派的考驗(yàn):尋找家的感覺

當(dāng)嘗到自己千辛萬苦做成功的派時(shí)，我真正體會(huì)到通過辛勤勞動(dòng)換來的果實(shí)是多么美味，也重新記起童年的快樂和家的溫馨??

“I made a pie today.”

That is a simple， five word sentence. Yet with that simple sentence I elicited the wheezing1) laughter of a proud， chain-smoking2) mother on the telephone last night.

My childhood was spent among the pie makers. My mother would drag my sister and me out for long walks where we would pick wild strawberries from the ditches3) that lined the country highway where we lived. In my memory， it was always a quiet but scorchingly4) hot day when we picked them， and my sister was constantly complaining about being thirsty and bored.

Together， the three of us would slowly work our way down the road， and cars that passed would honk5) and wave at us—my mother using it as an excuse to stand up and give her back a break from bending over for so long.

My grandmother， my mother’s mother， lived a block down from a cherry orchard. The old man who owned the farmland that included the cherry orchard always allowed my grandmother to come and pick as many cherries as she would want. My grandfather， a carpenter， would return the gesture by fixing odds and ends6) and building small furniture for the old farmer.

Again， my sister， mother， and I were sent out to pick the dark red berries off the trees. My memory， here too， is filled with heat. We would walk to the orchard across the unplanted field overgrown with milkweed that I loved to pick; ripping it open like corn husks7)， I’d throw the sticky white stalks at my sister who would scream， running for cover behind the solitary tree that stood in the middle of the field.

When we got back to Grandma’s house， she would set to work. With a dip of her sifter8) in that green plastic tub， she would sprinkle9) a snow shower of flour down onto the kitchen table. Smacking10) the start of dough on the table， her hands would knead11) and slide around the floured table. The wooden rolling pin12) would push the dough out， and if it were too sticky， she’d dust the table with a smattering13) of more flour. It was as if it were choreographed14) to music， but instead of music， we would hear—“Hello， Americans， I’m Paul Harvey15) ...” Her wedding ring would fill with flour and pie dough and she’d spend an hour cleaning it out with a toothbrush as the pie cooked in the oven.

With that paper-thin crust16) complete， she’d gently place it in the glass pie plate and cut around the edges. In the meantime， my mother would have been pitting the cherries. I never remember seeing those cherries get mixed together—I just remember them being placed in the pie plate as Grandma worked out another pie crust for the top.

Though it was the filling that tasted so good， the crust was magic.

I have never been able to master the pie crust. My grandmother did it， my mother can do it， my cousin Joey can do it， but I cannot. Strike that17). I could not， until last night.

In my apartment， I have no kitchen table and I have about one square foot of counter space. I have attempted the pie crust before. I have rolled out the dough just to get it stuck to my rolling pin like glue， crusting over and drying out before I could even attempt to fix it. I have made crusts too thin， too thick， too wet， too dry ...

My attempt last night had me taking everything off the coffee table that I use as a kitchen table in the living room area. I figured if flour gets on the floor， well， that’s why God invented vacuums. I turned off the television， and with a surgeon’s attention to detail I rolled out a perfect pie crust—twice.

Much to my dismay， however， after I put the crust in the bottom of the pie plate that has NEVER made its way into the oven， I realized that I hadn’t bought anything to put in the pie. You see， I have failed so many times that I had forgotten there was a step after the actual crust.

“I don’t have a recipe， I just mix it together ...” my grandmother told me on the phone. That was no help. My mother didn’t answer her phone until I finished the whole ordeal.

So， I did what any modern shopper does: I went to the grocery store to read labels of canned fruit to find a recipe for pie filling. I was not disappointed: the can of cherries had a lovely little recipe with almond extract18) and cinammon19). Perfect.

I raced home， afraid of what the temperature could be doing to my pie crust. I was paranoid20). I had never gotten this close before—it’s like running a marathon and right when you see the finish line on the horizon， you just collapse to the ground.

But， the Fates21) smiled down upon me. I whipped together that filling recipe， placed my filling into the crust， put the top crust on， popped that pie in the oven and waited for 40 minutes—pacing the floor like a father waiting for his baby to be born. I resisted opening the oven door， because mother always said that would mess too much with the temperature of things and could potentially cause burning.

When that buzzer went off， I opened the door. There it was. No bubbling over， no splitting off of the crust—it was a golden brown and smelled like buttery goodness.

Waiting hours for it to cool， I had that first piece before calling my mother. Do you know how it is when you bite into certain foods and your entire mouth starts salivating22) to the point where you almost drool23) on yourself? Yeah， that’s what this pie tasted like.

“I made a pie today，” I told my mother before launching into the entire story. Like I was a little kid picking berries， I again understood the importance of being part of the process; nothing tasted better than the success brought to fruition by hard work.

