Hungry from the lunch break, I suddenly wanted to eat the large intestines cooked by my mother.
When I was a child, my family was relatively poor, and I usually had very little meat to eat, and the breakfast during the New Year's Festival was a pot of large intestines. It is said that it is a large intestine, but in fact, there are few pieces of large intestine in a large basin, and most of them are white radish brushed into small strips. Our family can eat rice with a large intestine, and we can also eat a full sense of happiness. Eating large intestines in our home has many good wishes, such as "there is (intestine) long hair, long (intestine) long". Since I was a child, I have fallen in love with various delicacies made with the large intestine, such as large intestine duck blood pot, dry steamed large intestine, sauerkraut stir-fried large intestine, boiled large intestine... And what I want to eat most is always the large intestine cooked by my mother.
I couldn't help but burst into tears at the thought of it. In fact, I only went back to my mother's house yesterday. Probably because today's menstrual holiday, the body is a little uncomfortable, the whole person is like being hollowed out, floating in mid-air without feet. Man is a fragile animal. Whenever I am lonely and sad, I always want to eat something familiar and miss my loved ones. My mother's intestines have raced past any chicken soup for the soul to me.
I can't survive the wind and frost of the years, and my mother, who is over seventy years old, is really old. Every time she came home, she was very careful to give me a large intestine, but because her hands and feet were not flexible, her memory was declining, and she always reversed the process, so that the large intestine that came out was no longer as crisp as before, and it could not be chewed, even so, it still had the taste of mother.
We crawled and smoothed out the fangs in the society, only to know that the familiar bowl of large intestines, the taste that penetrated the soul, has become more and more rare.
One Saturday night, I went with my husband and son to my mother's house. Before leaving, my mother shyly kept my family of three to live overnight, saying that the colon would be given to us the next morning. By the time we got up the next day, the large intestines were already cooked. My mother also steamed the rice and bought some lantern cakes that my son and I both liked to eat. The large intestines of that day were exceptionally sweet and crisp. The son ate two bowls, and he didn't like to eat rice, only with lantern cake. The husband has always praised his mother's steamed rice is particularly fragrant, and the delicious intestines are delicious in the world, and the best is delicious. I sneaked a glance at my mother, whose wrinkled face was smiling and blossoming. Later, I learned that the seventy-year-old mother had figured out that the best time for her memory was in the morning. Watching her children enjoy the food she made by herself has always been the meaning of her life and the value of existence.
Later, whenever I had dinner with friends, if I ordered food, I always ordered a large intestine, even if others could not cook the taste of mother. However, many restaurants do not have this dish, and I also order a dish about the large intestine. Every time I put it in my mouth, it was as if my mother was by my side, and there were too many dings and instructions. Just such a bowl of large intestines that I have fallen in love with since I was a child has accompanied me through dozens of spring, autumn, winter, and summer of my life. It is simple and unremarkable, but it gives me a little courage to face the thin and cool world and face a complex life.
Leaving his mother, as a mother, he has tasted too much heartache and helplessness. In the dead of night, I cried and wanted to eat my mother's large intestine. Thinking of the extreme, I finally understood why my mother could cook the original smelly intestine so delicious, without adding any flavor and cyclamate, and the only ingredient was love.
I have run all over the streets, eaten all over the big and small restaurants, always want to find a delicious large intestine, but all disappointing, either too much MSG, or the large intestine wrapped in too thick starch, not too oily, or the meat is too hard... I gradually understood that those once ordinary things had become so precious over time, and the large intestine that could not be eaten was like the past that could not go back, and the thought of it made people cut off.
During that time when I was on the verge of collapse, I began to fall madly in love with grocery shopping and cooking. On my way to school every morning, I started to scroll through various cooking websites, studying what ingredients to buy at the supermarket after school and what new dishes to try. In fact, my cooking skills are very poor, but in this lonely world, creating food has become my greatest psychological sustenance, the light in gray days.
However, with the large intestine, I could never cook the taste of my mother. I think it's because there's no material. Maybe one day, I can also cook a pot of delicious intestines, without the taste of mother, and some, my own unique taste.
I don't remember where I read such a passage: In the end, life is a frost and frost journey, gain and loss, in the end, the real comfort is nothing more than Simple Plain susu asking for a bowl of hot soup to drink.
I also want such a simple life, simple love, not seeking luxury, not pretentious, as long as the heart, only true love. Just like the pot of large intestines cooked by the mother, all it takes is water and radish...