One sentence: You eat by yourself, I will go to the banquet...

I rolled my eyes at him, I guess I have never had a banquet in my life. I usually cook for two people, but suddenly it became enough for one person and the whole family was not hungry. I really didn’t control the amount and cooked too much. The remaining noodles had to be put in the refrigerator.

In the evening, the first thing Lao Yang said when he came back was: "Do you have any noodles? Give me another bowl?"

I looked at his face, which was so red from the alcohol. He suddenly felt a little gloating in his heart: "After the banquet, are you still thinking about your home's simple food?"

Lao Yang said softly, "Alas", this life is so miserable, he fell into a bowl of noodles. , No matter how good the banquet is, it is not worth a bowl of noodles at home.

The noodles Lao Yang refers to are the slender noodles he has been eating for decades, commonly known as "sour soup handmade noodles."

To make it more elaborate, use small bowls with a diameter of two or three inches to serve the rice. Each bowl has only one mouthful, which is called "a mouthful of fragrance". The noodles are as thin as silk, as tough as cattails, and smooth and chewy. The soup is clear, the noodles are white, red oil chili peppers, and green vegetables are on top. Just looking at it will make your mouth water.

My mother-in-law’s skill in making handmade noodles is well-known in the village. The noodles are good and the taste is pure. Lao Yang was raised by her skills.

Nowadays, the skill of making long noodles is gradually replaced by the noodle machine. Occasionally, I will make a less authentic one. While "sucking", Lao Yang couldn't help but sigh that the taste of his childhood was too deep in his memory. .

I blame him for being pretentious. Now that he has abundant material resources and eats and drinks so much, he feels that the food no longer tastes good. Lao Yang chuckled, you don't know, the sense of taste is the most loyal guardian of the family. I firmly believe this.

02

On the weekend, the eldest brother called and said he was going back to his hometown, and the whole family got busy in the kitchen.

The whole family knows that he also loves the "handmade noodles in sour soup" made by his mother-in-law.

The one who rolls the dough is of course my mother-in-law. While kneading the dough, she teaches the skills to the juniors: add a small amount of alkaline flour to the dough, make it soft and hard, and then leave it for a while to let the moisture The noodles will be soft and elastic when fully integrated with the flour. The vinegar and chili noodles must be fried in a pan with chopped green onion...

I listened to it while sighing at the kitchen. Hand-in-hand inheritance of skills.

At the dinner table, the eldest brother was eating noodles very loudly. The whole family couldn't help but laugh: "Slow down, there are plenty!" After finishing three large bowls in one breath, he put down his bowls and chopsticks and sighed: "I haven't had the authentic sour soup noodles at home for several years, and now I'm satisfied with my addiction. It's fun!" After saying this, he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Neighbors from the same village who came to visit my eldest brother said jokingly: "You are already a senior official. How come you haven't eaten delicacies such as bird's nest and abalone? Why can't you put down a bowl of noodles at home?"

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The eldest brother said leisurely: "There was a time when the sea was full of water, except for Wushan, it was not clouds. When I was a child, I ate the sour soup noodles at home, and no matter how good the food in the world was, it couldn't compare to it..."

Everyone said He is a down-to-earth brother. No matter how big his official position is or how much money he has, he will be conquered by a bowl of noodles.

This is probably the taste of home. No matter how high you fly, no matter how far you go, there is always a smell that pulls your heart.

03

For me, the flavor that lingers deep in my palate is my mother’s diced meat and potato soup.

Every time I call my mother to tell her that I am going home, my mother will hang up the phone in a hurry: "I will make a group for you."

Mix the group, A local snack, the noodles are poured into a pot and stirred into a strong and soft dough, dipped in juice and eaten with vegetables. Sour, spicy, fresh and fragrant, with a long lasting flavor and refreshing taste. In addition to the dry way of eating it with the sauce above, what my mother is best at is frying a pot of diced meat and potato soup and stirring the soup into dough.

When I left home during the Chinese New Year this year, my mother said, "Please stay one more day. You haven't had enough of the diced meat and potato soup yet."

My nose is sour and my eyes are blinking hard. I am afraid that I will not be able to eat enough in this life, even if there is another life.

I don’t know since when, this taste memory has been deeply implanted in every cell of the taste buds. Whenever I taste the same kind of food, my subconscious will always compare it with the memory of my childhood. Comparing, comparing here and now, the winner must be my mother’s home-cooked taste.

When I grow up, no matter how far my steps are, during the holidays, the memory of my taste buds will always lead me to hurry towards home. Even thousands of mountains and rivers cannot stop me from going home and tasting. Taste my mother's footsteps.

04

I have traveled countless roads, crossed countless rivers, and tasted countless delicious foods. I can’t remember the small river in front of my door, and I can’t speak the dialect of my hometown. , but the taste of home seems to have been engraved in everyone's bones and blended in their blood, and they will touch it inadvertently.

During the Dragon Boat Festival, the jujube and honey rice dumplings made by my mother were full of sweetness and lingered in my heart, making me feel itchy;

New Year’s Eve , the green onion and big meat radish dumplings are on the table again;

It’s April when the sky is high and the clouds are light, and the alfalfa sprouts quietly emerge from the ground. My mother must be carrying a small basket, holding I pick them back one by one with a knife and make a basket full of alfalfa dumplings, pour them with chili vinegar water, and I can eat several bowls in one meal.

And the green onion and mutton buns, the aroma floats far and far...

The homesickness in the book, apart from the mountains and waters of my hometown, I am afraid that the most missed thing is the things at home. My parents and my favorite dish.

No matter how old you are, no matter what you are doing, no matter where you are, my mother will always remember what you love to eat most. With her love, each dish will become delicious over time. My longing for you brings my heart home.

This is a kind of complex. The memory on the taste buds, even if it is simple food, is the best food in the world.

I remember there was a song that sung:

Sending a child away from home with a gentle breeze

Standing at the intersection and looking into the distance

Thick The family affection is fermenting

The taste of mother is combined

The journey home is long for the wanderer

Thousands of rivers and mountains cannot separate us

Your happy smile is familiar The dishes

That’s the taste of mother

I hope every mother in the world is happy and healthy, and that their children will go home to eat the meals you cook.