I love the food in my hometown. Whenever I see children picking and choosing all kinds of food at the dinner table, I envy them in my heart. Thirty years ago, when I was a child, people said I was "rude"-I could eat anything. I still vaguely remember some longing for food when I was a child. Until today, things that I rarely eat still have great temptation to me. A cake cake and fried dough sticks are basically the same, and now it is a very common pastry. However, in my hometown and countryside 3 years ago, oil cakes were even worse than meat. Ordinary people will cut a few pounds of meat during the Chinese New Year, adding some meat to the table that has been light for a year; People with well-off families will fry some oil cakes. When I first went to school, I got the first place in the first exam, and my teacher praised me. At that time, rural teachers took turns eating pie meals at students' homes. When I got home, I told my mother that the next time the teacher came to our house for dinner, I should give the teacher something good to eat. A word from an ignorant child is a big problem for her mother. As a result, when it was our turn to take care of the rice, my mother fried the oil cake. I remember very clearly that when my father accompanied the teacher to dinner at the dinner table, he only ate a symbolic piece, and my mother only picked the smallest one in the kitchen and chewed it slowly until the teacher who had sent the meal went out with half an oil cake in his hand. My brother and I didn't know how determined my mother was for this meal, and kept clamoring for more food. In my childhood memory, this is the first time my mother fried oil cakes. The second time should be in 1983. In that year, our family built a new house and fried oil cakes when thanking relatives and neighbors for their help. Mother also told a story about oil cakes that spread in the village many times. It is said that there is a greedy woman who often fries oil cakes when men are away. One night, the man said that the brigade had sent work and would not come back until dawn. The wife cooked soon after the man went out. Who knows that this is a plan made by a man. He smoked cigarettes outside the door for several generations and then quietly returned home. As a result, he beat up the wife who stole food in the kitchen. When I was a child, every time I listened to my mother tell this story, I thought that the greedy woman was too outrageous like adults, and I despised her manner in my heart, but I agreed with and envied the man's wit and determination. Looking back on this story now, I can't tell what it feels like. In 2, when I was chatting with my mother, I mentioned this story. My mother didn't have the sarcastic tone when she told the story. She just said, I was poor at that time, and there was nothing to eat. Second, there is a walnut tree near the walnut village. I don't know how many years it has grown. The stems that are one meter high are thick, and some of them are beyond our children's reach. Every year when walnuts grow to the size of eggs, children gather under the walnut tree. We can reach the short ones, and climb the trees after picking the ones below. At this time, the hairy children in the village dyed their hands and lips brown with green walnuts, and their palms peeled off layer by layer. The old man who feeds the animals in the brigade is also responsible for taking care of walnuts, but he is irresponsible. He shouted and turned back to the cave to feed the animals. When the walnuts are really ripe, only a small part of the treetops is left, which is beyond our reach. There are very few walnuts distributed to every household. I remember that one year, our family only got 2 walnuts, and the pulp was not mature, and the tender ones still smelled of oxalic acid. Until later, the walnut trees were divided into households and dug up, I still didn't know the taste of real mature walnuts. I can't remember when I celebrated the New Year and where I got a few walnuts. They were oily in my mouth, but they tasted bitter. There is a distant family in the village. The man works in the mountainous area of southern Shaanxi and always brings some walnuts back when he comes home. His girls always carry a few walnuts when they go to school, which attracts a pair of envious eyes. The villagers say that children eat walnuts and are smart. The girls in his family really study hard and get good grades. At that time, I thought how good it would be if I could eat walnuts every day. Walnuts in Yunnan are big and thin-skinned. With a little effort, they crack. I often buy some walnuts, and when I am free, I will slowly peel and chew them with my childhood memories, and I can eat more than ten or twenty at a time. When my wife was pregnant, I read an article in the newspaper, saying that it is of great benefit for pregnant women and children to eat walnuts. From then on, I loved walnuts even more. But walnuts also made me lose money. One weekend evening, the family came home from the park. A man dressed in the country, about thirty years old, shouted loudly on the sidewalk to sell walnuts, which was much cheaper than the farmer's market. Seeing that I was interested, he quickly pulled out four or five walnuts from his pocket, squeezed them hard, and with a crack, the walnuts broke and kept handing them to my daughter and me for tasting. My daughter is not rare, but I am thinking about how much these walnuts will cost in the farmer's market. After bargaining, I bought almost a bag of walnuts (the kind with 25 kilograms of flour) with 5 yuan money. On the way home with my bag, I was still complacent and even thought that I shouldn't lower the price so low. And it's getting dark, while people are in a hurry to go home. When I came home from work the next day, my wife told me that it was all iron walnuts. I couldn't break them and I couldn't eat them at all. I don't think all of them are like this in such a pocket. After dinner, I didn't