I grew up in my grandmother's house, and the food in my memory always smells like my grandmother.

Grandma has a kitchenware, which she said she bought in her fifties and has been used for more than twenty years. The bottom of the pan is supported by three legs, and the pan surface is arched, which can be used for frying various foods. Loofah is filtered into filaments in advance, pepper is ground, fine foam is taken and mixed with flour, then two eggs are beaten, water and salt are added and stirred into paste, or water and saccharin are added to corn flour. Put it in a high temperature place and ferment it for one night under the action of oxygen and microorganisms, and you can smell the sour taste of yeast the next day. Scoop a spoonful with a spoon and pour it along the top of the pot surface. The arched structure makes the pasty spaghetti evenly spread over the whole pot surface and fried on both sides, which is definitely much more delicious than the electric baking pan now.

Pepper is salty, dip it in vinegar and eat five. The burrito that just came out of the pot is steaming. Sprinkle a layer of sugar on it while it is hot. Sugar melts into sugar water, rolls it up and eats it, which is sweet. Or when the pancakes are dry, put them on the fire when you want to eat them. It naturally curls after heating, and some side dishes are wrapped in the middle, which is crisp and delicious.

Besides, grandma likes cooking porridge. Grandma always points to the old casserole that cooks porridge at home and tells me: this pot is as old as you. Then slowly tell me the story of casserole.

When my mother raised me, I had a caesarean section. After the operation, the wound can't heal. I gnash my teeth every day and can't eat. Grandma goes to buy casserole to cook porridge for her mother every day. In this way, relying on the porridge cooked by my grandmother, my mother was able to support herself, and the wound slowly healed and was fattened in vain.

Perhaps because I grew up drinking porridge, I especially liked it later, especially the porridge cooked by my grandmother. My grandmother cooks porridge for me every afternoon during my winter and summer vacation.

Grandma's porridge is different from others. Others always wash some soybeans and cook them in a pot. Grandma goes to cook a pot of porridge slowly.

Put the next bucket of rice and a little red beans in a casserole, add half a spoonful of water and bring to a boil. When the water boils, add half a spoonful of water, cool and continue to boil over high fire. This is repeated for five or six times until the essence of red beans is completely melted into the soup. Finally, add some red dates, close the lid and bring the pot to a boil. Open the lid, the color is attractive, and the aroma of red dates is coming. Drink in your mouth, the soup is rich, and the heating flows all over your body.

When I was a child, I ate pancakes cooked by my grandmother, drank porridge cooked by my grandmother, and sat on a bench with bluestone tiles. The air is full of the smell of food. The setting sun fills the courtyard and shines on our faces, smiling at each other, thinking about it is always warm.

Later, when I was studying abroad, I was used to eating all kinds of delicious food, only to find that my eating habits gradually followed my grandmother. I don't avoid food, but I don't like eating big fish and meat. I like sweets and porridge. No matter whether I drink all kinds of fancy health porridge outside, I always have a soft spot for grandma's simple bowl of millet porridge.

Time has given me a picky stomach and irreplaceable love.

2

Maybe it's because snacks are so used to the taste of foreign food that I like to compare the cooking skills of my mother and grandmother, and then I'm not satisfied.

Grandma can fry delicious dishes with little oil, and it is difficult for mom to reproduce grandma's taste with no amount of oil. Grandma's pancakes are more crisp than mom's, and steamed buns are more fragrant and soft. Unlike her mother, she always doesn't control the amount of alkali, making steamed bread hard and yellow. For a long time, I made fun of my mother's cooking skills. Her mother always kept silent and continued to do everything for me without any complaints.

When I was in high school, I was under great pressure to study, and my mother began to obviously improve my food. My father is from Shaanxi, and my hometown loves stew and bacon rice. My mother learned the secret of cooking soup from a fellow villager there. Buy ribs, add yam, medlar, chestnut, add dried beans last winter, and cook them in a pressure cooker for a few hours until I come back.

When I didn't cook well at first, the soup always looked dark, and I lost my appetite. My mother always forced me to drink it, so I was disgusted. Every time I finish drinking, I will say that I still have a lot of homework to do, and then run away immediately.

In senior three, in order to ensure the learning quality, the school began to implement semi-closed management. Meals in the morning and evening are solved at school, which saves the time of tossing on the road and is euphemistically called improving learning efficiency. At first, I got used to it for a while. As a result, the food in the canteen was really bad, and the students complained one after another. So parents began to deliver meals to their children. When they arrived at the dining point, they held a thermos bucket at the school gate to let the children have hot meals.

Mother joined the rice delivery army and waited at the door with a thermos bucket in her hand in the morning and evening. Sometimes it's bacon rice, sometimes it's fried eggs, and sometimes it's the bowl of black sparerib soup in the small bowl upstairs.

