There are always some fireworks that will sink into the memory prose.

To tell the truth, I thought of writing such a sentence because of Zhang Kangkang's infection.

Look at her collection of essays "Le Ji", which contains an article devoted to porridge, called "North-South Taste of Porridge". I was very moved when I read it. My nose hurts several times, and I can't help wetting my eyes. I think there are too many familiar feelings there.

Although Zhang Kangkang is not an authentic northerner, her experience of jumping the queue in the Great Northern Wilderness has made her have an indissoluble bond with the north and porridge. I want to be funny, but my previous feelings about porridge seemed rather vague. Maybe it's just that you feel warm and comfortable when you drink, especially when you are unwell. But now that I think about it, the fragrance and warmth in the porridge have actually been sewn into my memory by the stitches of the years.

Up to now, I think maybe only people born after 70 or above like me have tasted the taste of porridge and have such deep feelings for porridge. A warm fragrance that has penetrated for a long time, warm and sweet, immersed in the long river of memory, always reminds people of it. In the eyes of most northerners, porridge is not the best, but it is the most approachable, like an old friend who has never left.

Through Zhang Kangkang's description, I can't help recreating many scenes, which naturally brings me back to my previous memories. Although my home is not in the northeast, drinking porridge that grew up seems to be less rough and heroic than big scorpion, but this does not affect my feelings for porridge at all. Speaking of porridge, my mother's busy figure in front of the stove can't help reappearing.

The morning may be dawn and the sunset may be dusk. In the dim light of the kitchen and the thick fog, my mother's busy figure was shaking. She bent down and added firewood to the stove in handfuls, beating the heavy bellows at the same time.

In the north, there is often a small hole next to the stove mouth, and a shovel full of water is stuffed to boil hot water for the family to wash their faces and feet. This design is really energy-saving and practical, killing two birds with one stone.

As soon as the water boiled, the scorpion's mouth began to splash outward; Mom immediately pulled it out, held the bottom with a fire stick, and poured it obliquely into the thermos next to it. At this time, the water in the pot is basically boiled; As soon as the lid was lifted, it came out steaming and soon covered the roof like a thick fog.

Mother lifted the spoon out of the water while holding it, and slowly drew an arc in the same direction, so that the golden brown stick flour floated into the pot; The lightness and elegance in the jade flying flowers is like a fairy scattering flowers; And those "petals" that fall intermittently are wrapped in the whirlpool of water and begin to spin and dance. Mother will tell me the reason for doing so at once. Because only in this way, the mixed noodles will not get pimples, and the porridge cooked will not have the taste of jade slag.

In the process of screening the working face, fire protection must also keep up; When the face is screened and the lid is covered, it is best to boil the water at once. Then sprinkle some alkaline noodles, so that the porridge will taste more mellow.

To be honest, I haven't thought about the reason for putting alkaline noodles in porridge until now, but the alkaline noodles must be in moderation. Less, porridge is not sticky, and venting is not sweet; Too much, it will be astringent and smelly, and it will be difficult to swallow.

From the surface to the pot, the process of porridge seems to have really begun to enter a climax. At this time, it is necessary to increase the firepower, let the porridge really open a few times, and then simmer it with a small fire. The temperature of porridge is very important.

In this way, the mother who had stirred her face sat back by the fire and began to add firewood from time to time, shouting and pulling the bellows hard; The figure under the halo also follows the regular shaking, swaying in tandem; The shadow reflected on the wall is more exaggerated.

With the mother's action, white steam began to squeeze out of the gap in the cover and rushed to the roof; The original fog was dispersed by this new force before it dispersed.

I feel that this contest is silent but fierce. This is really like a battle. The porridge in the pot seems to quickly gather to respond to the call, goo toot, goo toot. ...

However, it didn't take long for the fighting to subside bit by bit from the initial intensity.

Porridge lost its initial agitation, but it was much gentler; Became more and more sticky and began to smell of waxy corn; Occasionally a few bubbles appear, which seems to indicate that people are ready.

Mother no longer adds firewood to the stove, but sits quietly by the stove and waits; The flame in the stove also went out, leaving only bits and pieces between flashes. The whole room seems to have calmed down from the noise just now, and the fog dispersed and the smoke disappeared, replaced by a warm fragrance.

Leave the porridge in the pot and wait for a pair of hands to open it. A thin and brittle film will be produced along the edge of the pot, which looks like it can be broken by blowing.

When the porridge finally comes out of the pot, our brothers and sisters will urge our mother to add another handful of firewood to the stove, so that the porridge left at the bottom of the pot can be baked into crispy slag (now the fashionable saying is crispy), which is also a rare delicacy in that era.

We don't pay attention to eating big porridge on the spot, but use a slightly rough noodle; Yellow is more common, white is relatively less, but porridge is often more sticky. Although there were millet and rice in the north, at that time, both rice and millet were rare things for ordinary people. In our local area, most people, like me, grew up drinking porridge and cornmeal. Now I often hear from the elders at home that in that era when people didn't have enough food and clothing, their children were born without milk and could only live by skimming porridge.

That thing is nutritious. People say that all their lives.

One side of the soil and water support one side. It can be said that the stick noodles at that time really supported generations of northerners, which not only strengthened their bones and muscles, but also enriched their hearts, making them as tall and straight as trees and naturally and proudly rooted in the soil. So much so that I often think that maybe the burly figure and generous personality of northerners really have something to do with drinking too much porridge.

