Vernacular prose: I remember the simmered sweet potatoes of that time

Vernacular prose: I remember the simmered sweet potatoes of that time

Text: Wu Jianchang

Today, when I walked home from Jiankang Road, when I passed the intersection of Jiefang Road and Jiankang Road, there was a burst of fragrance in the sugar fried chestnut shops at the intersection, which was the burnt aroma of sweet potatoes. The burnt scent is like an invisible hand that leads you to the door of that point. A question asked, "Fifteen pieces a pound!" "Simply loud and not allowed for counter-offers. Hungry worms control the brain. "Here's one." "Okay come on." In the blink of an eye, he handed over a paper bag wrapped in sweet potatoes. I opened the paper bag, and the sweet potatoes that were still steaming hot were sent between the lips and teeth. The sticky sweet potatoes on the outside are swirling in the mouth.

Eat as you go, think as you eat. When I was a child, the scene of simmering sweet potatoes in the stove and stove slowly appeared in front of me with the squirming of my mouth. I remember when I was a child, sweet potatoes were called "sweet potatoes" and baked sweet potatoes were called "simmered sweet potatoes". At present, the old stove is rare, the geography of the field can not simmer sweet potatoes, the gas stove can only be boiled, after all, the oven is baked out of the same as the old stove stove simmered out. Sweet potatoes simmered in the hearth of the old stove are the favorite of childhood. As long as the firewood in the stove is OK, we must find a way to persuade the mother to simmer a few sweet potatoes, as long as the conditions permit, the mother will always meet our "extravagant expectations".

I remember when I was a child, in late autumn and early winter, the sweet potatoes planted in the field were ripe. In the evening, my mother would take an iron harness and tell us to carry a bamboo basket and go to the ground to dig sweet potatoes. The soil here is of a clay nature, unlike the sandy soil that is said in the vibrato live broadcast today, sweet potatoes grow in deep soil, can not be pulled out by hand, must be dug out with iron. When she came to the ground, the mother would first cut the sweet potato vines on the sweet potato ridges with a sickle for cutting the grass (we call them the hair knife), and then use iron to dig out the sweet potatoes in the soil. We were responsible for putting the sweet potatoes that my mother had dug out of the soil into bamboo baskets one by one. When the whole basket was dug, my mother would seal the soil at the gap left by the sweet potato digging, cover the uncut sweet potato vine on the mud mouth, and then lead us back home.

Back at home, we would pour the sweet potatoes under the porch, spread them out, and let them dry naturally. When it is time to "simmer", wipe the dry soil outside the sweet potatoes.

The firewood for simmering sweet potatoes is preferably dry branch firewood, which leaves the charcoal sparks after burning for a long time and the ashes are full of fire. The ashes left by the straw were less powerful than the ashes of dead branches. Therefore, we usually pay attention to picking up dry and dead branches that can be used to cook rice, and as long as we see it, we will pick it up and go home.

After the rice was cooked, the mother would carefully break the branches of firewood left in the stove with the iron tongs used for the fire, then dig a small pit, carefully put the sweet potatoes prepared in advance to simmer into the hearth, stack them in the small pit, and then cover them with a layer of Martian firewood. The firewood is covered with a layer of straw ash. When everything is done, it's time to brew the food.

Simmering sweet potatoes seems simple, but it is actually very exquisite. Sweet potatoes should be moderate in size, too big, and simmer for a long time; too small to be easily simmered to become coke. The fire of the ashes is also very exquisite, although it does not know the principle, it all depends on the mother's experience. If the heat is not enough, the sweet potato is not simmered, and if it is raw, it will be very unpleasant; but if it is over the fire and the sweet potato is simmered into a lump of charcoal, it cannot be eaten. We're always anxious. I always want the sweet potatoes to simmer early, so I always can't help but use the tongs to stir the wood ash to see if the sweet potatoes are ripe. At this time, my mother would tell us not to be in a hurry, but to wait patiently.

Usually, after half an hour, the burnt aroma of simmered sweet potatoes wafts out of the hearth. When the characteristic smell of burnt wafted out of the stove and filled the whole house in the morning, my mother would go to the stove, crouch down, use the fire tongs to cut open the wood ash in the stove, and then use the fire tongs to pull out the simmered sweet potatoes, one by one, on the big fan, and constantly blow away the dust on the surface of the sweet potatoes with her mouth, and then put them on our hands one by one. The sweet potatoes in our hands are still hot, but they are no longer hot. Sweet potatoes arrived, needless to say, hurriedly used their hands to break open the sweet potatoes. Simmered sweet potatoes, burnt loose on the outside, yellow-orange-orange on the inside, soft and sticky, and will also emit heat, and the aroma will burst out and hit the nostrils. The small mouth takes a small bite, the tongue gently trembles and slides across the throat, the cola breaks the belly, and the hot baked, fragrant simmered sweet potato makes you warm from the lips to the heart socket. Sweet with incense, fragrant with slippery, slippery with soft, the taste is really not to mention.

I remember that at that time, in the hearth of winter, in addition to simmering sweet potatoes for us, my mother also often used to simmer soybeans (that is, old edamame), and simmered soybeans as the next day's next meal. It seems that at that time there was a can like a teapot in the house, with an open lid, a black black, and a rough surface. Later, I learned that it was called a clay pot, where it came from, I don't know. Simmering soybeans takes much longer than simmering sweet potatoes, usually all night long before a jar of soybeans is simmered. If soybeans are needed, the mother usually soaks the simmered soybeans in water for an afternoon during the day. By the time dinner was cooked, the soybeans were already soaked in chubby. After cooking dinner, the mother would cover the clay pot with soybeans, bury it in the wood ashes in the hearth, and sprinkle a circle of grain around the jar. This makes the firepower of the ashes more durable and exuberant. After simmering in the hearth for another night, the next morning take out the jar, blow away the wood ash, open the lid, and there will be a sweet and sticky soybean aroma straight to the brain door. Scoop out a spoon with a spoon, put it in your mouth, chew it, and feel that the soybeans are rotten, crispy, and a little sweet. The mother would put a little soy sauce to taste it as the next meal at noon. At the Time of spring, if the economic conditions permit, the mother will make a soybean simmered pig's foot.

When I was a child, my family used a stove to make a fire to cook. Sitting in front of the stove, bending a straw knot and stuffing it into the stove, the straw crackled and burned, and the red flame licked the bottom of the pot. When the fire is extinguished, put a few sweet potatoes in the hearth or bury a jar. Then hold a hot simmered sweet potato or scoop a spoonful of soft and crispy cooked soybeans, which is a real treat.

Today, the old house of the hometown has long been in the boom of rural urbanization, and the old stove that relies on the fire to cook has also remained in the memory, and the simmered sweet potatoes and simmered soybeans in the stove are in the depths of memory.

This bit of crappy writing, the right is to recall the memory of childhood life, a kind of unintended record and remembrance of the hometown, and use this crappy text to find the hometown that the heart will never forget.

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