Inthemorning,justasIwokeupfrommysleep,mybrothersentmeashortvideo.Openalook,originally,thehomeagainfellheavysnow.Invideo,edelweisshascoveredtheyardwithathicklayerofit,presumablyfortherestofthenight.Howforgetfulthesedays,Idon&39;tforgetmyhomesickness.Inrecentyears,thiskindofyearningisevenmoreprofound.Theredfireofchildhood,alwayswithabigwhitesnow.Assoonasthesnowfell,alargefamilygatheredinthehall,laughingataredoldtreeroot.Whenthesnowhadstopped,thechildrenbegantobustleabout,andfollowedtheadultstothebackwoodsandthefields.Lookingoutoftheforest,theskyandearthwerewhite,thesnowwasrollingalongthedistanthillsandfields,andtherewasnoend.EveryyearbeforetheNewYear&39;seve,mymotherwouldtaketheoilpanandfryallkindsofpasta.Afterdinner,afteralittlerest,mothercametothebasin,andthedoughwassoftandshiny.Theoilstripismadeeveryyear.WhenFried,motherpulledasmallpieceofdough,spin,carefullyintothepan,fatherorbrotherstoodaside,inonehandandachopstick,withonehandholdingthescoops,waitingfortheFrieddoughsticksup,brown,pickuponebyone,astheyarechargedwithjuice,dryoilinhandbasin.Usuallythistime,Ialwaysthemostcarefree,theunsteadywalkintothekitchen,headinbusypeoplesewafewflashflash,sawabrittleyellowFrieddoughsticksjustthrewitintothebasin,handpickedit,shoutedveryhot,butabigbite,quicklygetoutofthekitchen.Afterfryingtheoil,themotherwillalsofrytwokindsoffood,oneishemp,theotherisbeancurd.TheFrieddoughisverysoft,anditisawake;Theflaxleavesneedtobekneaded,sprinkledwithwhitesesameseeds,rolledoutintoadough,andcutintodiamonds.Theblastprocessofthehempleafisbasicallythesameastheoilbar,butthetasteisdifferent.Theleavestastecrispandaddsesameseeds,sotheytastebetter.Thiskindofsmallnoodle,putinthebagaftercool,canbethesnackofthechildren,eatapieceoffoodinhalfnoonhungry,veryuse.Asforthebeancurd,controldrywater,cutintolargeoilpan,fryuntilthesurfaceisgoldenandcool.Whenrelativesandfriendsvisiteachother,theFriedbeancurdstrips,braisedwithcabbagepowder,hotandhotserve,noonewillrefusetopinchchopsticks.Becauseofthetaste,itbringstogetherthehappymemoriesofeachperson&39;schildhood.Intheearlyyearsofthiswinter&39;swarmrisotto,itwasonlywhentheChineseNewYearortheadultswereledtothetable.Weoftenfeelthattheyearisayearold.Presumably,ourlifeisgettingbetterandbetter,andwhenweareyoung,wefindithardtostirupthewavesofhappinessinourhearts.Inourtable,thefoodisstillwillappearinthedayofanaccident,butalotoftime,forus,ismoreimportantthantheflavoroffood,perhapshappiness-thesefoodsoncebroughtushappiness.