I shared with my mother how good my pie tasted and how it was too bad that she’s over a thousand miles away or I’d share a piece with her.

“I bet it’s good; better than that store bought crap. That stuff ’ll kill you，” she scoffed in disgust， but hidden among that disgust， I could also hear a small morsel of pride.

Better， indeed. I only hope I can do it again….

“我今天做了個(gè)派?！?/p>

這句話再簡(jiǎn)單不過，只有七個(gè)字。但就是這句簡(jiǎn)單的話，讓我那位頗為驕傲又煙不離手的媽媽昨晚在電話那頭樂得喘不過氣來。

我的童年是在一幫做派的人中度過的。那時(shí)候，媽媽總是拖著我和妹妹一起出門，沿著附近公路兩旁的溝渠走好遠(yuǎn)，一路摘野草莓。在我的記憶中，摘野草莓的日子總是寧靜而酷熱的，妹妹會(huì)不停地抱怨說又渴又無聊。

我們?nèi)齻€(gè)人就這樣一起慢慢地沿著公路邊走邊采摘。路過的汽車司機(jī)會(huì)沖著我們又是按喇叭又是揮手——我媽媽會(huì)借機(jī)站直身子，讓弓久了的背歇一歇。

離我外婆家一個(gè)街區(qū)遠(yuǎn)的地方有一個(gè)櫻桃園。櫻桃園所在田地的主人是個(gè)老頭兒，他總是讓我外婆進(jìn)到櫻桃園里摘櫻桃，想摘多少，就摘多少。我的外公是個(gè)木匠，為了回報(bào)老農(nóng)的好意，便幫著老農(nóng)修理東西，或制作小件家具。

同樣，妹妹、媽媽和我三人又被派出去從樹上采摘深紅色的櫻桃。我記得那也是個(gè)大熱天。我們穿過沒有播種的田地，朝果園走去，地里的牛乳草瘋長(zhǎng)著，我最喜歡把它們摘在手里把玩。我像剝玉米一樣將牛乳草剝開，然后把黏糊糊的白色草稈兒扔向妹妹，而她總是大聲尖叫著，一路跑到田中央那棵孤零零的樹后面躲起來。

我們回到外婆家后，外婆就開始干活了。她用篩子從那個(gè)綠色的塑料盆里舀出面粉，然后讓過篩的面粉像下雪一樣灑到廚房的桌子上。在桌子上揉最初的面團(tuán)時(shí)，她的雙手又揉又按，在鋪有面粉的桌子上利索地來回移動(dòng)。外婆用木制搟面杖將面團(tuán)搟開。如果面團(tuán)太粘，外婆會(huì)再往桌上撒少許面粉。整個(gè)過程像是為了配合音樂而設(shè)計(jì)出來的舞蹈一樣，但廚房里放的可不是音樂，而是——“大家好，美國(guó)的聽眾朋友們，我是保羅·哈維……”外婆手上的婚戒總是沾滿面粉和面糊，把派放進(jìn)烤箱烘烤以后，她得花一個(gè)小時(shí)用牙刷把戒指清理干凈。

像紙一樣薄的派皮兒做好以后，外婆會(huì)小心翼翼地把它放在專門放派的玻璃盤上，為它修邊。與此同時(shí)，媽媽一直在給櫻桃去核。我從來不記得自己見過將櫻桃混在一起調(diào)餡兒的情景——我只記得它們被放在派盤里，而這個(gè)時(shí)候外婆正忙著做蓋在餡兒上的另一層皮兒。

雖然派的美味全靠里面的餡料，但皮兒也同樣讓人著迷。

我從來沒能掌握做皮兒的訣竅。我的外婆會(huì)做，媽媽會(huì)做，就連我的表弟喬伊都會(huì)做，可唯獨(dú)我不會(huì)。這么說也許還不夠準(zhǔn)確。應(yīng)該說，截止到昨天晚上為止，我不會(huì)。

我公寓的廚房里沒有桌子，只有一個(gè)約一平方英尺的廚房操作臺(tái)。我以前試著做過派皮兒。我搟面團(tuán)，面團(tuán)卻像膠水一樣黏在搟面杖上。我還沒來得及處理，面團(tuán)就變干變硬了。反正我做過的派皮兒不是太厚就是太薄，不是太濕就是太干……

昨晚，我把客廳里的咖啡桌騰出來，用來當(dāng)廚房桌用。我當(dāng)時(shí)想，要是我把面粉弄得滿地都是，那也沒什么打緊，上帝就是為了這個(gè)發(fā)明吸塵器的。我關(guān)掉電視，帶著外科醫(yī)生對(duì)細(xì)節(jié)的那種專注精神，搟出了一張完美的派皮兒——兩次都是。

