Food of Childhood

My childhood was scented with osmanthus flowers.

When I was young, I lived in the countryside. There was a sweet-scented osmanthus tree in my yard. In autumn, clusters of golden flowers filled the branches and bloomed thickly all over the tree.

The whole yard will also be dense with a sweet scented osmanthus, slow, not urgent not impatient, but refreshing.

At that time I was naughty. I always spread a mat under the osmanthus tree and asked several friends to shake the osmanthus tree together.

Shaking and shaking, Osmanthus fragrans fall one after another, like a fragrant and beautiful osmanthus rain.

The osmanthus flowers that fall can be used to make osmanthus steamed cakes by picking off the branches and leaves and drying in the sun for a few days.

A bowl of flour, a handful of sweet-scented osmanthus flowers and a spoonful of honey will turn the simple ingredients into round steamed cakes for the drawer. After being served, they will be cut into small triangles.

The newly released steamed cake with osmanthus flowers, light rice fragrance mixed with the fragrance of osmanthus flowers, steam like fog, all the joy of childhood in this steamed cake.

I can't help it. I can't wait to take a bite out of it in the heat.

The sweet scented osmanthus steamed cake made by grandma is loose but not loose, soft, waxy, soft and sweet. It melts into your mouth with a bite and is sweet in your heart.

In the era when there was no oven or tiramisu, such a small steamed cake with osmanthus flowers satisfied all my yearning and expectation for delicious food.

I always remember, those brilliant autumn night, the evening breeze gently brushed, mixed with the fragrance of osmanthus flowers.

The moonlight poured through the crevices of the branches and broke into glittering spots.

Grandma held me sitting in the yard, stroking my back and singing softly: "Sweet osmanthus, sweet honey, glutinous rice cake, round moon."

The rocking chair rocked and rocked until I dreamed of this gentle and graceful nursery rhyme.

And nestled in grandma's arms, I also gradually grew up, the taste of hometown and childhood hidden in memories, engraved in the heart.

After growing up, although I ate more and better cakes or snacks, I still miss that little sweet-scented osmanthus steamed cake from time to time.

And this treasure in the osmanthus tree story, now say with you listen.