When I was a child, the kitchen of my hometown was a separate room, and in one corner of it, there was a pickle jar standing quietly. The pickle jar is an old jar, and it exists when I remember, it is my childhood memory, and it is also a feeling that I can't forget. Whenever I return to my hometown, I can't help but walk to the pickle jar and recall the good times of my childhood.
When I was a child, my family was not wealthy, and the dishes on the table were always pickles, all thanks to the magical pickle jar. Every autumn, my mother would get busy, pickling all kinds of pickles. There are many vegetable plots at home, and when the vegetables can't be eaten, they give them to the neighbors to eat, but there are always some fresh cucumber heads, eggplant twists, beans and other vegetables that are reluctant to remain, so they are thrown in the pickle jar, and in winter they become delicious pickles.
When I was a child, I didn't like to eat pickles, and I thought it was tasteless, so I often asked my mother in confusion: "Why do you have to pickle pickles every year?"My mother smiled and said, "Because pickles are the taste of home, they can accompany us through the winter without vegetables," and I was puzzled, so I retorted, "Don't we have a lot of fresh vegetables?"Just save it for the winter", my mother smiled and said nothing, telling me about the hard life she had as a child as she filled the pickle jar.
The pickle jar, which is said to have been handed down from our ancestors, is still strong in texture and has witnessed the growth and change of several generations. From the moment it was born, the vat was filled with a wide variety of pickles, including carrots, cucumbers, cabbage, and many more. My father said that the pickle jar has formed its unique microbial environment for a long time, and this environment has become more stable over time, so the pickles are fresher.
One winter, a distant guest came to the house. My father once took out pickles for him to try during the banquet, but he didn't expect the guests to praise them after tasting them: "This pickle tastes so good!."How do you pickle it?The father quipped, "This is a family heirloom," and the guest was puzzled, so his father introduced him to the pickle jar, and the guest was very amazed, and discussed with his father for a long time before leaving. Before leaving, the guest happily took two bags of pickles with him.
As time went on, I grew up and left my hometown. Whenever I miss my hometown, I always think of that pickle jar. Once, when I came home, I asked my mother for advice on how to make pickles. Her mother patiently taught her the secret: "The most important thing in pickling pickles is care and time. You have to be patient and take care of every detail. After that, she taught me how to handle the details of various pickles. But the results were not satisfactory, and the pickles I pickled did not have the taste of home.
The years are unforgiving, the parents are older, the body is no longer as tough as before, they can't eat so many pickles, and the pickle jar at home is gradually losing its role. But I decided to take it back to the city so that the kids could taste the taste of their hometown.
In this way, I took great difficulty to bring the pickle jar with countless memories back to the city, and tried to pickle all kinds of small pickles with the method taught by my mother. But no matter how carefully you choose the vegetables and how you deal with the details, you can't marinate the taste at home. Later, I brought the jar back to my hometown and let my old mother take care of it. Unsurprisingly, that winter's pickles were still a taste of home. Seeing my puzzled look, my father gave me the knowledge that pickled pickles need a microbial environment that I had previously popularized to guests, and I suddenly realized that my father, who had never read a book, could still know such scientific knowledge. At this time, the mother disagreed, and she smiled and said, "The pickle jar still doesn't listen to you."
Nowadays, my parents are accustomed to eating fresh vegetables under my persuasion, and the old pickle jar is idle there, completely losing its usefulness. Whenever I ate, my mother always nagged, and without the pickles pickled in the old pickle jar, I always felt that something was missing.
Perhaps, what we need is not just the taste of food, but the memories of hard life.
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