When I see those poems or oil paintings that praise maternal love, I am always moved and a little ashamed.

Because every year when Mother's Day comes, I always want to write something for my mother, but every time my fingers touch the keyboard, I find that the impression my mother left on me is related to three meals a day.

Just like the relationship between trees and soil, mother is closely connected with the kitchen.

My mother’s hands looked like they were used to washing and rinsing. There were scars on them from accidental injuries while chopping vegetables, or from oil splashes while cooking.

The smell of cooking oil on the mother's body seems to never be washed away. This smell is as familiar to the children as the smell of milk when they were babies... For mothers, there is actually no day off.

Going home is just a matter of moving the work place to the stove.

Chef seems to be the second profession of all mothers in the world.

It’s no wonder that when I think of my mother, I naturally see the kitchen in front of my eyes, as well as my mother’s busy back providing three meals a day for the family.

The way my mother expresses her maternal love is to prepare delicious meals for us. When we sincerely praise the taste of a certain dish, she is as happy as if she has been rated as an advanced worker.

The person who understands this most deeply is me who has been away from home all the time.

The annual family vacation turned into a food festival for my mother to show off her cooking skills.

Whenever I come home, my mother will take a good look at me for a while. She is trying to figure out how I am doing outside from my changes in weight and weight.

If I happened to gain weight, it meant that I was living a good life outside. If I lost weight, she would ask if the food outside was bad.

Then I will try my best to prepare delicious "nutritional food" for me during my vacation.

I have no idea what her logic sounds like, but I don’t want her to worry unnecessarily.

I had no choice but to attribute the reason for my weight gain to my not being used to northern food. In the following days, my mother would cook me spicy meals that would make me cry.

I always feel that there is a generation gap with my mother, and sometimes I can’t even communicate.

For example, every time I go home and put down my luggage, I hope to have a good chat with her about my feelings abroad during the past year.

But after my mother helped me put away my luggage, she went straight to the kitchen to get busy... and after a while she brought out a bowl of meat soup for me to fill my stomach with.

I could only wolf down what I wanted to say.

People of my mother's generation have suffered a lot, and the hardships of life have made them pay less attention to spiritual communication. This kind of maternal love is not so much rough as it is a kind of tenacity.

The mother poured her love into the food and tried her best to continue this expression in the next generation.

When the sisters' children arrive, the mother will judge the child's parenting style by the child's fatness and thinness, and then make arrangements to get some food for the children.

Unfortunately, several granddaughters are struggling to lose weight, so the meat that their mother regards as the most nutritious seems to them like a formidable enemy.

A niece once asked me in confusion: "Why does grandma raise her children the same way as feeding pigs, and always feels that fat is the best?" I don't know how to explain the way mothers who have experienced the "meat and vegetable generation" era express maternal love.

I remember that in those days when sweet potatoes and other foods were used to supplement food, my mother used almost all the folk wisdom, boiling, roasting, and drying... My mother's method of changing sweet potatoes into different shapes was almost as good as a magician's.

Looking at the big fish and meat that not many people wanted to touch, I was a little confused like my mother.

How should maternal love be analyzed from a nutritional perspective?

I'm afraid this cannot be explained by nutrition.

Mother stays in the kitchen, maternal love is a delicious meal, so simple and worldly but inseparable.

No matter how simple a porridge or a meal is, we can all get a taste of happiness from it.

The mother in the kitchen is too far from an artistic image.

I am used to eating the food cooked by my mother, and as I grow up, I feel that everything is normal, and my memory is like the smoky kitchen, where it is difficult to find any remarkable light.

My mother once talked about the changes in the kitchen at home for some reason, and we learned that having a good kitchen has always been my mother's greatest desire, but this desire has been ignored... The kitchen of forty years ago was not a kitchen at all.

, it was just an earthen stove built in a corner of the bungalow that was usually used as a dining room, and bundles of chopped firewood and thatch for starting a fire were piled around it.

While my mother was cooking, she had to keep an eye on the fire. From time to time, she would stop and pick up the blowtorch to blow on the stove. It was common for her to become very frustrated.

At that time, my mother could not think of any other way, so she had to cook in this dusty place for twenty years.

In the next few years, I finally switched to a briquette stove, which saved me the trouble of lighting a fire for meals. However, the briquette fire was not strong and slow to heat up. The dishes I wanted to stir-fry often turned into stews, which greatly reduced my mother's cooking skills.

, when there is a festival or a treat, she will still use the earthen stove.

When the eldest sister got married, liquefied gas tanks were used at home. Although carrying the liquefied gas tanks was a physical job, my mother was still very happy. There was no need to light a fire, and everyone was much cleaner every day.

After the fire problem was solved, I felt that there was no dedicated kitchen and the pots and pans were everywhere. Cooking was as difficult as cooking in a snail shell.

My mother said that she had dreamed at that time that she would be satisfied with having a dedicated kitchen in this life.

However, this sounded a bit extravagant at the time, so my mother did not dare to disclose the idea to anyone.

But the development and progress of society are always unexpected. Less than ten years ago, our family also moved into a building with a dining room, living room and kitchen.