【我行我秀】为吃饭而长征（图） - 珍珠湾ART

【我行我秀】为吃饭而长征

昨天看到了好些喜欢的好帖子。其中大猫先生的糊辣汤和大清先生的未名湖，钩起了三不侯组合许多昔日的记忆。那是一定想和个帖子的。只可惜没有新近的北京大学的照片，西安的照片倒是现成的，所以，就先和一个大猫先生的糊辣汤吧。这也是对昔日的一个友人的纪念。

其实，郧县的概念应该不是湖北，而是河南。郧县话就很像河南话，却跟武汉话完全“不沾弦”（郧县话）。郧县的洋溪镇（现在也叫白浪镇了），就和陕西商南县的白浪镇、河南淅川县的荆紫关镇，其实是一个镇。这里的白浪街上就有一个点，是“一脚踏三省”的地方。三不侯组合是踏过的。只是现在，你是踏不到的了。因为那个点上已经修起了一个标志“一脚踏三省”的大碑。咳。郧县的吃食也和北方相象。锅盔馍、饸饹、糊辣汤，郧县都有的。我们先说糊辣汤吧。

那是1968年，在大学熬了8年的三不侯刚被分配到县酒厂，还没有被组合，还只是一只“裸侯”的时候。那是一个非常小的酒厂，而且，那老城就要被丹江水库淹没了。酒厂也正在拆迁。老厂只是暂时在维持生产。那县城，是李自成可以趟进趟出的小城，说白了，就是个乡下。所以，过年，在农村人眼里可是天大的事情。说话间，就到过年了。那一年，只有我和会计老孙两个人不回家。所以，酒厂革命委员会的头头就做出了过年放假的决定：老厂的伙房关门，都集中到新城的伙房吃饭。初听这个消息，三不侯还没有反应过来，等走了一趟，我才知道，老厂到新厂，先要上东岭，再过大坝，再走西岭，一趟就要走十四五里路，而且还下着雪。而且，在新厂，我们没有宿舍。这一路，连烤火取暖的地方都没有。一日三餐就要走三个来回。天。三不侯可是火了。老孙也有怨言。我就取了张纸来，写了个春联：红军不怕远征难，万水千山只等闲。贴在了门口。于是，下午张厨师就来了，静静地说：“不要紧，我还来做饭。”还问我们想吃什么？三不侯是不知道想吃什么。老孙想吃糊辣汤。这是我第一次吃到糊辣汤。在那样的小厂，伙房只有他一个人。他是周末也不能休息的。我知道，年关是他唯一的假期。他是牺牲了天伦之乐来为我们做饭的。

情况很快就有了转机。第二天就开始有人来请我们去吃饭了。于是，一家接一家，一顿连一顿，我们一连吃了六天白食。

张厨师则只是笑了一笑，幽幽地说了一句：“我们家的成分高，就不请你们去我们家吃饭了。”我也只好尴尬地笑笑。说他是友人，其实也没有什么交往，连他的名字怎样写，我都不知道。他就是酒厂的一个厨师。说他是厨师，其实，他却从来没有拜师学过厨艺。厂里的人告诉我，解放前，张厨师是郧县城里有名的小老板。包括酒厂在内的许多生意，都是他们家的。他则是妓院、酒肆的常客。那年月，是还没有洗脚和洗根的业务的。才公私合营的时候，酒厂也是有他的股份，算他也是个副厂长的。后来，是他自愿放弃了，决心不再靠剥削吃饭的。但是，他什么都不会，又没有力气，所以只好当厨师了。再后来，他就跟着他的家人搬迁走了。是回了山西老家，还是移民到武昌县去了？我就不知道了。

这就是我在郧县过的第一个年。许多年过去了。张厨师应该已经不在人世了。今天，我才突然想起来，为了给我们做饭，他是不是也要反过来，每天从他在新城的家，步行到老城，来回地走几十里？我却从来没有想过。许多年过去了。糊辣汤是什么味道，我都记不真切了，只有那热乎乎的气息，至今还记忆犹新。

