Oil pimple is a snack in southern Shanxi. It got its name because it looks like a pimple and needs frying. This shows the simplicity of Jinnan people in Shanxi.
When I was a child, my family was in a bad condition and I didn't eat pimples often. They are only served on important festivals or when food is improved. As far as I can remember, this is the best food my mother cooked. It is golden in color and flexible in taste. Dip it in garlic vinegar that has been mashed in advance, and it is simply beautiful.
When I grow up, every time I go home, my mother's dishes are oily bumps, and I am happy to eat them. My mother skillfully boiled Chili water, stirred noodles and burned oil, then took a chopstick in her left hand and a chopstick in her right hand, quickly turned the dough on the chopsticks, and then pulled it into the burning and smoking oil pan. I only heard a bang, and the batter became a knot in one's heart in the oil pan, almost instantly grew up and floated on the oil surface until the lower layer was fried to golden brown, and then turned over to continue. I saw my mother's hand flying, and soon the oil pan was covered with knots, but I After my mother fried a pot, I began to eat first and chat with my mother while eating. Happiness overflowed my heart, and I felt the happiness contained in every delicious bite with my heart. People often say that food cooked with heart is the most delicious, and everything a mother does for her children is full of painstaking efforts. However, at that time, my understanding of maternal love was too superficial. It was not until I grew up, got married and gave birth to a child carefully that my understanding of maternal love became profound. "If you hold it in your hand, you will be afraid, and if you hold it in your mouth, you will be afraid." This is a true portrayal, not an exaggeration at all.
Mom says fried oil bumps and mixed noodles are the most important. One is to use warm pepper water and the other is to put eggs. This is the key to whether oil pimples are full of holes and become soft. Secondly, it is the oil temperature. If the oil is too hot, it will fry black easily. The oil temperature is not enough, the oil pimples can't rise, the taste is hard, and teeth are wasted.
Mom said it seriously, but I listened casually. My mother said very seriously that she wanted me to learn my own unique skills, and I could cook it myself if I wanted to, so that I wouldn't be hungry when I was down and out. I listened casually, out of selfishness, trying to be weak in front of my mother and insisting on her concern for me. I know in my heart that a little pimple looks like a simple snack, but it is full of my mother's deep love. Mother's taste is the last softness in my heart.
Disembarking, there are only a handful of times to go home after getting married and having children, and there are very few opportunities to eat oil bumps. A few years ago, when I was working abroad, I once wanted to eat a pimple very much, so I called my mother for advice. My mother told me one by one, and I wrote it on paper one by one. I put down the phone and began to act according to the routine of a liar. A few hours later, two bowls of flour, two pounds of oil and four eggs were wasted. The oil pimples out of the pot are hard to bite except that they are as hard as stones. Mr. Wang said that I made a prop chicken leg-useless-which can be used for filming. Since then, I have given up the idea of making my own pimples, and every time I go home, I just ask my mother to make them for me.
On the thirteenth day of home isolation, I did everything I could, but I didn't eat anything delicious I wanted. My mouth was light enough to raise fish. I really want to change my taste. My mother's pimples have been hovering in my mind for several days. You want to do it, but you dare not. If you don't do it, you want to be tight. The key is that your father-in-law and father are here, so you will be a little face-saving and afraid of failure.
After careful consideration, I still boiled the pepper water and stirred the batter, ready to do a big job. Stir the batter, burn it in the oil pan, and try to agglomerate it with chopsticks while waiting for the oil pan to smoke. When the oil is slightly heated, small white bubbles gather at the bottom of the pot and the oil rushes to the oil surface. Time and time again, the oil temperature is getting higher and higher, and the smoke rises little by little. It looked as if it was going to catch fire, so I threw down my chopsticks and rushed out of the kitchen and shouted, Sir. I've always been an armchair strategist, with a theoretical score of 100. I cooked duck eggs in actual combat, practiced it thousands of times in my heart, and smashed the pot with one hand. On the contrary, sir, everything can be seen at a glance, which is also enviable. Of course, on the one hand, I can't do it well, on the other hand, my husband is willing to let me go. My unspoken love is hidden in daily necessities. Mr. Wang put down his computer and went into the kitchen alone. My home became Mr. Wang's one-man show. After a while, a large basin full of oil pimples was served on the table. A bite down, full of fragrance, shape, spirit likeness, incredibly so you're done. I put one in that little man's mouth. As soon as I entered the door, the little man shouted "Mom, it's delicious, I love you so much", and his heart became softer.
The inheritance of food is actually the inheritance of love. I secretly made up my mind that I must learn to make acne as my mother taught me, teach those little people, let love pass on forever and ever, and trickle into an ocean of love.
Love is always there.
April 65438 +06, 2022
The 16th day of the third lunar month
I envy her life, I really want to live in her mansion