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 was 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 to fry various foods. Filter loofah into filaments in advance, grind pepper, mix fine foam with flour, then beat two eggs, add water and salt, and stir into paste, or add water and saccharin to corn flour. Put it in a high temperature place and ferment it by oxygen and microorganisms for one night, and you can smell the sour taste of yeast the next day. Scoop a spoonful and pour it down along the top of the pot. 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 what is made with electric baking pans now.

Salt and pepper, dip in vinegar and eat five. The burrito just out of the pot is steaming, and a layer of sugar is put 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 and you want to eat them, put them on the fire and bake 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 grandma, my mother was able to support herself, and the wound healed slowly, so she was fattened in vain.

It may be because I grew up drinking porridge, and I especially liked it later, especially the porridge cooked by my grandmother. Every winter and summer vacation at my grandmother's house, my grandmother cooks porridge for me every afternoon.

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.

Next bucket of rice, a little red beans, put it in a casserole, add half a spoonful of water, and bring it to a boil. After the water boils, add half a spoonful of water, let it cool, and continue to cook over high fire. This is repeated, and it has been boiled for five or six times until the essence of red beans is completely melted in the soup. Finally, add a few red dates, cover tightly and cook. 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 is 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 bright bluestone tiles. The air is full of the smell of food. The setting sun is all over the courtyard, and it also shines on our faces, smiling at each other, thinking about it is always warm.

Later, I studied abroad and got used to eating all kinds of delicious food, only to find that my eating habits gradually followed my grandmother. I don't avoid meat, but I don't like big fish and big 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 my mother's cooking with my grandmother's, 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 crisper than mom's, and buns are more fragrant and softer. Unlike her mother, she always does not control the amount of alkali and makes steamed bread hard and yellow. For a long time, I teased my mother about her cooking. Her mother always kept silent and continued to do everything for me without complaining.

When I was in high school, I was under great pressure to study, and my mother began to improve my food significantly. My father is from Shaanxi, and my hometown loves stew and bacon rice. My mother learned the secret of making 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 the soup is not cooked at first, it always looks dark and has no appetite My mother always forces me to drink, so I am very repulsive. Every time I finish drinking, I say I have a lot of homework to do and run away immediately.

In senior three, in order to ensure the quality of learning, 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. At the point of eating, they hold a thermos bucket at the school gate and let the children eat 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 that bowl of black sparerib soup, which is served in a 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 reject my mother's bad cooking, during which my mother's serious efforts have exceeded everything. Then I will comfort my mother that there is too much vinegar and it is not too sour to drink.

Later, when I went to college, Wuhan cuisine was heavy, and the crock soup sold in the canteen was not very careful in choosing meat. I eat mostly bones, so I seldom drink. My stomach is not very good. Every time I get sick, I think how comfortable it would be to have a bowl of thick hot soup to warm me up. Then I will think of my mother's pot of tonic soup.

Once there was a kind of warmth that I didn't know, and once again I understood that the warmth had overflowed my heart.

three

Grandma has been seriously ill since she was 60 years old, and has become a strict vegetarian since she was discharged from 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 be used to put meat. In recent years, I 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. Very impressive. When I was a child, I loved to eat rice grains. Every time my grandfather will pick them up again and blow them symbolically before eating.

We all sympathize with grandpa, because grandma and 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, as light as water and tasteless. So every time Grandpa goes to several children's homes, we try to buy some meat for Grandpa to make a rare sumptuous food. When we leave, we will also bring some snacks, sausages and beef granules to grandpa, and usually send them to grandpa with delicious food, trying to make grandpa's diet reach the primary well-off level.

One of my favorite snacks for grandpa is China hamburger. Grandpa loves 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 stuffed buns, and the meat is finely chopped, so grandpa won't 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 I have eaten in town. Then I watched my grandfather eat a mouthful of oil with boiling strength. He humiliated me, and I cheated him, like two children.

The last time I bought him Chinese hamburger was the day I left home for school in the summer vacation. At that time, my grandfather was still full of energy, standing at the intersection waiting for me to come back during the Spring Festival. After less than two months, he accidentally fell in front of the door, and the deep feeling of sitting at home seemed lonely and dull. For some physical reasons, I went home temporarily for half a month. Grandpa was bedridden when he left 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 bring you more fresh and delicious food then. Grandpa didn't keep his promise after all and left us in that cold winter last year. From then on, we never have the opportunity to be humble and cheat each other.

I suddenly understand that food is sometimes like a beautiful contract of life. I want to lock your departure with delicious food, and you also want to fight against aging body with delicious food. Although all of us can't escape in the end, although we may stand up in the end, food is always the best index, which will remind me of you for a long time to come. Life is sometimes helpless, and 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 fresh snacks cooked by my grandmother or porridge cooked by her. Mother is getting old day by day, and one day I will continue to make soup for her. Maybe at first, she will dislike my poor work. It doesn't matter if I miss it.

Flowers bloom and fall, year after year, some people will leave, some will grow old, and some 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, there are three meals a day and the unique taste buds of each ethnic group, which constitute our most loyal memories and connect each other's warmest time.

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, and I have never felt the feeling of a food package. 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 as to know clearly where tomorrow is going and not forget the source of yesterday.

There is a home in the distance, 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 a sustenance.

In this world, after all, love and food cannot live up to!