我们没有拍糊辣汤。我们在西安火车站附近拍到了羊肉泡馍的。西安人真实在。三不侯组合太太只吃下了半碗。三不侯组合先生勉强总算把一碗泡馍都撑下去了。哈。在华山门口，我们拍到了一样希奇的吃食，叫“Biàng-Biang”面。虽然《新华字典》里没有这个字，但是，西安也满街都挂着这样的招牌。是不是西安特色？则需要请教大猫先生和三公子先生了。三不侯组合猜想，是电影《阿妹的诺言》引发的。在电影里，老板开的店就是“Biàng-Biang”面的店。

本贴由[三不猴组合]最后编辑于：2011-1-11 10:18:15

本贴由[三不猴组合]最后编辑于：2011-1-11 18:3:57

biang-biang面是西安特产。就是扯出来的很宽的面条，俗称裤腰带，最常见的做法是撒上辣椒面用热油泼，号称“由泼辣子biang-biang面”。写这两个字还有口诀：一点飞上天，黄河两边弯；八字大张口，言字往里走，左一扭，右一扭；西一长，东一长，中间加个马大王；心字底，月字旁，留个勾搭挂麻糖；推了车车走咸阳。”

本贴由[veil]最后编辑于：2011-1-11 12:9:9

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拜晴MM所赐, 帅

等到尘埃落定，吃饭不成问题的时候，这一切原来只是家常便饭

Goose Landing Rock was at the junction of three provinces, Shaanxi, Henan and Hubei. The joint of three provinces or ancient states was largely a mystery spot.

A daring stream flew down from the wide-shouldered mountains from the Shaanxi side, that was called Eagle Fly Creek. There wasn't much water in the flow actually. However, the height of the mountains and steepness of the slopes pushed that small stream of water off rocks and their horrifying formations. As they said in Chinese, when the mountains werer barren, the water was also vicious. An angry eagle jumped off some ugly protruding mountains and stirred up a valley full of vexatious virility in the form of mist and shrieking noise. Yang Qi or the energy of Yang over-spilled the valley and the 50 mile radius. Screaming, crying, echoes, mists, non-stop noises, this part of world was alive and kicking, for thousands of years and still going.

Small Goose River from the Henan side, however, had more than ten times of the water flow, compared to Eagle Fly Creek. By contrast, she strolled leisurely amidst mountains and valleys, played with flowers and birds, kissed grasses and tree leaves, clear to the river bed, tender and sweet. Small schools of little fish of bright colors and strange fins could be seen with vivid details in the body of her dancing water. One could stop and count the pebbles down and under. Small Goose River also sang, in her small and tender voices. Only attentive ears could hear, of course.

Small Goose River and Eagle Fly Creek met, exactly at the provincial border between Shaanxi and Henan. The strangest thing was that the joint of two rivers did not produce a bigger river as it was supposed to be. Goose Landing Valley was green, fantastically green all year long. Big trees with giant leaves blocked off everything. The sky was always gray and the clouds never adrift. There were shades, damp shades forever. Outside world ceased to be. The Goose Landing Valley forest grew too thick even for birds to fly through or wild animals to pass. The seasoned hunter had to take a detour here. Such a thickety seemed like a dark conspiracy, a cover-up of a secrecy with the size of the heaven or the earth. It was all peaceful inside the forest and nowhere could the sound of a running river be heard. There was no river, without a hint of water. The running water disappeared, dried up, and left forever. Big tree trunks joined each other to lift up smooth black rocks of giant proportion. A heavy, heavy silence prevailed, aided by all the rocks. Rocks, rocks, lips were all sealed.

The rocks in Goose Landing Valley were as smooth as black marble; clean, no dust could land on them, no moss could grow. Never even try to walk on those rocks, for you might slip and fall and crack your skull. You might become liquid and disappear into the rocks. Locals called them black gold. Heavy, and silent. Rocks, rocks, lips all were sealed.