It's cold in winter, so I always take a git to the canteen. Sitting in the corner watching other students line up for dinner, I suddenly laughed. It turned out that it was a super happiness to eat the rice cooked by my mother. I suddenly don't exclude my mother's poor cooking, during which my mother's serious efforts have surpassed everything. Then I will comfort my mother that she is too jealous and doesn't taste too sour.

Later, when I went to college, Wuhan cuisine was heavy, and the crock soup sold in the canteen didn't pay much attention to meat selection. Most of the food I eat is bones, so I seldom drink it. My stomach is not very good. Whenever I feel uncomfortable, I think how comfortable it would be to have a hot soup to warm myself up. Then I will think of my mother's soup.

Once there was a kind of warmth without knowing it, and I once again understood that the warmth had overflowed my heart.

three

Grandma has been seriously ill since she was 60 years old, and she has become a strict vegetarian since she left the hospital. In recent years, there is a tendency to go too far. At first, I just didn't eat meat. Later, utensils at home were not allowed to hold meat. In recent years, I have stopped eating eggs and eggplant.

On the contrary, grandpa is the other extreme. He is not only a vegetarian, but also has a good appetite and never picky about food. The poor life in the old society formed his good habit of saving food. I'm impressed. When I was young, I liked rice. Every time my grandfather picks them up and blows them symbolically before eating.

We all feel sorry for grandpa. Because of grandma, grandpa's diet level has been in a state of lack for a long time-not only can't eat meat for three meals a day, but even the oil and water are pitiful and tasteless. Therefore, every time Grandpa goes to several children's homes, we try our best to buy some meat for Grandpa for a rare tooth sacrifice. When we leave, we will also bring some snacks, sausages and beef granules to grandpa. Usually, we will bring delicious food to grandpa and try to make grandpa's diet reach the primary well-off level.

One of my favorite snacks for grandpa is China hamburger. Grandpa loves to eat meat, but his mouth is not very good, such as beef and ribs, which are basically chewy and can't be swallowed. On the contrary, the meat is sandwiched between steamed buns, and the meat is cut very finely, so that grandpa will not taste so bad. Also noticed this, I began to get used to buying this snack for grandpa. Whenever I go shopping in town, I always buy one. My grandfather always hands it to me first when he takes it at home. I always lie to him that he has already eaten in town. Then I watched my grandfather eat his mouth full of oil with boiling strength. He humiliated me and I cheated him, just like two children.

The last time I bought him a hamburger was the day I left home for school during the summer vacation. At that time, my grandfather was still hale and hearty, standing at the intersection waiting for me to come back during the Spring Festival. Less than two months later, he accidentally fell in front of the door, sitting at home feeling lonely and dull. For some physical reasons, I temporarily went home for half a month. When he left, grandpa was bedridden and couldn't come out to see him off. I couldn't stop crying and promised him in the old way: I will go to Beijing next year, and I will bring you more fresh and delicious food then. Grandpa didn't keep his promise after all and left us in the cold winter last year. From then on, we have no chance to humble and deceive each other.

I suddenly understand that food is sometimes like a beautiful contract of life. I want to lock you away with delicious food, and you also want to use delicious food to fight against aging body. Although all of us can't escape in the end, although we may stand up in the end, food is always the best index, and it will remind me of you for a long time to come. Life is sometimes helpless, but food is always loyal.

four

Now grandpa can't eat the Chinese hamburger I bought him; I know that one day, I will never eat the fresh snacks cooked by grandma and the porridge cooked by her again; Mother is getting old day by day, and one day I will continue to cook soup for her. Maybe at first, she won't like my bad job. It doesn't matter if I miss it.

Flowers bloom and fall, year after year, some people will leave, some people will get old, and some people will grow up. I miss the past, but I can never go back. This is life, and we have to get used to it eventually.

Fortunately, however, there are three meals a day, as well as the unique taste buds of each group, which constitute our most loyal memories and connect each other's warmest times.

We can't help but comfort ourselves that as long as the "fetters" on the tip of the tongue are still there, all love and memories will be there. Whether it's home cooking or street snacks, the taste of happiness always belongs to you. Take a bite and taste a little, and memories will naturally come to mind. Of course, only I can understand the smile on my lips or the tears in my eyes.

I have never been far away from my hometown before. A dish and a soup are always familiar. I have never felt the feelings wrapped in a food. Later, when I was studying abroad, I gradually understood the uniqueness and luxury of that taste. Every time I eat my hometown meal, I feel that my home has never been far away or closer to home. China on the Tip of the Tongue says: There is always a smell that reminds us on the tip of the tongue three times a day in its unique way, so that we can clearly understand where we are going tomorrow and never forget where we came from yesterday.

There is a home in a distant place, and there will also be favorite meals cooked by family members. Go home and have a warm bite, all our wanderings have a place to go, and all our emotions have been placed.

After all, in this world, love and food can't live up to it!