The feeling of eating noodles

I like to eat noodles, but the real feelings I can feel from eating noodles are often after things have ceased to exist and people have ceased to be human.

When I was young, I always felt that pasta was delicious, but at that time it was not always available and not always available. I remember when I had a cold and fever when I was a child, my mother would make a steaming bowl of hand-made noodles. The faint fragrance of the noodles and the floating green onions would whet your appetite. The noodles were hot. I kept moving my mouth from side to side until it was hot in my mouth. When it was no longer hot, I chewed slowly, enjoying the texture of the noodles. Usually my mother is watching me eat and sometimes touches my forehead, saying, "Slow down, don't burn it. Rest well after eating. Just sweat a little and you can go out and play." Yes, mother's hand-made noodles are more effective than injections and medicines, but this treatment is exclusive, and most mothers are reluctant to make more for other people in the family.

All I can think of is the word ill-fated, but in the end I got a little preference. That year, I gave up high school and was admitted to a technical secondary school. I was the youngest child in the family. I had never traveled far, let alone taken a train. After a journey of several hundred miles, my father decided to send me to school. Even the money for school and travel expenses had to be borrowed. I remember waiting for the bus in the square in front of Yangmingpu Station, while my father rolled up cigarettes one after another. Watching the smoke rings rippling around my father's face in the breeze, his essentially fair face has become more yellow due to years of farm work, highlighting his age. He looked at the tall buildings in the distance and rarely spoke to me. I sat on the train and swayed all the way. I huddled in the carriage. I didn't know which direction the train was going in the darkness. I felt endless confusion in my heart, and I couldn't feel the joy of entering school.

It was about two o'clock at noon. When we arrived at school, my father and I were both hungry. Yes, the first meal on campus is Yuncheng pulled noodles. Two taels, four taels? I had no idea how much it was. I chose two taels, and my father asked for four taels. I saw noodles that were almost an inch wide in front of me. It was really strange. There was no soup or water, and there was a layer of greasy-looking yellow oil on top. I had no appetite at all, but in the end I couldn't resist my hunger. Soon, I had two noodles. Finished. I still can't remember what that bowl of noodles tastes like. But at that time I saw that my father was eating well and contentedly. He was not full, I am sure.

The peaceful and pleasant campus life only lasted for a month or two. Once I became familiar with the surrounding environment, I could no longer restrain the restless hearts of a group of people. On weekends, the snack street near the campus is always lively with people coming and going in twos and threes. What attracted us was the three-yuan bowl of fried stick noodles, which was affordable and delicious. Whenever he missed a meal because he stayed in bed or came back from the shower, he would definitely make an appointment with two or three people to have a feast in a small shop. It was not a big meal, but it was better than a big meal. As for returning from shopping, I even strolled into the snack bar. I was invited when I came here for the first time. After all, I had no idea about stick noodles before.

The store is small, with only three tables. "Boss, here are two small bowls of stick noodles, they're full of oil," said a classmate who was more familiar with me than me. "Okay!" the boss replied crisply. I saw the boss taking a rectangular noodle block, holding both ends with his hands and stretching it to both sides. By the way, it was like ramen noodles, but thicker than ramen noodles, like a stick. After pulling it, put it into the boiling pot, turn it a few times, the noodles will be cooked, and put it into a bowl. A large spoonful of oil is heated on the fire, poured on the noodles, sizzling, the noodles are shiny, paired with vinegar and soy sauce, and the boss also serves a bowl of hot noodle soup. "Delicious!" The first time, I was captured. Later, I learned how to eat spicy food, and the appeal of stick noodles increased even more. Later, when we get to know the boss well, we will shamelessly say: "Boss, please add some sauerkraut to the oil!" The boss readily agrees. We made no secret of our eating habits. We always ate until the corners of our mouths were dripping with oil and our lips were numb from the spicy food. We didn’t even bother to take a sip of the noodle soup... The small bowl was still a little bit full, but just drink more noodle soup. The big bowl was enough. , I can’t bear to part with it! In this way, oily and spicy stick noodles have been a delicacy in our four years of campus life.

In my future life, in different cities and on different streets, as long as I see the shadow of a noodle shop, I will always be ready to move and I can’t hold back my foodie heart. However, I can no longer taste the same taste as before. Every time I finish eating, I still remember the taste of my mother and the figure of my father.