sleep in the afternoon, and I persevered in smashing walnuts one by one. All of them were really hard eggs. Later, the newspaper reported that an old couple had exactly the same experience as me, and the TV station's urban news also showed the old couple's indignant and righteous crusade against black-hearted hawkers, reminding citizens not to be greedy for cheap and buy things from roadside hawkers. Hehe, when there is nothing to eat, everyone can only endure their appetite very tenaciously; When there is food, there are these intrigues between people. My pocket of iron eggs was piled up on the balcony for a long time. When I moved, I reluctantly put it with my pocket next to the trash can ... Apple, pear, peach, plum and other fruit trees were planted in the orchard of the Third Apple Brigade, with apple trees being the most. Orchards are not so neglected as walnut trees. A group of young and strong laborers, about twenty, specialize in orchards all year round, earning more work points than others. Their job is to fondle fruit trees and look after orchards, and they are equipped with soil guns, raising several fierce and sturdy German shepherd dogs. Adults dare not take it lightly. Every April and May, apples grow to the size of eggs. Until the apples are ripe in October, they should warn their children before going to the ground every day, so they should not go to the orchard. The children of those families who work in the orchard will always eat green, slightly sweet and mature apples during this time. They usually eat at home, and occasionally show them off in front of their friends. When they are seen by adults, they will be scolded. When picking apples, each family can only provide one laborer, and all of them only need women. The children are looking forward to their mothers picking apples in the orchard, because when they get off work, they will conjure up two or three apples. Picked apples are piled on a flat grass beside the orchard, which is red and Chengcheng Huang's. It's really appetizing. In those days, the whole village was shrouded in rich fruit fragrance. These apples are always dragged somewhere by the brigade's car, and the rest of the injured and small ones are distributed to the members according to their heads. Every year, my mother picks out the injured apples, carefully cuts them with a kitchen knife, and gives them to my brother and me. She also sends some to menstruation's family, which has no orchard on the team. The menstruation family has two cousins as big as me. Relatives who don't have children at home, such as my uncle's family, won't get this special gift from my mother every year, so they can only eat handfuls of apples when they happen to meet. The intact apples, which look like eleven or twelve pounds, are wiped clean by my mother with a rag, put in a basket for sewing, and locked in that big red square wardrobe. The keys are kept by my mother herself (the few money, cloth tickets and food stamps in our family are all in this cupboard). Every once in a while, my mother will open the cupboard and have a look. Apples that can no longer be put will become delicious for our brothers, and my father and mother will only eat a few bites occasionally (I have never seen them eat a whole apple like this). The most delicious apples are those that can last until the New Year. They are thoroughly covered, torn off like tomatoes, licked with their tongues like ice cream, covered and rustled, and swallowed without chewing, with itchy throat and endless aftertaste. After eating the last apple, the fruity smell in the cupboard can last for a long time. My brother and I always thought there were apples in the cupboard, and we often asked our mother for apples. Our mother said there were no apples, but we didn't believe them. Once, while my mother was at work, my brother and I finally found the key and turned the cupboard upside down. We didn't find an apple, but we sniffed the fragrance of the apple when we rummaged through it. But it's not all such wonderful memories of Apple. Our second father (father's brother) was assigned to work in the orchard. One year, when the apples were almost ripe, he brought back a bag of apples with a big handbag, all of which were bitten by insects and pecked by birds, and cut the scars with a knife. I remember it was noon when my second dad took it home, and my mother probably didn't have time to put the apples away because she was in a hurry to go to work. One afternoon, my brother and I didn't go out to find our little friends, so we hid at home and went into the kitchen to get one for a while. I don't remember how much I ate. When I slept at night, I had bouts of acid reflux in my throat. I slept until midnight, and eventually I burst out and vomited all over the quilt and kang. That night, the family spent the night in the sour smell of my vomit. Mother didn't sleep after I vomited, and gently rubbed my stomach, hoping I could spit it out. At that time, people's stomachs and intestines were probably stronger than today's people. After a night of vomiting and tossing, the next day, except that my roots were still weak, I was alive and kicking again. I just didn't eat the remaining apples. My brother didn't vomit, but he was smoked by the filth I vomited all night, and he didn't eat the rest of the apples. Rare jiaozi, eggs that I can't bear to eat, and ten fruit candies with sour taste and bitter taste for a dime ... are all delicious food in my memory. Sometimes I talk about this with my 8-year-old daughter, and occasionally it is wonderful, which will make her laugh, but more often, she is puzzled and puzzled: Is jiaozi really so delicious? What's delicious about eggs? What is fruit candy? How can it be sour and bitter? ..... She really doesn't understand. She may never realize how delicious jiaozi is. Getting a boiled egg on her birthday is a luxury. But for me, these delicious dishes treasured in my memory will always be so sweet and delicious.