this first finished product will taste. Come and taste it!" Grandma waved her hand happily in greeting when she saw me. She smiled so kindly and amiably that even the smile lines at the corners of her eyes glowed with essence.
I stared with wide eyes, grabbed the chopsticks and couldn't wait to taste a piece. When I looked at my grandmother's eyes, a faint light burst out of those weathered, cloudy eyes again - a kind of satisfaction and happiness that arose after seeing my satisfied and happy facial expression.
I am happy so she is happy.
I almost did not want to swallow that piece of lotus root in one breath, had to taste it slowly and carefully, had to experience every bit of love and care wrapped in that sweetness. The analyzed strands of love and care in the tip of my heart to merge, forming a torrent enough to let me wander in.
The aftertaste of that plate of osmanthus root lingered in my heart for a long time, making me feel the sweetness truly. It was a sweetness that would not dissipate with time, the deepest sweetness. That is from my grandmother's love.
The food in my memory essay 2There is a food in my memory, which makes me recall a lot of memories, and that is the traditional food of Dongguan - oil angle.
Oil horn is a delicacy that we Dongguan people make at New Year. It looks like a golden-colored Yuanbao, crispy outside and inside, which makes people salivate at the sight of it.
The process of making the oil horn is very strict, and it is a test of skill and experience.
My grandmother and I started to make oil angle, first of all, get two groups of flour, one is made of lard kneading flour, one is made of water kneading flour, and so on the two groups of flour kneading, and then the two groups of flour mixed together, so that the oil angle is more crispy. Then the filling is made. The filling has fine granulated sugar, full peanuts, and sometimes sesame seeds and shredded coconut, which makes the flavor tastier and goes harmoniously together. Then one by one, the crusts are wrapped with the filling. This last step is also the most crucial one, which is deep frying in a pan. Start by pouring enough peanut oil into the pot and turn on the heat until it boils, then you can put in the oil horns. I watched my grandmother skillfully put the oil horns into the frying pan one by one, and there was no oil explosion in the frying pan when I put them in, so I could see that she was an old hand at it. "At first, the oil horn will sink, but as time goes by, when it is almost fried, it will float up. In the process of frying, you have to keep turning them over, so that the fried oil horn is not only of good quality, but also means that the wealth is rolling in. When the oil horns turn golden brown, you can fish them out and wait for them to cool, then you can taste them." Grandma told me how to make the oil horn while she was doing it.
When you see a "bright golden" oil angle in front of you, it really looks like a small wallet! I'm not sure if you're going to be able to get a good look at this, but I'm sure you're going to be able to get a good look at this. I said, holding a golden oil horn.
This simple, ordinary delicacy is still sought after and loved by people, taste a small oil horn, the strong flavor of the year will ripple in the heart, this is my memory of that hometown food - golden horn
Memory of food essay 3The south eats rice, the north eats noodles. Since I was a child living in my grandmother's house, I was in the corn cobs and sorghum flour fed, but since childhood, I am partial to rice, more interested in the white, soft, fat bite on the teeth will become increasingly sweet rice.
But that was in the north! Two bags of rice cost almost enough to buy three bags of white flour. So, rice is only eaten on important days. For example, when we invited guests, relatives and so on. At that time, my aunt would wash the rice, buy vegetables, and make a good meal. Although it was a good meal, it was nothing more than cabbage stew with vermicelli, with the occasional addition of a plate of cut sausage, which was a pleasant surprise. But the cut sausage is uncle, grandpa and guests with wine. So can not eat more, a bowl of rice only three or five slices only, but my brother and I do not relent, have to secretly clip a few more slices. In the end, often grandpa smiling sip of wine, and then give my brother and I each pinch two slices of sausage, and finally be aunt kicked off the dinner table. The aunt would kick us off the table and scold us with a few words, "You're so greedy! If you keep eating, how will the adults drink?" And we just smiled and looked at each other, put on the bowl and walked to the yard, sat on the steps, slowly enjoy our lunch.
