I was born in a pastoral area. Before the age of eight, Taste Bud remembered the recipes of milk tea, fried rice and braised pork. When it comes to food, my sense of smell will open up quickly, and some pictures will appear in my mind: cow dung mixed in the smoke, ABBA ABBA returning from herding sheep, with a faint smell of mugwort, dry mutton stewed slowly on the fire, and soon the room will be steaming hot, grandma and ABBA drinking tea, talking about sheep and horses, and talking about my growth. ......
If my family hadn't changed when I was eight years old, I thought this was my recipe for coming to earth. Unfortunately, overnight, I was swept to a foreign land like sand and grass. Since then, my recipes and hometown have gradually become the background color in my memory, and will eventually make room for another delicious food!
This dish is called braised noodles!
When I first arrived at school, I lived in anxiety and panic, and I have not been freed from the misfortune of family changes. Every day, I live humbly and cautiously like a silent wind.
My deskmate is a local. At first, she would make fun of my accent and clumsy movements like other students, but since the teacher talked to him, she has taken care of me like a different person. Although he doesn't talk much, he will quietly bring me a cake from home or help me line up for water to fight against my classmates who bully me. But I don't appreciate him at all. I vaguely feel that he also knows the changes in my family, which is a secret and inferiority that I deeply buried in my heart.
Until one weekend, he whispered in my ear that his mother would invite me to his house for dinner! He said the word please intentionally and sincerely. I said yes!
When we went to his house, I saw the fat mother in the distance wearing a green scarf and a water-red coat, leaning against the courtyard wall and looking over here. Seeing me, as if you had known me for a long time, you fondled my head affectionately and said, "Don't die (pitifully), fight for your life (baby), and your aunt will be your mother in the future." What do you want to eat? Aunt will make it for you!
Although she asked for my advice in a consultative tone, she has decided what to cook and firmly told my classmates: Sanerzai, get firewood and let's give Uliji braised noodles!
That was the first time I knew there was a kind of delicious food called braised noodles.
Aunt is the kind of person who goes with the wind. She works neatly and smoothly, and her voice is like singing opera, gongs and drums are loud.
While pretending to blame my classmate, she said, crawling away, meeting, riding, and talking to her son about what happened at home this week. Speaking of happiness, a string of silvery laughter made the bowl seem to resonate.
This is the first time I found that work can be so festive and coherent. Like a skilled floor gymnast, I was dumbfounded. While speaking, I don't know when, I have dug up a bowl of pickled pork and poured it into a heated oil pan, and then I heard a loud crack and a dense sound, a glistening pig that had previously solidified.