故乡的画面令我怀念,不只是青山和小河,还有外婆做的萝卜饼。家乡的人都知道,冬季菜市场摆着青萝卜和紫萝卜,色彩赏心悦目;切开以后味道清淡却可口,邻居总夸它比橘子和梨还让人开胃。一般的蔬菜,在她手里也能变得鲜嫩。
gù xiāng de huà miàn lìng wǒ huáiniàn, bù zhǐ shì qīng shān hé xiǎo hé, hái yǒu wài pó zuò de luóbo bǐng。 jiāxiāng de rén dōu zhī dào, dōng jì cài shì chǎng bǎi zhe qīng luóbo hé zǐ luóbo, sècǎi shǎngxīn-yuèmù; qiē kāi yǐ hòu wèi dào qīngdàn què kěkǒu, lín jū zǒng kuā tā bǐ júzi hé lí hái ràng rén kāi wèi。 yī bān de shū cài, zài tā shǒu lǐ yě néng biàn dé xiān nèn。
The images of my hometown make me nostalgic: not only the green hills and small river, but also my grandmother's radish pancakes. Everyone there knows that winter markets offer green and purple radishes, pleasing to the eye; once cut, they taste light yet delicious, and the neighbours always praised them as more appetite-opening than oranges and pears. In her hands, ordinary vegetables could become fresh and tender.
外婆先把萝卜切成细丝,放进盆里搅拌。原料很简单:少许面粉、盐和水,揉好以后面团很均匀。她常说,做饭像过日子,不能只图快,擀面时要把皮擀得薄,折叠时又要留出空气。萝卜可以炒,也可以煮,做饼最能留住香气。
wài pó xiān bǎ luóbo qiē chéng xì sī, fàng jìn pén lǐ jiǎobàn。 yuánliào hěn jiǎn dān: shǎoxǔ miàn fěn、 yán hé shuǐ, róu hǎo yǐ hòu miàn tuán hěn jūnyún。 tā cháng shuō, zuò fàn xiàng guò rì zi, bù néng zhǐ tú kuài, gǎn miàn shí yào bǎ pí gǎn dé báo, zhédié shí yòu yào liú chū kōng qì。 luóbo kě yǐ chǎo, yě kě yǐ zhǔ, zuò bǐng zuì néng liú zhù xiāng qì。
My grandmother first cut the radish into fine shreds and mixed them in a bowl. The ingredients were simple: a little flour, salt, and water, which made an even dough once kneaded. She often said cooking is like living: one cannot seek speed alone. The dough must be rolled thin, but air must remain when it is folded. Radish can be stir-fried or boiled, but making pancakes best preserves its fragrance.
她往馅儿里淋一点酱油,再滴几滴醋,卷成一卷,再轻轻压平,在边缘捏出一圈花纹。锅烧热以后,她用文火煎,不急着油炸。趁香味刚飘出来时,她总会闻一闻;油若溅起来,便用锅盖挡一挡,预防热油溅到手上,免得火太大把饼煎糊。她还说,萝卜能化痰,天冷咳嗽时多吃一点没坏处。
tā wǎng xiàn ér lǐ lín yī diǎn jiàngyóu, zài dī jǐ dī cù, juǎn chéng yī juǎn, zài qīng qīng yā píng, zài biān yuán niē chū yī quān huā wén。 guō shāo rè yǐ hòu, tā yòng wénhuǒ jiān, bù jí zhe yóuzhá。 chèn xiāng wèi gāng piāo chū lái shí, tā zǒng huì wén yī wén; yóu ruò jiàn qǐ lái, biàn yòng guō gài dǎng yī dǎng, yùfáng rè yóu jiàn dào shǒu shàng, miǎn dé huǒ tài dà bǎ bǐng jiān hú。 tā hái shuō, luóbo néng huà tán, tiān lěng ké sòu shí duō chī yī diǎn méi huài chù。
She drizzled the filling with a little soy sauce and a few drops of vinegar, rolled it up, pressed it flat, and pinched a ring of pattern around the edge. Once the pan was hot, she fried it gently over a low flame instead of deep-frying it. When the scent first rose, she always smelled it; if oil splattered, she shielded herself with the lid to prevent hot oil from reaching her hands, and kept the heat from scorching the pancake. She also said radish clears phlegm, so it does no harm to eat more of it when the cold weather brings a cough.
饼的一面变焦黄,就翻到另一面,盖上锅盖焖一会儿。透明的水汽从边缘冒出,像给厨房添了一层暖意。等我忍不住伸手,她会笑着说:还烫,等一等,别烫着手。
bǐng de yī miàn biàn jiāo huáng, jiù fān dào lìng yī miàn, gài shàng guō gài mèn yī huì ér。 tòumíng de shuǐ qì cóng biān yuán mào chū, xiàng gěi chú fáng tiān le yī céng nuǎn yì。 děng wǒ rěn bù zhù shēn shǒu, tā huì xiào zhe shuō: hái tàng, děng yī děng, bié tàng zhe shǒu。
When one side turned golden brown, she turned it over, covered the pan, and let it cook briefly. Transparent steam rose from the edge as if adding a layer of warmth to the kitchen. When I could not resist reaching for it, she would laugh and say: it is still hot, wait a moment, mind your hand.
如今我在别处吃过很多特色小吃,也见过更复杂的做法,却仍对这块饼有点痴迷。它并不华丽,只因里面有家人的耐心和我童年的口味。
rú jīn wǒ zài bié chù chī guò hěn duō tèsè xiǎo chī, yě jiàn guò gèng fù zá de zuò fǎ, què réng duì zhè kuài bǐng yǒu diǎn chī mí。 tā bìng bù huá lì, zhǐ yīn lǐ miàn yǒu jiā rén de nài xīn hé wǒ tóng nián de kǒuwèi。
Now I have eaten many local specialities elsewhere and seen more complicated methods, yet I remain a little obsessed with this pancake. It is not elaborate; it holds my family's patience and the taste of my childhood.
每次打电话回家,母亲总说家里一切平安;我想念故乡时,就试着照着记忆去做。即使擀得不够圆、味道也不完全一样,厨房里那股萝卜香仍提醒我:平凡的食物,常能把远处的人和过去的日子重新连在一起。
měi cì dǎ diàn huà huí jiā, mǔ qīn zǒng shuō jiā lǐ yī qiē píng'ān; wǒ xiǎngniàn gù xiāng shí, jiù shì zhe zhào zhe jì yì qù zuò。 jí shǐ gǎn dé bù gòu yuán、 wèi dào yě bù wán quán yī yàng, chú fáng lǐ nà gǔ luóbo xiāng réng tí xǐng wǒ: píng fán de shí wù, cháng néng bǎ yuǎn chù de rén hé guò qù de rì zi zhòng xīn lián zài yī qǐ。
Whenever I telephone home, my mother says all is well there; when I miss my hometown, I try to make them from memory. Even if I do not roll them round enough and the taste is not exactly the same, the radish scent in the kitchen still reminds me that ordinary food can connect distant people with past days again.