I can't forget that scene, the sky was blue that day, the kind of light blue that is extremely clean and transparent. My brother and I were sitting on the stone mill under the old acacia tree. The wind blew, white acacia flowers fell a few, the fragrance of the shallow flowers accompanied by the fragrance of the soil and the taste of the sun, my brother and I ate very slowly, very slowly, carefully bite a small mouthful of sausage, so that the sweet aroma of the sausage and vinegar shallow sourness in the mouth to diffuse open, and then ate a large mouthful of rice to neutralize the taste, in order to enjoy the sausage more long road, we will first eat the rice, and then finally ate the sausage! We often have to eat a lot of white rice as a result, but we eat it with gusto as it gets sweeter and sweeter in our mouths.
Now, I don't have to be so careful about saving food because there is more food than rice. There are not only sausages, but fish, shrimp, and more. But I no longer eat the flavor of that time, and then not so happy, rice can no longer eat the sweet taste, because the mouth of all kinds of flavors is too much, too strong, strong against the sweetness of the already unremarkable.
That kind of flavor, only in my memory, and will not appear on the taste buds again.
The memory of the food essay 4
New Village, this place, food is everywhere, not only the sweet and delicious Italian sugar water, but also the original flavor of the characteristics of the rotting bamboo ah what. Although this has been no food festival, but the food here and endless.
I am most familiar with is the rotten bamboo, because in the past, my friend's home opposite is an old tradition of making rotten bamboo, every day in the open space next to that, every day to see that old grandfather to do, that the rotten bamboo is very good, even Hong Kong TVB have been there to shoot a program it!
Speaking of the production process, it is handmade. Because it's handmade, it doesn't have a lot of preservatives and chemicals like factories do, so it's safe to eat and tastes a lot more natural.
There are four pots there, under the pot is burning firewood, visible is really old tradition, the pot is soybean milk, pots are equipped with fans.
The soymilk there is also original and handmade. Soybeans are soaked, peeled, ground, and then water is added to make the milk. When the hot soybean milk is under the action of the fan, the surface of the soybean milk will have a visible layer of yellowish stuff, which looks and feels like a soft paper, that is the predecessor of roti. There are many ways to make rotis, but the general situation is that the maker will use a carving knife to first cut it from the center of that soft skin, in a round pan, after cutting it is half round.
Then the maker will skillfully pick her up from the most appropriate place and hang her on the bamboo that has been prepared above. Because there are several pots, this pot picking finished, and can go to pick another pot, after picking four pots, the first pot and floating bamboo. When the bamboo hangs full, it will be taken out to the sun, after a few days, it will become a really good roti.
The new village roti, called the roti in the best of the best, known far and near, so the morning will be a lot of people are specially come to buy roti, far and near there.
The production of roti, not only can sell roti, but also can sell soybean milk it! It's really two birds with one stone!
The rotis of the new village are really worth savoring!
In this world, there are countless mouth-watering delicacies, and the one that most tantalizes my taste buds is the dumpling.
Dumplings, I believe we are not unfamiliar, after all, is a household name "food". It is an indispensable food for every Chinese New Year, and it is also the food that many poor people dream of, and it makes us feel the warmth of existence.
I remember last year on the 30th, according to the custom of my hometown, every family needs to get their hands on dumplings, and my family is no exception. On this day, the grandmother got up early to prepare the ingredients for the dumpling filling, the grandmother put all the ingredients into a large bowl, which of course, there is the essential pork, but also my favorite, put them all into the bowl, put on gloves, stirring, only to see them leisurely enjoy a free massage, but they do not know that the danger is about to come. I just hear the "bang bang bang" on the plate, I can think of the scene they are facing the grandmother's sanctions, just take a kitchen knife in their body cut one after another mouth. I think of this, I really feel sorry for them.
After a while, the grandmother began and noodles, the noodles after a pair of grandmother's hands, become more strong, soft, soft like a newborn baby's face. After the noodles and good, began to roll out the dumpling skin, this time I volunteered to participate in it, only to see me take the rolling pin is a stick, should be the disobedience of the dough beaten into submission. Then, I pulled a ball of dough, put on the clean plate, pick up the "massage instrument" for it "service", it pressed the comfortable, in addition to a gift it a rich feast, let it eat a meal, it is simply five-star hotel treatment.
