Homesickness on the Taste Bud 2

Chief Editor： Shen Yanni

Jiangsu Phoenix Literature and Art Publishing House

July 2022

58.00 （CNY）

This book records the most unforgettable food of 22 writers from all walks of life across the country in their teenage years， as well as the moving stories， folk customs， and memories about them. The book is simple and touching， like old friends telling stories with true feelings.

A bowl of qualified smoked bean tea， full of colors， fragrance， and taste， in front of the guests， shows the quality and housekeeping skills of a hostess to a certain extent. Therefore， making smoked bean tea is the “basic skill” of rural women. Compared with the heavy and clumsy farm work， Mum could make smoked bean tea with the facility. This work was easy and fun.

In the slack season， housewives often sat around， drinking smoked bean tea together. This was their best time. When I was young， I loved such tea parties the most. But children were not lucky enough to drink a whole bowl of smoked bean tea. They could only stand by and watch. After Mum finished the tea， she would leave me the tea base， where the essence was deposited -- green smoked beans， orange skins， white sesame seeds， and sometimes black bean curds.

After Dad was ill， Mum worked in the field for about 300 days a year. She was short and weak， so the heavy farm work drained almost all her strength. When she returned home， she couldn’t complain in front of a nearly paralyzed patient.

For Dad， life was as difficult. Illness not only damaged his body， but also made his nerves more sensitive. Every day， he looked at tired Mum， thinking that he could do nothing useful. Guilt bit his heart like poisonous snakes. He couldn’t see a ray of light， like a man living in darkness.

One day， Mum came back from the field. Dad pointed at a small pile of smoked beans on the table and cried， as if asking for credit. He was smiling， though he couldn’t express the exact meaning. After a while， Mum made it clear. They were the new smoked beans given by a neighbor.

The pile of green beans shined like jade in the dim light. Looking at the muddy water on Mum’s hands， Dad directed his left hand， the only one that could move， grabbed two beans and put them in Mum’s mouth. Mum slowly chewed the two smoked beans， and tears flowed from her dry face. Dad watched in panic and didn’t dare to speak. After a long time， Mum dried her tears casually， smiled at Dad， and turned back to the wharf to clean her hands.

Later， when Mum described that night to us， she said that she wept because she had no time and emotion to drink smoked bean tea for a long time. The familiar smell brought her back to the days when Dad was healthy， so she couldn’t hold back her tears.

In 1993， the third year of my father’s stroke， my sister and I worked in the city. We pinched and scraped， just to pay off the huge debt due to my father’s illness as soon as possible. Though we knew that our parents were missing us， my sister and I seldom went back home except at Spring Festival. It was a long journey， and we were busy at work.

When it came to the busy farming season， my sister and I were the most worried ones. Working in the city， we were always thinking about the countryside. At the thought that Mum had to harvest and sow in such a short time， we worried that Mum would collapse under the pressure of heavy farm work. I called home and asked her to hire workers， and we would pay for it. But at that time， few people went to the countryside to work， and no villagers were free during the busy farming season. It was unrealistic to pay others to work. Besides， Mum was reluctant to spend the money.

One evening， it was going to rain. Mum was too tired to carry the collected rice home. She had to ask a young man in the village for help. Unexpectedly， he requested to be paid before work， so Mum gave up. Finally， she carried the rice home in time， but collapsed in a chair and didn’t recover for a long time. In those years， there were countless difficult days like this for Mum.

Life was hard for her. Mum still had no time and emotion to sit down and have a bowl of smoked bean tea. Such leisure time had passed her by forever. Sometimes， she finished farm work in advance， carefully cooked a meal for Dad， washed him， and talked with him. As the wife who had been with him for years， she best understood Dad’s helplessness.

In those days， smoked bean tea became a luxury in our family.

Shen Yanni

Shen Yanni， chief editor and a member of the founding team of The Livings -- a famous nonfiction writing platform， has planned and advocated the writing for many columns and topics， and has planned and edited a variety of books.