When smelling the scent of the fish soup, I cannot hold my tears eventually. It is just the scent of people who I love and is the pure flame within my heart, which is hot to my touch and leaves the sweet-smelling odor.
Back up to my childhood, in a small town with a small school and small playground, my grandmother lived with me. Every day could be different except for one thing: the fish soup. No matter what I did, playing for all day, falling down, walking a long way, going to see the doctor, or studying, the fish soup was required to eat as the reward, comfort, or nourishment. Grandma was always boiling it on the burner for hours, and while I came back, the fish soup grew white and thickened, with the sweet-smelling scent. Nevertheless, as a naïve girl, I regarded it as a daily assignment, even got bored with the savory soup, and felt frightened about the fish bone. Grandma just waited, smiled, and watched me eating it up. Then the palm on my head comforted me, with the temperature that could easily warm my heart.
As time went by, I left the town, left my grandma, and lived in a big city with endless roads. Sometimes it was too big for me to find a little space to fill up with myself. The city was strange the people were aloof and the smell was unfamiliar to me. I felt cold and remembered the fish soup, with the sweet-smelling scent. It just took me back to what I was used to, and what I cherished. I suddenly understood that the persistence of grandma of the fish soup was a sort of love, which could lead me to the brightness.
I never thought of death. However, when I went back to meet grandma and wished to consume the soup again, I just saw a gaunt figure lying on the bed. No smell of the soup but of the disinfectant and medicine. It was the first time that I had noticed that the soup shared the same taste with tears. The fish soup since that time seemed full of the fish bone and could tear my throat to sob so that I couldn’t swallow it for so long.
After grandma passed away, mother began to cook the fish soup. At the beginning it tasted as bitter as the past. I resisted it just as resisting the memory. With the grey color overwelmingly spreading on my mom’s hair, I abruptly discovered that she resembled my grandma, with the same love and irresistible aging. The bitterness was due to the time,containing the memory. And the sweetness of the fish soup increased as I gradually knew my mom’s heart.
During the tough period of the entrance test for universities, no matter how late I stayed up, the delicious fish soup always accompanied me right behind. Once I found that outside my room my mom just slept on the sofa, with the scent of soup from the kitchen, I couldn’t hold my tears back. At that time, the soup
turned bittersweet.
As long as I got tired and felt unsettled, the soup appeased me just like the grandma’s palm. It existed as the ingle continuously burning brightly in my heart, which impelled me to adapt to the life in big city and get acclimated to the atmosphere.
Never did I intend to cook the fish soup for mom before high school. But after I realized that it was a demonstration of love, I decided to try it and to give my mom a surprise. One day while my mom was out, I implemented my plan. Having taken the internal organs out of the fish, I put it in the water with scallion, ginger, garlic, stewed them on slow fire, and waited for half an hour. Add a little salt when the fish was ripe. As I cooked this for the first time in my life and merely did as the book instructed, the taste was just as flat as paper. With my expectation collapsing, I felt so embarrassed and attempted to dump it without anyone’s attention. Meanwhile, mom came back and discovered the poor soup. She was surprised at that time. But she would be disappointed after tasting, I thought in my mind. I pretended to be busy with the housework, and glanced at her secretly.
Her expression was so satisfied with the happiness in her eyes so that I couldn’t help asking, “Is it tasty?”
She answered with a sweet smile, “excellent and full of one magic stuff.”
“What’s that？” I became curious about the word “magic”.
“My daughter’s growing up.”
I turned around to hide my wet eyes and felt some warm liquid flowing on my face. At that moment the fish soup suddenly distributed sweet-smelling scent which filled the room with a secret ingredient named happiness.
Leaving my motherland and coming to America, I started my brand-new life learning in Georgia Tech. New situation, new culture, new food, no fish soup. All the things are unfamiliar except one: the cherish of the memory for the fish soup. Though the food there tastes not bad, the need for mental food usually traps me. After I entered this new world, the unsettlement, wo
rry and miss for my home often occupy me. And my loved people are not at my side, which makes me helpless. I think of the fish soup and regard it as the sign of my hometown, warm and sweet-smelling. Cooking it on my own, I taste the memory that only belongs to me. The fragrant odor of my hometown drags me to the right route so that I will not lose my heart. And it inspires me as I know, wherever I am, home is always with me.
As the time elapses, the fish soup is even more enchanting, stewed with happiness that always moistens my eyes and heart. It irrigates the delicate and pure love flower which blooms gorgeously and diffuses the most fabulous scent in my life. All memory is immerged in it and gains the sweet-smelling odor, flowing like the mild moonlight. Love for all and all love for one, both emerge from the fish soup.