But they do not know, their final fate is still in the hot water boiling, and finally end of life. When the dumplings were served, the heat steamed my `face red, and taking a bite made my taste buds satisfied like never before.
Dumplings, a happy food, and full of love, make me unforgettable for a long time.
I remember when I was a kid, every weekend I would follow my dad to patronize the breakfast store next to the vegetable market, and the shiny noodles and the deep-fried doughnuts were my childhood memories.
Early in the morning, my father and I came to the quaint breakfast store, the owner has fried the first pot of doughnuts, wooden stools and wooden tables are slightly old, a few dusty fans shaking their heads. Just as I was looking up at the owner of the store, two bowls of steaming hot noodles were brought up.
Dad carefully used chopsticks to turn up the bottom of the noodles, the aroma of lard mixed with fresh soy sauce, and on top of a few green onions, so that people's appetite. Once in the mouth, first feel a little greasy, after the soy sauce salty flavor and the fragrance of small onions will stimulate every taste buds on the tongue and every olfactory cell in the nose, **** the same into the brain, only produced two words "delicious".
Eating the fragrant noodles, the shopkeeper's action of deep-frying again attracted me, and I still remember it vividly. I saw him roll a dough into strips, and then cut the dough into many pieces with a knife. He grabbed a handful of white flour, like snow evenly sprinkled, and then threw up the dough like a chef, and then "snap" fell on the table, and then stacked two pieces of dough together, with a small bamboo stick in the middle of the pressure, and will soon be in the frying pan, I saw him pick up the dough, in the air, quickly stretched, and then put into the frying pan. Then he put it into the frying pan again. At that moment, he picked up a pair of chopsticks longer than my arm and kept rolling the doughnut in the frying pan. The color of the fritters gradually changed from white to yellow, and finally became as yellow as gold. Just as I was watching, the golden fritters were already on the table, and the oil on them was still dripping down. A bite, the crunchy and delicious feeling is unparalleled.
Time flies, in a flash, the breakfast store has disappeared along with the food court, but the aroma of the mixing noodles and golden doughnuts, although other stores still have, but that simple flavor is gone, leaving only the faint memory.
The wind is blowing gently, and my thoughts are drifting back to the days when I was still in elementary school, when I was walking through my childhood with my grandmother.
As far as I can remember, my grandmother was not a good cook. She didn't cook much, only stir-frying, steaming, boiling and so on, but she still changed the pattern for me. That's why every meal I had as a child was different from others. But I still enjoyed it.
The songbirds were singing loudly in the trees on a hot afternoon. At six years old, I was already in kindergarten, and it was hard to look forward to summer vacation, but there was still homework. But after all, I was young, and naturally there wasn't much homework. It didn't take long for me to throw down my homework and go crazy with my peers. The first thing I'd like to say is that I don't want to be a part of it, but I'd like to be a part of it.
When I got home, my grandmother came over to me with a small bowl, and I don't remember what she said, except that I took a sip and spit it out. Because it was tasteless and tasteless, then only like to eat sugar or sweet things, so the taste of the green bean soup, is the most disgusting flavor of my childhood.
Years later, I gradually grew up, the bowl of green bean soup has been forgotten.
This is the first time I've ever seen a woman with a baby in her arms, and I've never seen one.
It was also a summer, a particularly hot summer. The cicadas were still singing tirelessly in the trees. The season hasn't changed, the cicadas haven't changed, and it's become the vicissitudes of the years. My grandmother's gray hairs have increased, and I've grown up, and I have more homework. Nine-year-old me is writing homework hot wind blowing, can not help but let is writing homework I am bored. I do not know from when, grandmother has been behind me, shaking the fan for me.
I was still sweating, and I knew my grandmother had seen it. She got up and went to the kitchen. A short while later, she came over carefully with a bowl. She said, "Take a break." After saying that, she handed the bowl to me, and I took a sip from my grandmother's bowl, and a refreshing aroma spread through my mouth. I exclaimed, "Green bean soup." Grandmother smiled and nodded. This flavor opened the door to my memory, and I was then reminded of that most hated flavor of my childhood, as well as childish children's songs.
This hot summer, I actually like the most hated childhood green bean soup, and the childhood disgust has completely disappeared.