The thick jungle stretched a few miles to the banks of the Crimson River; yet in the backside of this majestically mysterious forest, one could find the largest rock of all, black in color of course, lying there peacefully amidst some of the tallest trees all the three provinces could produce. This rock had roughly a rectangulor shape, about 10 yards wide and 20 yards long, shining like a black mirror. As if blessed with divine power, it cut out a small inner world of interesting size in a heavily guarded and hostile environment. The surface of the rock was so even and smooth that one easily could envision divine design. There must have been a divine ax that cut it to make this magic mirror, a mirror so shiny and so black that every particle of dust shall slip off and moss shy away from growing on it. According to legend, when the sun reached the pinnacle at midday, all kinds of colors danced and weaved around the rock, a magic world of charm and beauty was created and veiled in a matter of a few minutes. Through the corridor of time not many common soul had ever witnessed such magic. Yet a few dynasties back, a high court official journeyed through this place on his self-awarded plain-clothes vacation. For the deeply devoted Taoist, wandering the mountains was his way to pay his pilgrimage of learning. He was the one who saw everything, including the dancing colors. That moment of heavenly revelation inspired him to the point of contemplating about resigning from the emperor's court and becoming a hermit right here at this spot. However, the images of his wife and children and all other this-worldly things pulled him back from his day dream. Instead, he ordered and allotted land and funds under his mighty power to construct an exquisite temple around the rock, Black Gold Mirror or Buddha's Halo, as it was ordained. A small pagoda was erected at the spot where the two waters join. The minister was a meticulous man, he emphasized that no human hand touch the rock. Any blemish would result in severe punishment. All the building material must be taken from outside of the forest. The trees that must be cut down for the sake of the temple should be buried with due respect. It was quite a spectacle and yet persuasive in a Chinese way. There was a higher logic in the Chinese way, even though nobody understood it.

The temple was small in size but rather extraordinary in craftsmanship, all the doors, windows, walls and gardens were carefully laid out and decorated with class and taste. Red pine trees are cut from elsewhere to erect this great pagoda of five stories, the high point of the pagoda is about a few feet above the tall trees around it. The entrance of the pagoda faced the Crimson River, or the South. It was a miracle, a small man-made treasure swayed her elegance in the majestic ocean of nature, preserving its holy harmony by adding serenity and dignity, something that lasted in one's heart and soul till the end of time.

The pagoda was plainly named Goose Landing Pagoda. Did the minister believe that the Small Goose (River) was indeed struck down by a Flying Eagle (Creek)? Maybe his learning into the Taoism blessed him with the insight that this rock was the bed of Mother Goose of all. This place saw hordes of geese come and go, in their particular formation which resembled the Chinese character 'person' or Ren. It had been a long, long time, since the temple and the pagoda were first built. The structure was gone, forever, with only the wind bells left. Nobody remembered the pagoda, its shape and magic. The same could be said about the three provinces which used to be independent states with their own kings and princes. Yet, nobody remembered. Goose Landing what? The only thing that was still certain today in many minds of the locals was the exact location of this ancient temple, a spot that was blessed by exceptional Fengshui. Maybe Mother Goose was a phoenix? You prove to me otherwise. Never mind that two rivers disappeared here. They may have flied high and dove deep. Centuries washed by, dynasties rose and fell, only the super craftsmanship still stands above winds and storms of all sizes.

And also nobody knew when the temple suddenly were attended by civilian monks, or monks who were married with children. Even the chief monk changed his Taoist name back to his civilian name, He was an Ouyang. Ouyang might also be the family name of that ancient minister but no one had any proof one way or the other.

The sound of the wind bells only made the forest seem more dense, silent and even mysterious from time to time. The sound had this unique quality, not too loud from distance or even under the pagoda. And through the years, the wind bells never stopped tingling. Not even in my dreams or unconsciousness, that clear summer night sky.

本贴由[三公子]最后编辑于：2011-1-11 16:2:54