Almost 30 years old, I can't remember when I started eating Guo Qiang noodles. I often eat Anhui noodles, and Lamian Noodles in Lanzhou also eats a bowl from time to time. I am occasionally spicy by Taihe noodles, occasionally by Shanxi noodles, and once or twice by Chongqing noodles. I have eaten so many noodles, but I will never forget the sour soup noodles made by my mother when I was a child.

Noodles are rolled by mother herself. A mass of noodles was quickly rolled as thin as cicada's wings under mother's rolling pin. The dough is rolled out on the rolling pin, and mother gently strokes it from one end of the rolling pin to the other with the tip of a kitchen knife. Several layers of dough were laid flat on the chopping board, and mother skillfully cut the dough into triangles with a knife, commonly known as triangular leaves. The pot was filled with water, and soon the water boiled and the leaves were put into the pot. When the water is boiled for two or three times, add a proper amount of salt. Mother cut the prepared domestic onion into chopped green onion and put it in the pot, put some vinegar brewed from pure grain, put the flour leaves in the bowl filled with soup, take a sesame oil bottle and dip a few drops of sesame oil into the bowl with chopsticks. At that time, I always breathed with my eyes closed and smelled onion, vinegar and more penetrating sesame oil. Today, when I close my eyes, I can still smell the fragrance of a bowl of sour soup noodles, which is still very refreshing.

I vaguely remember that I was weak when I was a child and often caught a cold, especially in winter. Every time I catch a cold, my mother always asks me what I want to eat with concern. I always say "sour noodles and leaves" without thinking.

At that time, my family cooked mainly sweet potato flour and corn flour, and occasionally ate some wheat flour. According to my mother, at that time, our lives depended on grandpa's help. Grandpa dragged people to bring us some steamed buns and a few pounds of good noodles, so that my mother could improve our lives. I don't remember these things because I am young. I just heard my mom say that, and my dad didn't object. In my memory, sour soup noodles and leaves are the most delicious.

In winter, it snows, and the yard, the roof and the trees are covered with snow. An attractive ice flap fell under the eaves of the house, which made the children greedy. In the yard, golden corn grains are scattered on the cleared open space. Sparrows are afraid of being pecked by chickens and geese, and occasionally dive down to peck one. I was wearing thick cotton-padded clothes and trousers, sitting on a small stool, leaning against the door frame, half squinting and enjoying the warm sunshine. When I have a cold, I will have a runny nose from time to time. I will try to suck back the ice petals on the eaves, and so on. Dad is smoking. When I wasn't looking, he held my head in one hand and pinched my nose in the other, and snapped, "Yes!" . The result can be imagined. My nose was painfully twisted by my father's rough thumb and forefinger, and I was scared to tears.

? Near noon, I leaned against the doorframe to keep my son warm, my father leaned against the doorframe on the other side to keep his son warm, reading "Three Heroes and Five Righteousnesses", and my mother cooked lunch alone in the kitchen. After a while, the smell of sour soup leaves came from the kitchen. As far as I can remember, my parents don't eat sour noodles and leaves, but I enjoy this rare delicacy.

When I was in primary school, I was able to help my mother cook. I still often have a cold and a runny nose. Every time I catch a cold, my mother will make me a bowl of sour soup noodles. Only in junior high school did I know that my rhinitis was serious and I was panting when I was running. I suspect that I have pneumonia. In the summer vacation of the first year of normal school, my father said that he would build a new house in order to match me. When building a new house, I will move bricks and tiles and paste whatever I can, because this is my new house. That summer vacation, in addition to building a new house, I always secretly went to the clinic in the nearby village for infusion. I was impressed by the infusion and penicillin for more than ten days every day. After more than ten days, I felt no breathing, no spitting and no runny nose. The doctor said that I am basically well, and I need to take some medicine to consolidate. For more than ten days, my father saw the flaw and asked me what I was doing when I wasn't working. I had to tell him, because I always owed the medical expenses of the clinic, and the doctors in the clinic had a good relationship with my father in private. When dad knew the situation, he blamed himself for telling the past while smoking. Dad said, "You are weak. When your mother was pregnant with you, one of your brothers died. Your brother is very clever and wise. Your mother has been in Lacrimosa almost all the time since your brother died. The day you were born was in the first month. It's very cold. After giving birth to you, the midwife and I just wanted to save your mother. When your mother settled down, I remembered that there was another child, so I put it in my coat and warmed it for a long time. You have come back to life ... "I listened to what my father said, without complaining, but more grateful, because it was not easy for me to survive. Mother heard that I lost blood for more than ten days in a row and shed tears. The next day, my mother caught an old hen that had been raised for two years and made several meals of chicken soup and noodles.

? My parents have always loved me. Maybe they are making up for something. A bowl of sour soup noodles is full of strong fatherly love. After I get married, my wife and children like to eat my mother's steamed buns. She often steamed them, so people can take them to the county seat. My brother and sister-in-law also complained about my parents' partiality to me, but I never took it for granted that my parents gave me all this.

? I haven't eaten my mother's rolled noodles for many years. A bowl of sour soup noodles treasured in my memory can also smell attractive onion vinegar through the kitchen window lattice and through the alley mouth, as well as the smell of dipping a few drops of sesame oil with chopsticks.