In spring, lemons haven’t hit the market in large quantities, so I couldn’t wait to make two jars of limoncello.
On the day when the altar was closed, I was extremely cautious. I stared at the unbrewed juice for a long time, and finally figured out why I was so anxious and crazy.
One of the reasons is that I just came back from abroad and I really want to have a local mellow again. I remember one day, I got up very early just to go to the small shop to drink a bowl of soy milk and eat that kind of thick diamond-shaped biscuit; another day late at night, I eagerly went to the small shop to eat a grilled miso fish For midnight snack. Walking on the street, the aroma of complex and diverse food comes from both sides. The barbecue restaurant is next door to the vegetarian restaurant, the pizzeria and the dumpling shop are across the street, and the hamburger and Sishen soup each have their own diners—for me, this world that respects various tastes and habits is almost the beginning of the Datong world stage. There are so many ways to love a place, the simplest and most direct of which is to eat the food of that place. It’s like the durian in Nanyang – the Chinese there believe that only those who fall in love with that kind of taste will really be willing to linger there.
Brewing a jar of wine is to mix local sugar, red label rice wine and fragrant lemon, and wait for time for them to condense into local taste.
The second reason is that while making wine, I feel like I have a miracle going on in my hands. The ancients worshiped the sky with wine, libated the dead with wine, and celebrated marriage with wine. It must be because every jar of wine contains a mystery, a miracle, a kind of happiness between success and failure, control and control. Possibilities beyond grasp. How can we mortals praise the heaven and earth’s transformation and creation, and the magic of creation? But brewing a jar of wine with your own hands is almost as good as it is.
The third reason is that wine is an “art of time”. There is a jug of newly brewed wine at home, and the years have become rippling and even beautiful because of anticipation. Although the person is standing in the kitchen fume, his eyes are looking at the jar of wine, just like looking at a date. I finally concluded that I am a half-drinker who doesn’t matter whether I drink or not. For me, what is important is the “right to expect”. In a slight sense of anxiety, impatience and sweetness, I stare at the world of wine in the wine jar through the glass day after day.
I think back then, many Shaoxing people made many jars of rice wine and buried them in the cellar when their daughters were born, so that they could be used to entertain guests when their daughters got married-what a deep affection there was! Therefore, the wine is called “Nuerhong”, which is really a good name. It reminds people of Taohuawu, the pond of new lotus, the strings on the water, and the moonlight deliberately leaning over the window-it makes people think. One more thought would bring tears to my eyes.
Thinking of those parents who make wine, how do you feel? When the color of wine is first glamorous, is the parents’ heart happy or sad at first? When the daughter’s hair became darker and thicker, and her face became more and more radiant, a great brewing in nature had been completed. The wine is waiting to be poured, the daughter is waiting to be married, the wine waiting to be poured is as bright as a woman’s tears of love, and the daughter who is waiting to be married is also as mellow as the wine that has suddenly opened. At this time, what is the mood of being a parent?
And my limoncello has no such “seriousness”, it is just a light aroma that can be tried in six weeks. There is no vicissitudes of great joy and great sorrow, nor does it contain the kind of ups and downs that are both fast and painful-but maybe it is better this way, making it just a small secret, a bunch of long expectations, just like a stack of in between. Whether you care about it or not, you can publish or not publish your personal manuscript.
Brewing a jar of wine puts me on better terms with time. Every evening, when I came back to this little place of peace through the sounds and dust of the city, I would say hello to my dear wine jar and say, “Hey, you look prettier today than you did yesterday! ”
A person who owns a jar of wine turns the cruel subtraction of time into a kind addition. From this point of view, a jar of wine is not just a jar of drink, but also a magic weapon. Once you have it, you can play a set of strange spells: make everything disappear and reappear, and everything that goes away becomes an increase. The person who owns a jar of wine is an ancient historian, standing in front of the daily plot, waiting for the completion of recording a period of history.
The fourth reason for brewing wine is to remind you of friends from the past and even the future who are related to this wine. Although such a weak drink is not worth a smile, it also adds a touch of color to many gatherings-the humor of friends, the singing and crying of friends, the wisdom of friends, and even their eloquence and silence, their excitement and deepness, their Free and easy and simple, all reproduced one by one in the pine nut-colored wine light. Wine is a magical book of prophecy when it is not drunk, but it is a long-reading history book after drinking it. Digging along the “mine seedlings” of the wine glass, you may find your friend’s long song, or touch your friend’s tears, at least, you will meet your friend’s tranquility—but no matter what, you will never come across “blank” “.
So, shouldn’t we brew a jar of wine?
The fifth reason for making wine is very simple, I can see myself in the wine. If Confucius is the jade waiting to be sold, I am the wine waiting to be poured. I spend my whole life brewing my own concentration, and what I am waiting for is just a moment of pouring.
On quiet nights, I sometimes put the glass jar on the table and stare at it like looking at a tank of tropical fish, thinking: This strange life, every second of it tastes different from the last second! Once it is a jar of wine, it is destined to be restless, changing, and brewing.
If wine also has knowledge, will it also look at me in the skin and be fascinated? It may think: That skin is a good wine jar! I just don’t know if the flesh and blood in the altar can brew anything?
How much I wanted to tell it out loud then: “Yeah, you guessed it, I’m wine too, still brewing and waiting for a fatal pour!”
Maybe brewing a jar of wine in spring is such a good thing that there is no reason at all. However, I happened to pick up a bunch of reasons, especially described above, which can be used as an excuse for the next time I want to brew wine.