The years are merciless, often in our unconsciousness slipped away. Like water also years, such years can not withstand our carelessness. Mung bean soup is sweet, strong affection flows in my heart.
Grandmother's dumplings, thin skin with a lot of filling, and will not be like other such dumplings, hold up large, and will cook. Grandma's dumplings, white, chubby, like a fat doll lying quietly, looking very appetizing.
Grandma was in her eighties and still very healthy. Her specialty was dumplings. She often wrapped her own dumplings, and she said that the dumplings wrapped by other people were only made to be eaten without regard to their appearance, which made people look unappetizing.
Every time my grandmother wrapped the dumplings, I followed her around, and she didn't mind me, letting me help her with the noodles and chopsticks. When the wrapping was finished, those huge dumplings were arranged on the curtain like a fruit plate. Put firewood, light the fire, holding a fan in your hand and gently shaking it, the reddish fire burned up in the firewood, and occasionally a few grains of corn "exploded" in the fire, puffing loudly. Fried corn kernels, like popcorn, not long, a few wisps of heat from the pot out of the head, so that the dry pot bared, the water whistling. Every once in a while, my grandmother would run a slotted spoon backwards into the pot to prevent the dumplings from staining the bottom of the pot. When the water was about to boil and the dumplings were not yet cooked, my grandmother would add two bowls of cold water to the pot. When the dumplings were cooked, the room was full of water vapor, as if I was in the sky, surrounded by clouds, grandmother asked me to squat down and look, I did, it turned out that these white air are floating above. I stared at this beauty, grandmother looked at my silly look, also laughed.
When the fire was almost finished, my grandmother would take a big washed pot and put the dumplings in it with a colander. Full of dumplings, steaming hot, a pearl in the basin, shining brightly, Grandmother smiled and put the basin on the table, greeting us to eat.
Grandma's dumplings were unique, and they accompanied me throughout my childhood. So whenever I make dumplings at home, I think of my grandmother's dumplings, and my grandmother.
The first food that impressed me was the donkey rolls that I ate in the compound when I was a child.
The uncle who sells "donkey rolls" often wears a white coat and pushes a wheelbarrow with a big red signboard around the compound. He was gentle, smiling, someone patronized, immediately like a magic trick, from the tiger's mouth to squeeze out a small ball, rolled on a thick soybean powder, and then into the box handed to the customer.
"Donkey roll" taste sweet, sticky, but not greasy, and not very sticky teeth. One bite, a flavor spread in the mouth, with a little bit of bean smell. I always pestered my grandfather to buy them for me, especially in the morning, if I can eat a box of steaming hot "donkey rolls" with the same warm sweet soybean milk, in addition to the hidden danger of growing cavities, it is almost a perfect breakfast.
I moved out of the compound to Changsha when I was in elementary school. The food I remember fondly from that time is the egg fried rice made by my grandfather, who gave up his leisurely retirement life to accompany me to Changsha.
The white rice with eggs, sometimes with a few ham sausages, stir-fried together, but no lack of flavor. The snow-white rice dotted with yellow eggs, very attractive, a little bit of oil on the rice, it is very appetizing. For a while, I ate Grandpa's fried rice almost every day, and I never got tired of eating it. Probably all the food that is poured into the emotion, no matter how it will not let people get tired of it.
In junior high school, the academic burden increased, I began to boarding, can only go home on weekends. At that time, the food I missed the most was Grandpa's famous beer duck.
Beer duck, as the name suggests, is to add beer when cooking fried duck, so that the flavor is more layered.
When my grandfather made beer duck, he used to put in red chili, garlic cloves, green onion knots, ginger slices, plus the unique salty sauce of his hometown, which is really a kind of home flavor. The duck is black after frying, the aroma is strong, attractive to the extreme. Every time I eat beer duck, I first nibble on the wings and legs, then the neck and rack, and finally even the chili peppers and other ingredients, which can be eaten with three bowls of white rice. The next morning, Grandpa will also use the leftover soup to cook me a bowl of rice noodles ...... I can not recall, the mouth is going to flow out!
As a typical "foodie", since childhood, I have eaten countless food. The most unforgettable food is the snacks and simple home-cooked dishes that I ate in my childhood!