Washing rice and panning are busy. Hurry to bend down, bend down to look at the stove in the firewood, not yet extinguished, into a handful of hard branches, so that it burns more, more long. Hands must not be empty, scoop a pot of water and lay down a good amount of rice. Just hear the dry cracked branches burning "thunderclap" sound, the hand of the kitchen knife kept driving fingers backward, a dish of vegetables cut good.
When cooking, there is often no one to disturb. As the family members have their own business, they take advantage of the soft morning sunlight to hoe and cut the wheat, plow the ground for planting seedlings, and carry water for fertilizer; while the children get up early to graze the goats and cows, as the tender grass under the dew is more nourishing to the healthy livestock.
The cook is unwilling to have someone in their own territory in the way, most of the wood stove in a corner, quietly lying in the old days, kindly spit "bar" of smoke and fire. The rice grains, boiled and blossomed, began to embrace the bamboo basket, filtered out the snow-white rice, fragrant. The milky rice soup, let a person look at want to lick a few mouths, my father said that the top of a bottle of glucose.
Cutting a good dish early impatient, nimble "chef" quickly cleaned up the pot of residual sand leftover rice. The nourishing peanut oil is more long and rhythmic than the sound of dry wood blasting. Mountain people are used to peanut oil or tea oil, unlike people on the plains who love canola oil. They feel that rapeseed oil has a strange flavor, and the fried dishes are naturally yellowish.
When all the vegetables are fried, the rice in the bamboo basket is also filtered. That's just the prelude to steaming rice billet, along the shape of the pot, stacked into a mound, sprinkled with the right amount of clean water, with chopsticks poking a dozen holes as a gas eye. Small fire slowly baked, a pleasant smell of burnt flavor comes to the nose. The first thing you need to do is to make sure that you have a good idea of what you're doing, and that you're doing it right.
The whole family in a yell, or when the sun is up, each home, *** food breakfast (meal). This is the beginning of the most beautiful, the sunshine pouting, the morning breeze gentle, sheep baa chicken cluck, grass leaves stretch. Eat enough to go up and down the mountain to have strength, a day, can not do without a good breakfast.
Lunch and its comparison, much inferior. Because most of the noon to eat the rest of the morning rice, just add a few cooked vegetables. The evening meal, not to mention, noodles and rice, barely enough to satisfy hunger.
The first time I saw this was when I was a student at the University of California, Berkeley. I'm not sure if you're going to be able to get a good deal on a new product, but I'm sure you're going to be able to get a good deal on a new product. I was surprised that the breakfast was so simple, and there was absolutely no rolling up my sleeves to do that. In the mountains, there are wonderful things about mountain people. Breakfast as the mountain god general offerings, the morning count does not forget to return to the road, majestically out of the door, brightly waving a solid arm.
Slowly accustomed to the kind of lifestyle that does not directly ask for nature. The city has a marketplace for the fruits of our labor, which we can exchange to survive. I've seen more strangers, but I never knew them, less affection for the land, the gaze of the trees, and the whispers of the flowers and grasses that we spend time with.
Mother became silent. I varied her breakfast, afraid of not eating enough, specially bought a large bowl. I'm not sure what I'm talking about, but I'm not sure what I'm talking about, and I'm not sure what I'm talking about, and I'm not sure what I'm talking about. I know best in my heart, they have long been tired of seeing those loafers in the marketplace doughnuts with soybean milk. The kind of innate `call is the land of feelings, despite the reinforced concrete neat as new, but always diaphragm the earth of the aura.
Handmade becomes more intimate. I went to the supermarket to buy a rolling pin, and white flour, without water, because it does not have the flavor of the mountain spring, but the strength of the egg like the old noodles at home. The more I rolled, the thinner it got, the more sweat poured on my arms, and I realized that I was no longer tender, much less waving my little hands naughtily. Mother laughed at the side.
It doesn't matter what you eat, the ritual is more likely to satisfy. Handmade noodles over and over again, like unveiling the pages of a dusty book, memory leaks the gate. My mother smiled and sat down, she liked to watch me prepare breakfast, and it took her a whole hour.
I didn't have any firewood, and I couldn't find the big black pot at home. The only thing I picked up was the obsession to serve religiously, like treating a big mountain. Breakfast, not simple.
The work is too busy, often let me sleep late at night. Morning rinse after washing, in such a hurry that I forgot to shake hands with the sunrise, not to mention the roadside flowers and trees nodding with a smile. In my case, everything is out of sight, but only the time is lush. In fact, the morning dew has long since evaporated, not as optimistic as people think back home. Mother, has long stood by the window sill, attention to my far away back. She said, I changed a person, become she some do not recognize.
I look into my heart and look back reverently. My mother watched me, expecting a child who had done something wrong. The other day, I slowed down and carefully made the noodles, and she said, "It's simple, breakfast is not complicated.
Perhaps, you don't see office workers in the city rolling up their sleeves and pulling down their pants. In fact, they are carrying not only the wheel of heaven and earth hammering ram, more importantly, with the sun and moon tearing and grinding, time entanglement, in that a stirring of the brain in a mess of cocooning, stranded even heart.
The days passed quietly and y, and the mother gradually familiarized with the place. A child for the struggle, the territory of youth, crowded, traffic. Simplified life to the people to make more time, some people walking, some people walking, some people lights, some people dancing square dance.
After familiarizing herself with the street corners, food markets, and street vendors, she has become a good place to talk to. I silently exited the breakfast market, my mother began to work on the family dishes, like when I was a child. Everything was new to her. Learned the rice cooker, started gas stove, and the display of miscellaneous food soup medicine like hemp ...... lucky mother also know many tadpole small words.
Slowly life is no longer monotonous. From not empty mother began to hold a long scroll, put on the presbyopia, carefully study a variety of catering collocation and nutrition. From Wuhan's hot dry noodles, Shanghai old wontons ...... to Taiwan's fried noodles, she seriously try. A few years down the road, I jokingly called "breakfast expert". But she laughed and said, there are specialties!
To later marry and have children, my mother still lives with me. She has changed and never ceases to amaze. I don't know when, she has already begun to computer browsing, checking the book shopping, organizing information documents. It's just like what young people do.
After breakfast, it is inevitable to ask again and again. She always laughed and said that there is a need for progress. It turns out that in order for me to eat a good breakfast, she took great pains. The first is to start from the cell phone operation, familiar with the electronic products of the chat tool, followed by web browsing. Using the computer was just a matter of water under the bridge. Literacy is the root cause.
I was looking at the night sky with tears in my eyes. Life has aged her a lot, and culture has brought her back to life, not to be forgotten. Knowing my heart thing, stood beside me, smiled and said, silly child, the child under the starry sky will not fall tears.
Yes. Mother often said, people have to be brave to face reality, never retreat dream. She told me that the trials and tribulations of life are only the trampling of the flesh, and the lack of spirit is really the devaluation of life.
From the night school, she was very serious, although never went to school, never give up learning. Learning to the hand of a good thing, there will be a day to use. I only saw her labor day and night, but never late at night to see her read the dictionary on my desk, homework.
Progress is only made when there is a need. Breakfast, never just a start, because seriously, so all day long full of positive energy.
In my small family life, my children love their grandmother, not only delicious breakfast, but also endless stories. The wife loves her, and after breakfast, they spit drama at each other.
When she is free, my mother likes to sit in silence. I know she is thinking, what to do for breakfast tomorrow? The wife said, do it with your heart, anything is good!