Excellent composition of cooking cigarettes 1 "Look, make your mother happy!" Dad said with a smile.
"Of course, I want to go home!" Mother said with her head held high, her mouth slightly upturned, and her eyes looked out of the window gently.
Mother's home is in a distant mountain, and a distant mountain road has been submerged in the sleeping wasteland. The harsh whistle of the car aroused the dust on the stone bridge and dispersed the silence that belongs here.
When I got off the bus, I put away my coat blown by the morning breeze. At first glance, I saw the wisp of kitchen smoke and the long-awaited rickety figure under it. Smoke is scattered in the blue sky, almost invisible, which is the only gauze that rises in the morning breeze in the village.
The old stove still shows its warmth in grandma's familiar and trembling hands. Like this cracked stove, grandma's wrinkled face was covered.
Sitting in front of the stove, watching the wood burn and turn to ashes, over time, a thick layer of ashes accumulated in the stove. I remember when I was a child, my grandmother made porridge for me with the waste heat from burning ash and charcoal. Rice is mixed with some meat and bones, sprinkled with salt and watered, so it is put in an enamel cup and put into the ashes. In a few hours, there will be such mellow bone soup porridge. How delicious!
"Steve-"
"Hey-coming!"
"I made porridge, come and drink!"
"Oh, bone soup porridge!"
"……"
The fire in the stove chamber is burning more and more brightly, and the crackling sound of bamboo and wood burning keeps ringing. I know that thick smoke is floating out of that square chimney. It will float over the snow-covered mountain top, turn it into nothingness and blend into the blue sky. I know, I don't know how thin and lonely the smoke in grandma's kitchen will become if I avoid it today.
When I thought this way, I immediately ran to the yard and took a photo of my grandmother's kitchen smoke, so that this earthen house, this class of old apricot trees and this grassy hillside set off the kitchen smoke swaying in the wind and rising leisurely, and left it in my memory.
There is a vast grassland in Inner Mongolia, China, where a generation of Tianjiao Genghis Khan and Xiaozhuang Wen Empress were born. Here, there is no noise and prosperity of the city, but more cheerful songs of herders and cheerful calls of livestock. This is my hometown, Horqin, where I grew up. This grassland is the cradle of my soul and an inseparable part of my life.
It's another Spring Festival. So far, I haven't been home for a long time. There are still two days to go on the train home. Every time I go home, my first thought is always the smoke in the kitchen. The smell of cooking smoke in my hometown is more fragrant than rouge gouache. My feelings for this kind of kitchen smoke have to start from my childhood.
My grandfather is a herdsman. When I was a child, he always took me on horseback and put my horse on horseback. He doesn't go home until dusk every day. The dusk on the grassland is very beautiful. The fiery red sun is nestled in the arms of clouds at the moment, which is so cute. There is not only a lovely sun on the horizon, but also a huge burning cloud. At this moment, there is smoke everywhere in the house, and you can smell the smell of smoke from far away. At this time, my full stomach could not resist the temptation of cooking smoke and began to growl. I think this stomach is too easily tempted. Dinner started, and our family sat around and enjoyed the delicious food on the grassland. From then on, in my heart, I think it was my happiest time when Ran Ran rose from the kitchen. However, beauty is always short-lived, and this time passes too fast. In a blink of an eye, I have reached the age of going to school. I left the grassland that raised me and gave me infinite happiness and came to this bustling city. I can't feel the beauty of my hometown here, nor can I feel the care of my family.
Grassland is my home and my cradle. I can't forget the grassland I love, the smoke in my hometown and my roots in the grassland.
Excellent ingredients of cooking smoke 3 leisure and quiet. That represents the quiet beauty of agriculture, and in my heart, that is the smoke curling up.
It is a kind of enjoyment and freedom to watch the smoke from the kitchen rise and disperse.
Then go to the vegetable field to pick vegetables. The air in the mountains is fresh and comfortable. I went home with a basket, and the smoke on the kitchen roof was also rising. From a distance, the smoke is not obvious in the fog, but it is fresh and elegant.
The smoke at noon is different from that at home. The smoke at noon is like an impatient person. Suddenly, a thick smoke rose and dispersed in a hurry. The time was too short for people to remember, but such smoke left people with suspense. What is it like at night?
At dusk, it's time for people to go home, me and me too. Dinner is dinner in western countries. Although lunch is dinner now, the most abundant thing is dinner. After a busy day, the most relaxing moment for farmers is to have dinner with the whole family. Therefore, dinner is generally well prepared, including chicken and duck meat. Although they are not rare, they can better reflect the leisure and simplicity of farm life than rare treasures. Time is the best seasoning to make meat fragrant. If you want to simmer slowly, the smoke in the kitchen will naturally flow forever. I saw the smoke rising slowly in the kitchen, which was a little unstable at first, and then gradually became a bunch. Wang Wei has a poem: The desert is lonely and straight. Smoke is straight, because there are too many impurities and it is heavy, so it is not easy to be blown by the wind. The smoke in the country is straight, I think it is because there is no wind in the mountains and the smoke is very thick. What they carry is the concern of their loved ones going home. Cooking smoke, sunset and dusk, an unpretentious watercolor painting.
So I walked on the field path, listening to the crowing of chickens and dogs, watching the sunset, thinking about the smoke curling up and guarding the small world in my heart.
As dusk approaches, the sky is drizzling. I stood in front of my house, looking at the wisps of kitchen smoke rising in the opposite sky, which touched my memory a long time ago. Many memories have long been dusty, but I have never forgotten the smoke from the kitchen on the chimney, which is the smell of my mother.
In the old village I remember, whether in the morning, noon or evening, white or green smoke floated on the chimneys of every household, especially on rainy days, the smoke would float lightly above the roof and in the sky. The hazy scene described the old village as an elegant ink painting, and I don't know how many neighbors were intoxicated with it and didn't want to leave.
With the progress of the times and technology, the past stoves have evolved into today's induction cookers and gas stoves. It's hard to see kitchen smoke in the village now. It's as beautiful as a ribbon. However, every night, my eyes can't help searching for my mother who worked hard in the kitchen in my memory. My mother wouldn't let me learn to cook at that time. She is always busy in the kitchen alone. Speaking of eating, she always thinks that you can "change" many delicious dishes from the kitchen. After dinner, I can always clean up the dishes and clean the kitchen. At that time, I was very curious about my mother's "magic" Whenever she performs magic, I watch it like a serious audience, but my mother seems afraid that I will "steal her skills" and keep me away from the "stage". But I will also secretly set fire to imitate my mother and reproduce "magic."
One day, I will learn from my mother and be the first one in my life. I turned on the gas stove and boiled water. After a while, the boiling water in the pot came out. I put the rice on the wall of the pot, stir it constantly with chopsticks, and then put it into my favorite dish. After a while, the steam in the pot rang the top of the lid again, and when the lid was opened, it was hot. Oh, dear! You're finished. I can't wait to fill a bowl, ready to taste my first work. Well, it tastes good, but it seems to be far from my mother's cooking, and it doesn't taste warm and happy. Now, I can cook all kinds of dishes, but I only like to cook on the stove, like the smoke from the chimney when cooking, and like to search for my mother's figure in my memory.
The smoke in my heart is the continuation of maternal love. ...