Last night in the canteen bought a long time has not eaten edamame pomace, fried golden in oil and then boiled with fish head into a thick fish head soup, eat a piece of edamame pomace, drink a mouthful of fish soup, the thick memory with the umami taste of edamame pomace and appear in front of the eyes.
When I was very young, my grandfather and grandmother opened a small tofu workshop to subsidize the family, and the memories of my childhood were full of their busy figures.
Because soy products are easy to deteriorate and sour in a high temperature environment, grandparents get up in the early morning every day to make tofu. At that time, Grandpa was old, plus he didn't understand machinery, so he had to go to someone else's house to grind soy milk, and then go home to process it himself.
After the soy milk was picked home, Grandma boiled it in front of the stove, and when the soy milk was boiling, Grandpa began to work. Grandpa used extremely skillful techniques to take the boiled gypsum water to point the brine, and after ordering it, he began to wrap thousands of sheets and press the tofu. At this time, Grandma couldn't help much, so she rushed to cook some supper for Grandpa.
Many times, I followed my grandparents and watched them make tofu. After the point halogen procedure was completed, I stood quietly next to it, looking at the rolling soy milk, without speaking. At this time, Grandpa knew that I wanted to drink soy milk, so without saying a word, he picked up the bowl and scooped up the full soy milk and handed it to me.
I carefully took the bowl with both hands, and without waiting for "go and let Grandma put some sugar and drink it again", I quickly took small steps to find Grandma to put brown sugar. Grandma stirred while putting sugar in, and reminded me to drink slowly, but every time, I couldn't wait to close the rim of the bowl to my lips, tilt the bowl with both hands, and let the fragrant soy milk slide into my mouth.
That taste is still unforgettable!
When the tofu and a thousand sheets are pressed, the sky is already bright. After Grandpa finished eating the supper (which was also his breakfast), he picked out tofu and walked the streets to sell it. Grandpa made tofu with real materials (tofu is slightly larger than other people's homes, in that era, tofu on the "block" sold), the method is exquisite, clean and hygienic, so people like to buy.
At that time, the rural economic conditions were limited, and many families would buy tofu and a small amount of pork to entertain guests after coming to the family, so Grandpa's tofu needed to be sold out in many villages.
Nearly noon, Grandpa came back tired of carrying a wooden barrel selling tofu. Tired, but after lunch, Grandpa was busy again, busy making moldy okara.
Grandpa soaked the okara in the "lower foot water" of the pressed tofu and soaked it until the next day. After the okara was soaked, he squeezed the okara dry again and poured it into the pot, and Grandma began to stir-fry until the water inside was dried. The fried dried okara is served by Grandma in a large dustpan to cool.
Then, Grandma took out the wooden frame dedicated to making moldy edamame and laid a thin layer of straw underneath, and Grandma said that it was all up to it to make moldy edamame. Later, I learned that laying straw is because when making moldy okara, a mold on the straw is needed.
At this time, I like to help my grandmother the most. I took out a small bowl for eating, spread a small handkerchief in the bowl, put the okara into the bowl, compacted it, and then turned the bowl upside down and gently pulled the handkerchief, and a edamame residue was formed.
The wooden frame will be filled with edamame residue that I made in a moment, at this time, Grandma will add another wooden frame on it... The wait was long, at least for me as a young man, and after three days, a thick layer of white hair finally grew on the top of the edamame, and when those hairs were slightly yellow, the moldy edamame was successful.
Growing up, I have eaten a lot of edamame residue, even now, I will occasionally eat it, but those are always not as good as my grandmother's cooking.
Writing here, we must talk specifically about my grandmother's life. Grandma lost her father since childhood, she has two older sisters, the next has a younger brother, the old grandmother alone can not afford to raise their sisters, so she was introduced to the grandmother as a child bridesmaid in the grandfather's house for temporary adoption. At that time, my grandfather had a bad temper, and the family was also poor and white, and she always had experience, which made her hone the excellent qualities of hard work, kindness and frugality.
Later, the old grandmother could not even feed her uncle and grandfather, so she gave him to a slightly wealthier family in the Xinyang area of Henan Province as a son. One year, when it seemed to be almost The New Year, my grandfather sneaked away from that house.
When my grandmother learned the news, she took my grandmother with her and carried simple luggage on her back to embark on a long road to find her relatives. When they found the vicinity of Xinyang, they encountered the battlefield of the Wuhan Defense War, and shells and bullets flew over their heads, frightening them who had never seen the world to quickly crawl and hide.
Later, when she found an unknown small village, my grandmother fell ill and had a high fever. The disaster is not alone, the search for relatives is unsuccessful, mistakenly into the battlefield, and Grandma has "smallpox". Without a doctor, grandma could only feed some boiled water, and after a few days Grandma finally survived.
Grandma later said that she had died once, and her whole body had shed a layer of skin!
Near the end of the year, they finally did not find their uncle. Since he couldn't find it, he could only return home disappointed, and when he got home, he found that his smart uncle had gone home, and he didn't know how he had walked all the way back when he was young. Fortunately, the family was finally reunited.
After my grandmother's death, I always wanted to find a time to record my grandmother's life and the sufferings she had suffered in this life, and I was afraid that these precious memories would be taken away by time and diluted. Years later, whenever I think of my grandmother, the tears involuntarily slip down, one by one, one by one.
Today, I finally borrowed the familiar thing of edamame residue, wrote out these memories and recorded them, and stopped here, and the tears were already involuntari... May everything be peaceful and well in heaven, and never have to worry so much again!