2、

At that time, my father was still working in other places. Because of the inconvenient transportation, it is rare to see him several times throughout the year. My mother is the only one who is pulling our three brothers and sisters to support this family.

At first, the villagers lived by production teams. According to the number of work points obtained by a family, each family can get some rations on time and in quantity. Corn is the majority, but wheat is a small part, and then there may be a little beans, or peanuts, sweet potatoes and so on, so the most common food is porridge and cakes with sticky noodles.

I never saw rice when I was a child, because rice can't grow without local water. Generally, flour will only appear on the dinner table on holidays or when dad comes back. Made into pancakes or jiaozi by my mother, it is pitifully rare and as precious as eating sesame oil. So, at that time, I was really bored with cakes and porridge. As soon as my mother called for dinner, I knew that the table was almost the same as before, and I lost my appetite from the beginning. I look forward to eating white flour all the year round.

But boring is boring, but you can't help eating. At that time, I was still young, and I didn't understand the hardships of life, let alone the difficulties of adults. Chewing a piece of cake repeatedly in your mouth is not lust, but it is really hard to swallow without taste; What bothers me is why my mother keeps all her white flour.

The surface of the stick is rough, so I can't chew it with any delicate feeling. When I swallow it, I feel rustling and my throat is scratching.

It was also because my family was too poor at that time, and my mother was often in a bad temper. My brother and sister are not as kind and patient with the children as we are now. Therefore, a meal is often swallowed with tears in the mother's scolding and cursing.

Even if the family spends most of their time eating coarse grains next to each other and scrimping, by the end of the year, life is still tight. After all, only mothers earn work points. Later, we were all older, probably in junior high school, and finally ushered in the production contract responsibility system. Land fixed to households, so that the originally stretched days finally have a little improvement, at least enough food to eat.

I feel that it is from then on that I know what white rice is; And if you can eat it several times a week, you will feel particularly satisfied and happy no matter what you eat. Chewing white rice in my mouth, I feel slippery and really comfortable! It's funny to think about it now. At that time, I even thought that I could eat several meals of white rice a week, which was also the capital to show off with my friends.

Because we don't produce rice locally, all the rice is bought from corn or wheat. Although it is not the best thing, until today, the taste of rice still permeates my memory. And think about my true feelings about porridge, which is estimated to be realized a little bit with the growth of age.

From boredom when I was a child, to neglect when I was a child, to love now, it is indispensable in my later life. Northerners used to live on porridge for generations. Although this is not the case now, everyone's feelings for porridge are still extraordinary.

I feel that if someone mentions food to me now, what I really don't have enough to eat is the cakes and porridge I was tired of when I was a child.

Although the way of embodiment is still very material, it may also be a spiritual return!

Until now, it seems that it is more truly discovered that the truly memorable taste is precisely the initial simplicity and ordinary in the years.

3、

I still can't help thinking hard again.

When I was a child, my family always liked to drink thick porridge because I had to fill my stomach. It's best to stick together and stick chopsticks and bowls one by one. At that time, almost every family did so, so that my mother-in-law often worried about whether the porridge was thin.

I feel that people's concept of drinking porridge is constantly changing with the improvement in the later period.

With food and clothing solved, people began to like to drink porridge; The kind that is sticky and cooked, whether it is rice, millet or stick noodles, will feel intimate and comfortable after drinking; That sweetness is also in the heart and lungs. Especially for dinner, if you can simply serve a bowl of cooked porridge, your stomach will be warm and comfortable all night.

More and more, I feel that in my 40-odd years of life, both the memory of porridge and my feelings are ultimately sustained by one person, that is, my mother.

Now, I have been away from my mother for nearly twenty years, but I still have a habit: I take time to go home every weekend.

Going back to my mother is not for eating, but for sitting with them for a while and chatting casually. I can't say why, but as I get older, I feel more and more like a child.

Now I have a little niece at home. She is only five months old today. From more than a month ago, two old people took. Watching children grow up day by day, it feels hard, but happier, as if it were more gratifying than watching us grow up at first.

Since I have a little niece, I seldom go there to eat because of their hard work. If my mother insists on staying for dinner, what I long for is the bowl of porridge in my memory, simple and kind; Just eat together, as well as radish, pepper and cabbage pickled by my mother.

It is a clear and faint taste, but it makes me find my inner yearning and return more and more. It turns out that lightness is the true meaning of life! The porridge in memory is never exquisite, but simple and natural in thick lines; Not elaborate, just ordinary fireworks that make people feel kind.

A big pot, a pile of firewood, glug for an hour, watching the porridge gurgling in the pot, I can't help but feel warm.

Sometimes I can't help thinking: Why didn't I feel so happy when I was young? I was too careless, too numb, too young and frivolous; Or are you really old now, with too many years of tenderness and generosity in your heart?

In retrospect, it seems not too late to know.

With my mother, I always feel that time is in a hurry; Every time I leave, my parents are reluctant to leave.

Watching them stand in the halo at the gate, always looking at us lovingly and waving to us; My heart will be instantly wrapped in an unspeakable happiness and bitterness, and tears will fill my eyes.

For me, the safety of my parents is the greatest comfort and happiness in this world. ...

It was not until I wrote this article that I really realized that I had such a deep porridge complex in my bones, and I always had it.

Until this moment, I realized that for many years, the warm fragrance immersed in memory is always intertwined with an emotion; A bowl of porridge, let me appreciate the fragrance of years, the warmth of life, but also a love that I have never said before. ...