<b>Wen | Snow Cherry</b>
Winter without roasted sweet potatoes is incomplete. In the corner of the street, a cylindrical stove with a white iron leather jacket, an iron basin on the stove, and an old man standing next to him, with a voice as loud as a bell, wearing an army green cotton coat. He wore old gloves, and from time to time he hooked open the hearth and rummaged with sweet potatoes, looking attentive. Walking past him, I fell back again, staring blankly for a while, evoking many memories.
Roasted sweet potatoes are the entrance ticket in winter. It was cold early this winter, and on the day of the first heavy snowfall, I roasted sweet potatoes and searched around the takeaway, most of which were baked on the electric stove, which was quite disappointing. Later, I heard that a fried shop near the community was on sale, and it was only roasted at noon, and my eyes were waiting to buy it, and I ate the first bite of roasted sweet potato, which felt that it was still unsatisfactory. What I coveted was the hot energy that had just come out of the oven, hot and sweet, supported by paper, and warm hands, all the way to the heart.
I remember when I was in elementary school, on a snowy day, when I came home from school, I deliberately rubbed in the back, because the three uncles at the entrance of the compound sold roasted sweet potatoes, and I glanced at the past, and someone would greet me, "Come, it's frozen, take a piece of sweet potato to eat!" "I sucked in my nose and flew over, taking the steaming roasted sweet potato with both hands, sweet and fragrant, and my heart blossomed, but every time I came home, my parents found me, smelled of charcoal, and couldn't help but be beaten by a bear."
Many people have asked me how I got involved with literature, perhaps not unrelated to the composition class in the third grade. At that time, there were two classes at our level, and the Chinese teacher in our class was on sick leave, so he had to ask the first class teacher, Mr. Wang, to come and substitute for the class. The composition class is two consecutive lessons a week, Teacher Wang took "Jinan's Roasted Sweet Potato" as the composition topic, she inspired us to mobilize our senses and taste buds, I was fascinated, straight throat saliva. Maybe it was Teacher Wang's emotional narration that touched me, I came to the inspiration, the composition was completed in one go, it was completed before the end of the class, and there was no typo, and there was no need to copy it again. In the composition class next week, my composition was read aloud by Teacher Wang as a model text, and I was unspeakably happy, accompanied by a little shyness, my face was hot, and it burned as hot as a sweet potato stove. I still remember writing at the beginning of the essay: "Roasted sweet potatoes are a specialty of Jinan and the most common snack." Many other students invariably wrote that when they were sick, their parents rode around the city against the cold wind to buy roasted sweet potatoes, which was criticized by Teacher Wang as "fake". Since then, my composition has grown tremendously, with more wavy lines and red circles drawn by the teacher, and my Chinese scores have also ranked among the best.
Roasted sweet potatoes are a kind greeting in winter. The poet Lu also wrote, "It's getting colder and colder, but my heart is steaming / I'm holding a cabbage / I'm going against the wind, passing on body temperature and thoughts / Much like a heroic female guerrilla / For the broken mountains and rivers / Escorting the chicken feather letter." "Every time I read this, I have a kind of heroism and tenderness that swallows mountains and rivers. I think sweet potatoes can also take on such a mission - it is as humble as cabbage, frost-resistant, close to the people, and it makes people feel trustworthy, even in trouble.
That winter I had just been discharged from the hospital, the family life was tight, the last meal of sweet potato sticky porridge, the next meal is also sweet potato sticky porridge, the family sat around, sucking and sucking and turning the bowl along the edge of the drink slightly sweaty, no matter how cold it is, it does not feel cold. Every time I cooked, my mother would put on sleeves, hold up a kitchen knife to cut sweet potatoes, and hand me a piece to taste while cutting, and sometimes put a few carrots. Put the cauldron on the honeycomb stove, when the "grunt" sounds, it is almost ripe, the whole room is warm and baked, and there is a layer of yellow sweet potato oil floating on the edge of the pot, which is very beautiful. Today, gone are the days of cooking sweet potato porridge with honeycomb stoves, and white iron leather-covered sweet potato stoves are rare, just like family photo albums have been cut off a few pages, making people feel sad.
I have to say that roasted sweet potatoes are more compatible with heavy snow days. In "Dream of the Red Chamber", Cao Xueqin wrote in the 49th and 50th times that on a snowy day, everyone drank and painted, set scenes, walked on the snow to find plums, and roasted venison in Lu xue'an, and that day was called a comfortable day. Who would have thought that there was a bigger snow outside the glass world, Cao Xueqin's father Cao Yin wrote in the "Miscellaneous Poems to Huaizhou": "After the heavy snow on the road, the family letter is only empty." Or ask about Huainan, in the middle of the cold water. The word "cold", implying the hunger and poverty of Huainan, is surprisingly consistent with the fate of the Grand View Garden.
In the novel, Cao Xueqin uses the metaphor of snow to the extreme - what he is best at is not a word, leaving no trace, and using garden landscaping to set off the background of tragedy. For example, in the Miaoyu Residence, Baoyu "walked down the hillside, just turned along the foot of the mountain, and already smelled a cold fragrance blowing on the nose." Looking back, there are exactly a dozen red plums in front of the Myoyu Gate that are like rouge, reflecting the color of snow, which is particularly spirited, and it is not interesting." An otherworldly religious place, the red plum blooms brilliantly in turn, forming a contrast. Coincidentally, Li Feng's Daoxiang Village, the first thing that catches the eye is the green mountain slope, turning over the mountain to see the yellow mud low-walled village residence, which contrasts with the "hundreds of apricot blossoms like spitting fire and steaming xia", which makes people can't help but sigh, "a bamboo hedge hut is willing to be old plum" is also difficult to suppress the complex waves of the heart. The green mountains are obliquely obstructed and the mountain screens are horizontal, and the monastic and widowed, forced and depressed are vividly set off, pointing to the fate of the same destination.
It can be seen that Cao Xueqin's writing of "snow" with snow is not only compassion and compassion for the decline of the family, but also a gentleman's character in the spirit of bathing snow. It is said that the word "snow parsley" comes from Su Dongpo's original delicious "spring dove celery", "mud parsley has roots, an inch alone." When the snow buds move, the spring dove can be moved. So it can be seen that the previous snow party was just a kind of background preparation, hi to the extreme turned into sadness, which reminded me of Mu Xin's poem, "I am a person who is in the dark and snowy." ”
I covet the hissing and hot mouth of the roasted sweet potato, I covet the simple truth and fist warmth of the world. The fire that scurried up and down roasted the sweet potatoes to the outside and tender inside, making people salivate, reminding me of childhood memories, remembering past experiences, and remembering the grand beauty of midwinter.
About four years ago, that winter, I was invited to the library lecture hall at night to give a lecture to freshmen, and the lecture hall was open in the open air and there was no heating, and I kept stomping my feet in the cold. As soon as I got home, some classmates came after me breathlessly and stuffed me with two pieces of roasted sweet potatoes, "Teacher, today is frozen, eat while it is hot." ”
My tears swirled in my eyes, which were clearly the warmth of a furnace of winter, stamped with the postmark of love, and never faded.
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