I always believed that some food means much more than itself. At the night of the last day of 2014, I finally got to eat my favourite beef noodles again. Noodles and beefs were combined together harmoniously. It looks plain, but the old noodles bowl hid thousands of my days and nights. It was a dream tale that started from my childhood.
If you want to check the outlook of the noodles, their colours and shapes are definitely not the first stuffs that appear into your eyes. Smell—as the main character of all of the food—also had a supreme position here. Spices mixing with plant oil made the smell fresh as well as harsh; the combination of pepper and chilli even increased the sensitivity of my nose. Now, I can easily distinguish if the beef noodles are in the kitchen before I knock the door.
Besides the smell, colour also shows the quality of the noodles. The best beef noodles’ soup should be clear, and oil does not float together on the top as many tiny lakes. In stead of sticking with each other in the corner, the reddish brown beef cubes hided within the gaps between noodles. For the most important, the chef must grab a hand of chopped scallion pieces before serving the food. Those little light green vegetables were like the best exquisite decorations in the bawl, and that made people could not stop staring at the art work lying in front of them.
If the smell and colour were the generals of this food, then the taste was definitely the king. Every time when I picked up the beef cubes into my mouth, all of my taste-buds could not help dancing, and celebrating their coming feast. They have never been too old or raw, because the appropriate temperature and time made them could just melt in my mouth. While I swallowed the soup, noodles were the most successful partners, for they balanced the scales between piquancy and the delicate scent from vegetables and the bamboo chopsticks.
All of those sensual pleasures made the beef noodles feels like an excellent food that produced by some famous chefs. However, they were not the reason why it was my favorite food.
I have grown up with the beef noodles. When I was a kid, the most ordinary thing was sitting near the table, and holding a bawl that even bigger than my face. The noodles in that bawl was good, but common. Eating it once a week made me could even ignore its existence. Nothing could be plainer then food for a kid. Nonetheless, as time passed, I began to realise how much this bowl of noodles mean to me.
Noodles were made by my grandparents. I liked watching my grandma cooking every afternoon when I came back from the kindergarden. I remember the old sun spilled itself through the windows and lighted up the room. My grandma was working in the kitchen. She put all the ingredients into the pot, then just waited silently. Through the glass that were imbedded in the antiquated green door, I looked at her, and waited with her. Interestingly, my grandpa was usually who stared at me with smile at that time. He always sat on the sofa with his newspapers and short white hair. Nevertheless, grandpa was not just an outsider in this whole cooking thing, he was also the starter. The lunch before my grandma made the beef noodles, grandpa would always served the savoury beef on the table. Therefore, the last beefs got to be cooked for diner as a part of noodles.
When I looked at the kitchen or the noodles as a kid, I had nothing in mind except the the scenes themselves. However, all of those days just sinked into my head as thousands of printed pictures. Now, after sixteen years, I finally understand the treasures within the ordinary beef noodles. They were the connections between family, between my grandpa and grandma, as well as between them and me.
Grandpa is ten years older. He is a funny and kind old man. Through more than fifty years marriage, he has never changed. His company has given my grandma the great courage to get through the difficulties in her life. They live together, and love each other. It was their tacit understanding made the noodles delicious as always, and their love towards me kept all of those taste, smell, colours, and feelings deep in my heart.
This winter, after thirteen hours’ flight I went back to them. Sitting near the table, I looked at my grandma as I always did, then turned to my grandpa with a smile like his. I noticed how old they were after all of these years, and how the surroundings had changed. However, the beef noodles’ smell was still permeating from the kitchen. It reminded me that the most important thing would never change, just like the memory of my childhood, everything was dyed gold.
It was the love between family made the beef noodles so attractive--- which would never change over time.
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