Here we go againSpringEatThe vealDays up。
Northeast winter is long. It's been a long time since you've been upset. But when you almost forgot the colour of the land, spring came along like a relative in the country, without a word。
The first one to report was not the goose yellow from the willows, nor the softening of the wind, but the pickle。
The frozen land of the early springs is sanctified on a shallow layer of spring, and its feet are stomping on the grass, and its feet are strewn, and it is strewn with a moistness. And that's when the grass in the field hides what you want, and it warms up, and it sprouts and grows. It's the prettiest, the best。
The first dish is the hardest to find and the best. Most of them are tied to the earth, covered in ash, mixed with last year's dead leaves, not crouched down, and can't tell. You have to be patient and pull those rotten leaves away so you can see the green under there -- the green is bright, the water spirit, like keeping the aura in the core all winter. I saw one with a shovel and i put it in the ground. The roots are white, long, and smouldered with dust. Throw it in the basket, listen to the sound of it, and feel it。
It's the northeast countrysideLifePart of it is also the beginning of spring. They're digging for veggies, but the kids are playing. When i was a kid, my pickles, mostly not at home, always danced with the wind and looked at the grass. As long as i take out the basket, most mothers don't scold me, and sometimes i go crazy and come back empty and hide from my mother's eyes, and she forgets, at best, to pull green grass and throw it to the rabbit。
When you're digging, if you don't go to the field, you'll have company, know and know. We can dig half a basket with good hands, and we're half a basket with bad eyes. At this point, we'll all grab one from our basket and put it in her basket, even if we don't know it. We told her that the pickles belonged to a heap, and if we found one, we'd see a lot。
The veggies are very strong, in the fields, on the ground, in the trees, by the ponds, by the small river ... It is the wind that brings its seeds to the ends of the world. Sometimes i think that every year we dig the pickles, it's all the same. But in the second year, the sound of the oscillation is still growing
Vegetables are crossbows, with white flowers, and may also be heard to have seen “orchids” or “yellows”, but this is usually due to a misunderstanding of the name of the species, or to the misidentification of the plant. The real pickles: white flowers, whether wild or artificial. Its variety varies, and the common variety of pickles consists mainly of scaffolds (big leaves) and scaffolds (small leaves/fruits). Although their leaves are different in shape, cold tolerance and taste, they are all white, and their flowers are due in april-june, and the flowering vegetables are old and difficult to eat。
In another case, when you search for information or buy seeds, you may see the expression “twilight pickles” or “red mustard mustard”, which is usually a confusion between:
Misappropriation of the name of the variety (vuclampella):
Some of the herbal varieties (e. G. Violet cabbage) are wild pickles that grow in low-temperature conditions and whose leaves are purple or brown (so-called “highland red”). But it means the colour of the leaves, not the color of the flowers. Even if the leaves are purple, its flowers are still white。
A "relative" with a similar name:
Some plants have a name with the word "poaching" or they look like pickles, but they're not real pickles. For example, the red mustard, which is a light purple or light blue flower, belongs to another plant and is not our usual mustard。
In fact, it's a legitimate reason for children to dig and dig, and the cat's "blowing hair," so it's a legitimate excuse to go to the field, to let themselves go, to dig for vegetables。
I'll have to pack the grubs. Pick it up one by one, pick up the slime leaves and clean up the mud. Usually sitting on a small bench in the yard, with a pick-up in front of it, picking up a tree, strangling the root and picking out the yellow leaves. The pet cat in my house, he's always leaning over his head, two claws following the rhythm of a man's hand, a little bit -- he throws a pickle, he sniffs it through his nose, and then he gets bored。
I'll have to wash some more with water. Water in the northeast, cold and cold, usually bubbling for a little while, with two hands in the basin, washing out the mud, and the raisins show the true image of the green, the green, the green and the strong. Then a boiler of water, and then a casserole in it, and then a blink of a day's work, you get it out of the water and get it hot. It's greener, it's greener, it's greener, it's greener than it used to be, and the rest is a fragrance。
There are many ways to eat veggies, and families treat them according to their own preferences。
My family usually eats mashed potatoes. It's like dirt, but it smells good. Potatoes cut the blades, with a rind, with water and ginger chips. When the potatoes are ready, the soup is white, and a few knives are cut in, and a few minutes will be done. I'll put some salt in front of the pot. I don't need anything else. And a bowl of soup and vegetables, two meters of rice, which is called a bright meal. The fresh fragrance of veggies is in the soup, and the potatoes suck up the smell, the pasta, the veal, and they warm up from the mouth to the stomach。
When i got a family, most of the veggie dumplings, buns. They shall be oiled with five bouquets, cut in fine, and with onions, ginger pasta and peppers, and when they are strewn, they shall be smelt. The water's running, the fat, fat dumplings are rolling in the water, and they're sipping out, the fragrance of the raisins and the fat of the meat are mixed together, and it's a good way to make a living. And then i'll drink two or two, and i'll take a sip, and i'll eat a dumpling, and i'll say, "don't change a fairy."
If it's too much, you can just cool it. The veggies are dry, cut with knives, put on garlic, salt, a little vinegar, and a little pepper oil, and it's so loud and smelly. It's just rice pasta, fresh and refreshing, just for a winter。
In those years, the families of the village raised pigs. You can eat, you can eat, you can eat. The old people used to say that the vegetable was expensive, that people ate the fire, and the pigs ate the pork, and it was not bad. When they came home from school, they often saw the girls with their backs or baskets full of veggies — veggies, grandmothers, cars, veggies. Walk forward with a bow, sweating beads on his head, and his face is red. The pigs in the house heard noise and grunted in the circle。
In previous years, rural areas had been poor and left too little land, unlike the freezer now, and had stored some of the food that had been harvested in the autumn, dry and wet, which was radish and little, not enough to eat, so the wild vegetables of spring would be popular。
Now, think about it, those days are so poor, but they're so good。
It's better in the northeastern countryside today. In winter, you can eat fresh cuisine, in the sheds, in the mail, everything. But people are still thinking about it. During the pick-up season, people go with them to dig for pick-ups, and when they see more, they scream in the village, “x local pick-ups are much older and rare”, and there is a group of people carrying baskets, carrying shovels and walking to the ground. It's just that it used to be a willow basket, and now it's a plastic bucket; it used to be walking, it's riding an electric car..
Every time i get to the pickle season, it's just that i've grown old in recent years, and i've had to stand up for a while and have a neighbor cheer me up, and say, "oh, this thing, like an old acquaintance, comes to you this time of year. If you don't take a bite, you'll feel the spring is over." says the bag in your hand, "packing dumplings at night?"
I should, but i think of another sentence. In the ancient language, “march 3rd, queen's day”. It doesn't matter if it's gold, but when it comes, you know that the days of the frozen man are over, that the black land is awake, and that the cat should live for a winter。
The wind came from the south, with the smell of earth, and with the saplings of grass... - nature's gifts, the earth's crumbs, they can't dig, they can't eat. It's like this day, it's normal, but there's always hope。
Go home at night, pack up the dumplings。