Back up to my childhood, in a small town with a small school and small playground, my grandmother lived with me. Every day could be different except for one thing: the fish soup. No matter what I did, playing for all day, falling down, walking a long way, going to see the doctor, or studying, the fish soup was required to eat as the reward, comfort, or nourishment. Grandma was always boiling it on the burner for hours, and while I came back, the fish soup grew white and thickened, with the sweet-smelling scent. Nevertheless, as a naïve girl, I regarded it as a daily assignment, even got bored with the savory soup, and felt frightened about the fish bone. Grandma just waited, smiled, and watched me eating it up. Then the palm on my head comforted me, with the temperature that could easily warm my heart.
As time went by, I left the town, left my grandma, and lived in a big city with endless roads. Sometimes it was too big for me to find a little space to fill up with myself. The city was strange the people were aloof and the smell was unfamiliar to me. I felt cold and remembered the fish soup, with the sweet-smelling scent. It just took me back to what I was used to, and what I cherished. I suddenly understood that the persistence of grandma of the fish soup was a sort of love, which could lead me to the brightness.
I never thought of death. However, when I went back to meet grandma and wished to consume the soup again, I just saw a gaunt figure lying on the bed. No smell of the soup but of the disinfectant and medicine. It was the first time that I had noticed that the soup shared the same taste with tears. The fish soup since that time seemed full of the fish bone and could tear my throat to sob so that I couldn’t swallow it for so long.
After grandma passed away, mother began to cook the fish soup. At the beginning it tasted as bitter as the past. I resisted it just as resisting the memory. With the grey color overwelmingly spreading on my mom’s hair, I abruptly discovered that she resembled my grandma, with the same love and irresistible aging. The bitterness was due to the time,containing the memory. And the sweetness of the fish soup increased as I gradually knew my mom’s heart.
During the tough period of the entrance test for universities, no matter how late I stayed up, the delicious fish soup always accompanied me right behind. Once I found that outside my room my mom just slept on the sofa, with the scent of soup from the kitchen, I couldn’t hold my tears back. At that time, the soup
turned bittersweet.As long as I got tired and felt unsettled, the soup appeased me just like the grandma’s palm. It existed as the ingle continuously burning brightly in my heart, which impelled me to adapt to the life in big city and get acclimated to the atmosphere.
Never did I intend to cook the fish soup for mom before high school. But after I realized that it was a demonstration of love, I decided to try it and to give my mom a surprise. One day while my mom was out, I implemented my plan. Having taken the internal organs out of the fish, I put it in the water with scallion, ginger, garlic, stewed them on slow fire, and waited for half an hour. Add a little salt when the fish was ripe. As I cooked this for the first time in my life and merely did as the book instructed, the taste was just as flat as paper. With my expectation collapsing, I felt so embarrassed and attempted to dump it without anyone’s attention. Meanwhile, mom came back and discovered the poor soup. She was surprised at that time. But she would be disappointed after tasting, I thought in my mind. I pretended to be busy with the housework, and glanced at her secretly.
Her expression was so satisfied with the happiness in her eyes so that I couldn’t help asking, “Is it tasty?”
She answered with a sweet smile, “excellent and full of one magic stuff.”
“What’s that？” I became curious about the word “magic”.
“My daughter’s growing up.”
I turned around to hide my wet eyes and felt some warm liquid flowing on my face. At that moment the fish soup suddenly distributed sweet-smelling scent which filled the room with a secret ingredient named happiness.
Leaving my motherland and coming to America, I started my brand-new life learning in Georgia Tech. New situation, new culture, new food, no fish soup. All the things are unfamiliar except one: the cherish of the memory for the fish soup. Though the food there tastes not bad, the need for mental food usually traps me. After I entered this new world, the unsettlement, wo
rry and miss for my home often occupy me. And my loved people are not at my side, which makes me helpless. I think of the fish soup and regard it as the sign of my hometown, warm and sweet-smelling. Cooking it on my own, I taste the memory that only belongs to me. The fragrant odor of my hometown drags me to the right route so that I will not lose my heart. And it inspires me as I know, wherever I am, home is always with me.As the time elapses, the fish soup is even more enchanting, stewed with happiness that always moistens my eyes and heart. It irrigates the delicate and pure love flower which blooms gorgeously and diffuses the most fabulous scent in my life. All memory is immerged in it and gains the sweet-smelling odor, flowing like the mild moonlight. Love for all and all love for one, both emerge from the fish soup.
( pictures takenfrom：http://image2.sina.com.cn/bj/cr/2006/0315/367094801.jpg
Fish soup is a very classic dish in China and it seems that it is imersed with something even more special for you. The pictures look very tasty, I can't wait to go back to China to have a bite of the Chinese food there and think of all of my memories in China.
ReplyDeleteLinshu, I love the story. It really informs the reader as to why this particular food is so important to you. I'm going to be sending you an e-mail with a copy of your post attached. I have made notes in the post. So read through, see what you think, and if you have any questions feel free to e-mail me. Also, the organization was good. The post flowed pretty well, going from beginning of your life, to the now. Overall Great Job!
ReplyDelete