Niangpi, also known as Liangpi, is a traditional delicacy of residents in the Weihe River Basin.

It is loved by everyone in our hometown because it is easy to make, can be used as both staple and non-staple food, and tastes delicious.

Niangpi is its nickname, just like children in rural areas are called Yangwa or Gou Sheng by their families when they were young.

Therefore, this word cannot be found in the dictionary, so the word "biao" is used and becomes "brew"; it is also wrong to use "穰", although some books use it this way; the word "■" is explained as a kind of pasta, but

The pronunciation is not right, I wonder if it refers to this kind of dough.

It would be more appropriate to make a word "■" (pronounced ràng) to mean "eat food and do good".

It wasn't until later that it was served on the banquet that it had a scientific name of "liangpi" because it was eaten after being cooled.

Cantonese people don't know what it is when they first hear it. Even if you tell it vividly a hundred times, they are still confused. When they first see it, they think it is similar to the local rice noodles.

In fact, Liangpi is made by adding water to flour and mixing it into a moderately thick paste, then scooping it into a special iron or copper container shaped like a gong (commonly known as "Gong" by Shaanxi people), so that the batter can be evenly spread over the "Gong".

Put the bottom of the "gong" into the boiling water and steam it for a few minutes. After taking it out of the pot, chill the "gong" in cold water, then use a shovel to draw a circle along the edge, and lift it up with both hands, and you will have a thin, sinewy and smooth sheet.

The bottom of the gong is smeared with vegetable oil and turns into an attractive golden color.

Let cool, cut into finger widths, add oil, salt, vinegar, garlic chili sesame sauce, and add some blanched mung bean sprouts, it will be a very delicious dish.

When I was a child, my family lived a tight life, and Liangpi was a delicacy that could only be eaten when entertaining guests or celebrating festivals.

In those days, if anyone had a good meal for no reason or reason, it seemed like they were wasting their resources and making them feel uneasy. Moreover, the poorer they were, the more glorious they were, so eating well seemed to always be a loss.

Get up and enjoy it secretly.

In my memory, every time my mother had just steamed a few slices, and before they were allowed to cool and cut into pieces for seasoning, I couldn’t wait to roll them up and enjoy them quietly in my yard. The look of me gobbling them down and my mother’s loving eyes made me happy.

It’s still fresh in my memory.

Later, life gradually improved, and while Liangpi became a daily meal for ordinary people, it also became a delicacy in elegant halls and became a snack in restaurants in the city.

The recipe also has the name Liangpi.

Those small shops that specialize in Liangpi have more than a dozen kinds of seasonings, and the taste is even more incomparable than at home.

Therefore, there are not many home-made steamed cold skins nowadays. Whenever you want to eat them, you can just buy them on the street.

In my life, Liangpi is one of the first-choice foods along with mutton steamed buns, sour soup dumplings, soup dumplings, and fried noodles.

Unfortunately, after working in Shenzhen, the taste of the food was greatly reduced. However, here you have to go to some Shaanxi restaurants to taste the home-cooked meals in your hometown, and the taste is difficult to compare with that in your hometown.

Such is people's eating habits. The desire for food passed down from ancestors is like homesickness. The farther away we are, the more we miss it.

I remember one day in the 1990s, on my way to get off work, I accidentally caught a glimpse of a bicycle carrying a food box with "Shaanxi Liangpi" written on it. I hurriedly chased after it and asked and answered questions in Qin opera like a secret code.

Realizing that it was really the craftsmanship of Shaanxi people, I immediately bought two kilograms, returned to my residence, mixed all the available seasonings, and started chewing.

For a moment, Shenzhen's high-rise buildings and busy traffic retreated thousands of miles away, and I seemed to be sitting at a food stall at the base of Xi'an's thick city wall again, with my ears full of local accents.

Suddenly, a children's song that I had sung well in my childhood but had long since forgotten floated up from the depths of my mind: Truman, with a tall nose, wanted to eat Chinese stuffed rice noodles, so I rubbed my nose with hot pepper, and ran to the river to wash my nose, frog.

I kicked my hoof and ran to the hospital to have my nose looked at. The doctor gave me a knife. Oops, my nose is too high.

Suddenly, the land, villages, trees, roads of my hometown, and my childhood friends all appeared in front of my eyes... I have no way of knowing who the author of the children's song was, maybe he was just a wild old villager.

The children's song reflects the Chinese people's mentality towards the United States during the Cold War, but it also reflects the position of Liangpi in the hearts of the local people. Even U.S. President Truman wanted to eat it, and it must be a good thing.

Of course, these words are the current analysis of this children's song.

When we sang it, all we could think about was yearning for Liangpi. The reason why we always love to sing it is because this children's song is catchy and has the effect of drawing cakes to satisfy hunger and looking for plums to quench thirst.