外祖母的食谱爱的味道.docVIP

外祖母的食谱爱的味道 　　如今，随着生活节奏加快，经济条件变好，我们在外就餐的时候越来越多。每当我们走进一家餐馆，心里都或多或少地期待能品尝到符合自己口味和心意的美食，但结果却很可能令人失望。直到有一天，当我们回到家中，夹起外婆做的简单可口的饭菜，我们才终于意识到：无论哪里的珍馐佳肴，都不如外婆做的那一碗爱的味道。 　　Times are a little tough at our house right now. Neither one of us makes a lot of money， but years of experience have taught us how to walk between the raindrops and make it from one month to the next with a fair amount of grace. 　　I cook a lot at home， more when we’re facing lean times. When I know that I have to keep us fed on not much money， I fall back on my grandmother’s recipes. 　　She taught me to cook. When I was a kid， my twin brother and I spent long summer weeks and Christmas vacations with my mother’s parents， a rural mail-carrier and a textile mill worker in the mountains of north-west North Carolina. 　　I didn’t care much for quail1） hunting or fishing for bass2） and rainbow trout3） like my brother and grandfather. Guns were loud and terrifying， fields were gross and full of mud. Also， little David just wasn’t great at killing things. I shuddered when pushing worms on to fishhooks， cried quietly when stuffing bloody limp birds into the game sack. 　　Turned out， though， that I was really good at baking cakes. So rather than go shiver on frozen mornings in a deer blind4） praying I wouldn’t have to pull the trigger on this shotgun， I found myself more and more in the kitchen with my grandmother， watching her soft， arthritis5）-bent hands drizzling corn starch6） into the filling for a lemon chess pie. 　　“The more you pay， the worse you eat，” she would say. Grandmother had a near-total disdain for restaurants， particularly expensive ones. I told her once that I’d been to a “soul food7）” restaurant in New York City where they charged six dollars for a serving of collard greens8） and she was aghast. 　　“Somebody needs to tell those people that they can pick their own collards for free on the side of the road！” she said， disgusted. And it’s true. Collards are a weed， but they’re a weed that’s packe