it's hard for me to find out what breakfast is before I walk out of the mountain. Because I have been eating white rice, and the morning meal is the most important. It often takes more than an hour to take care of it carefully, starting with picking vegetables and fruits under the dew in the morning, picking and washing them after returning home, and then making a fire to plant rice. The hearth was red, and the dark ash under the pot lit up.

Wash rice and wash sand. Bend down quickly and look at the firewood in the stove chamber. Before it goes out, put a hard branch in it to make it burn more vigorously and longer. Hands must not be empty, scoop a pot of water and rice. I only heard the cracked branches burning "thunderbolt", and the kitchen knife in my hand kept rushing back with my fingers, and a dish was cut.

when cooking, people often don't bother you. Because the family members have their own affairs, when the morning sun is soft, when the family members mow the grass, cut the wheat, dig the seedlings, carry water and fertilize; Children get up early to graze sheep and cattle, because the tender grass under the dew can nourish strong livestock.

People who cook don't want anyone to get in the way in their own territory. Most firewood stoves are in a corner, lying quietly in the old days, kindly spitting fireworks. Rice grains, when boiled and blossomed, began to hug into a basket, filtering out white rice, which was delicious. The milk-like rice soup makes people want to lick a few mouthfuls. My father said it is worth a bottle of glucose.

The cut vegetables were impatient, and the quick "chef" quickly cleaned up the residual sand and rice in the pot. The bursting sound of peanut oil is longer and more rhythmic than that of dry wood. Mountain people are used to peanut oil or tea oil, unlike people in plain land who like to eat rapeseed oil. They think rapeseed oil has a strange smell, and the fried vegetables naturally turn yellow.

when all the dishes are fried, the rice in the basket is filtered to the brim. It was just a prelude to steamed rice. It was piled up into hills along the shape of the pot, sprinkled with proper amount of clean water, and poked with chopsticks for more than a dozen holes as gas holes. A small fire slowly roasts, and a pungent smell of coke comes to the nose. The crispy rice is made.

the whole family will go home and have breakfast (meal) at the sound of shouting, or in the middle of the morning. This is the most beautiful beginning, the sunshine is charming, the morning breeze is gentle, the sheep are licking chickens, and the grass leaves are stretching. When you are full, you will have the strength to go up and down the mountain. One day, you can't live without a good breakfast.

compared with it, lunch is much inferior. Because at noon, I mostly eat the rice left over in the morning, just adding a few cooked dishes. Not to mention dinner, noodles and porridge, and barely satisfy the hunger.

decades are like a day. My mother has just been taken to the city by me, just like I live in a classmate's house. I was surprised that breakfast was so humble that I didn't have the strength to roll my sleeves at all. In the mountains, there is the beauty of mountain people. Breakfast is worshipped like a mountain god, and Chen Ji never forgets to go home, leaving the gate with a strong face and waving a solid arm brightly.

I'm getting used to the lifestyle that I don't ask for directly from nature. Cities, markets built on the fruits of labor, we can exchange and survive. I have met more strangers, but I have never known them. Without the affection of the land, the gaze of trees and the whispering of flowers and plants.

mother became silent. I cooked breakfast for her in a different way, so I bought a big bowl for fear of not having enough to eat. Eating everything is like eating nothing. The accustomed stomach has long ignored the call of the city. I know best in my heart that they don't like the loafers in the market with fried dough sticks and soy milk. The innate call is the feeling of the land. Although the reinforced concrete is as clean as new, it can't always separate the aura of the earth.

Handwork has become more intimate. I went to the supermarket and bought a rolling pin, mixed with white flour, without water, because it didn't taste like mountain spring, but the strength of eggs was like the old noodles at home. The thinner the roll, the more sweat spilled on my arm, and I found that I was no longer immature, and I wouldn't wave my little hands mischievously. Mother smiled at the side.

it doesn't matter what you eat, that sense of ceremony is more satisfying. Handmade noodles over and over again, just like opening dusty pages, memory is released. Mother smiled and sat up. She liked watching me prepare breakfast. It took a whole hour.

I have no firewood, and I can't find the big blame at home. Only picked up that persistence and served devoutly, just like treating a mountain. Breakfast is not simple.

Being too busy at work often keeps me awake at night. After washing in the morning, I forgot to shake hands with Chaoyang in a hurry, let alone nod with a smile to the flowers and trees on the roadside. For me, everything is turned a blind eye, but time is green. In fact, the morning dew has already evaporated, and it is not as optimistic as my hometown people think. Mother, already standing by the windowsill, pays attention to my distant back. She said, I'm a different person and she doesn't know me.

I ask myself and look back. My mother stared at me, expecting a child who had done something wrong. One day, I slowed down and made noodles seriously. She said, it's very simple. Breakfast is not complicated.

perhaps, you can't see office workers rolling their sleeves and trousers in the city. In fact, they are not only burdened with the pounding of the earth, but more importantly, they are torn and rubbed with the sun and the moon, lingering in time, and they are stripped of their cocoons in the chaos of the brain.

As the days passed, my mother became familiar with this place. The territory for which a child struggles and does not hesitate to be young is crowded with people and traffic. The simplified life frees up more time for people. Some people stroll, some people sprint, some people are feasting, and some people dance in the square dance.

familiar street corners, vegetable markets and street vendors have all become good places for her to strike up a conversation. I quietly withdrew from the breakfast market, and my mother began to cook, just like when I was a child. Everything is new to her. I learned how to cook rice cookers, started gas cookers, and displayed miscellaneous grains as hemp soup ... Fortunately, my mother could read many small tadpole characters.

slowly, life is no longer monotonous. Starting from my mother, I held a long scroll, put on reading glasses, and carefully studied all kinds of food and beverage collocation and nutrition. From Regan Noodles in Wuhan, Old Wonton in Shanghai ... to Zhajiang Noodles in Taiwan Province, she tried hard. A few years later, I dubbed him "breakfast expert". She laughed and said that there is a specialization in the art!

after I married and had children, my mother still lived with me. Her change has always been amazing. I don't know when, but she has started browsing the computer, looking up books and shopping, and sorting out information and documents. It is not inferior to what young people do.

after breakfast, it is inevitable to ask questions again and again. She always laughs and says that there will be progress if there is demand. It turned out that she took great pains to let me have a good breakfast. First, I started with the operation of mobile phones, became familiar with the chat tools of electronic products, and then browsed the web. Using a computer is a matter of course. Literacy is the root.

I looked at the night sky with tears in my eyes. It is life that has aged her a lot, while culture has enabled her to see the light of day and not be forgotten. After knowing what's on my mind, stand beside me and say with a smile, silly child, children under the stars won't cry.

yes. Mother always said that people have to face the reality bravely and never retreat from their dreams. She told me that the hardships of life are only physical trampling, and the lack of spirit is really the depreciation of life.

Since night school, she has been very serious. Although she has never been to school, she will never give up studying. The good things you learn will come in handy one day. I only saw her working day and night, but I never saw her reading the dictionary and homework on my desk in the dead of night.

progress can only be made if there is demand. Breakfast is never just the beginning, because it is serious, so it is full of positive energy all day.

In my small family life, children like grandma. Not only is breakfast delicious, but there are endless stories. The wife loves her, and after breakfast, she spits at each other.

in her spare time, my mother likes to sit still. I know she is thinking about what to do for breakfast tomorrow. The wife said, do it with your heart and everything will be fine!