然而，令我非常沮喪的是，當(dāng)我把派皮兒放在裝派的盤子——這個(gè)盤子之前從未進(jìn)過烤箱——底部時(shí)，我才發(fā)現(xiàn)自己沒有買任何能夠包進(jìn)皮兒里的餡料。瞧，我做皮兒失敗的次數(shù)太多了，以至于我都忘了做完皮兒之后還有一步。

“我沒有烘焙配方，我只是把東西都混在一起罷了……”外婆在電話里告訴我。顯然，她的話對(duì)我毫無幫助。我又打給我媽，但直到我完成整個(gè)艱巨的任務(wù)時(shí)，我媽才接了我的電話。

于是，我做了一件任何現(xiàn)代購(gòu)物者都會(huì)做的事：跑到食品雜貨店，拿起水果罐頭看標(biāo)簽，從里面尋找派的餡料配方。這招果然沒有令我失望：櫻桃罐頭的標(biāo)簽上寫著一個(gè)美妙的小配方，用料包含杏仁精和桂皮粉。好極了。

我匆匆跑回家，擔(dān)心溫度毀了我的派皮兒。我變得疑神疑鬼，因?yàn)槲覐臎]有像這次這樣接近成功。這就好像跑馬拉松一樣，自己明明已經(jīng)看見終點(diǎn)線就在前方，卻在最后關(guān)頭癱倒在地。

不過，命運(yùn)之神終于向我垂青。我快速按照配方拌好餡兒，將餡兒鋪在皮兒上，餡兒上再蓋一層皮兒，把派迅速放進(jìn)烤箱，然后開始40分鐘的等待。我一邊等一邊來回踱步，像一個(gè)父親等待孩子的誕生。我強(qiáng)忍住想打開烤箱看看的沖動(dòng)，因?yàn)閶寢尦Ｕf，那會(huì)極大地破壞烤箱里的溫度，還有導(dǎo)致烤糊的可能。

當(dāng)烤箱的蜂鳴聲響完，我打開了烤箱門。我的派就在那兒。皮兒沒有起泡，也沒有裂開——外表呈金棕色，散發(fā)著誘人的奶油香。

我等了幾個(gè)小時(shí)，派才冷卻下來。在打電話給媽媽之前，我先嘗了一塊。你有這樣的體會(huì)嗎？把某食物放進(jìn)嘴里，一口咬下去，立刻滿口生津，口水多到差點(diǎn)要淌到自己身上。沒錯(cuò)，我的派嘗起來就是這個(gè)味道。

“我今天做了個(gè)派?！?我告訴媽媽說，然后將整個(gè)過程都告訴了她。像小時(shí)候摘櫻桃一樣，我又一次體會(huì)到了參與到過程之中的重要性；沒有什么比通過辛勤勞動(dòng)換來的成功果實(shí)味道更香甜的了。

我告訴媽媽我的派有多么美味，告訴她真遺憾她遠(yuǎn)在千里之外，不然的話我會(huì)與她一起分享。

“我相信它一定很好吃，肯定比商店里買來的強(qiáng)。商店里那種東西只會(huì)坑死你?！彼凉M是嫌惡地嘲笑道。但是在這種嫌惡背后，我聽出了媽媽的一絲驕傲。

自己做的確實(shí)更好吃，真的。我只希望下次還能成功……

1.wheeze [wi?z] vt. 喘息，困難地呼吸

2.chain-smoking：一根接著一根抽的

3.ditch [d?t?] n. 溝，溝渠

4.scorchingly [?sk??t???li] adv. 灼熱地，激烈地

5.honk [h??k] vt. 使喇叭鳴響

6.odds and ends：零碎的東西，瑣碎事

7.husk [h?sk] n. 殼

8. sifter [?s?ft?(r)] n. 篩子

9.sprinkle [?spr??kl] vt. 撒

10.smack [sm?k] vt. 拍打，拍擊

11.knead [ni?d] vi. 揉，捏(面團(tuán)、濕黏土等)

12.rolling pin：搟面杖

13.smattering [?sm?t?r??] n. 少數(shù)，一點(diǎn)兒

14.choreograph [?k?ri?ɡrɑ?f] vt. 為……設(shè)計(jì)舞蹈動(dòng)作

15.Paul Harvey：保羅·哈維(1918~2009)，美國(guó)廣播公司的著名電臺(tái)播音員，主播《新聞與評(píng)論》(News and Comment)等，是一位富有傳奇色彩的播音員。

16.crust [kr?st] n. 餡餅皮

17.strike that：表示收回之前說的話

18.almond extract：杏仁精

19.cinnamon [?s?n?m?n] n. 桂皮粉

20. paranoid [?p?r?n??d] adj. 多疑的

21.the Fates：命運(yùn)三女神，她們掌管著人類的出生、與死亡等命運(yùn)。

22.salivate [?s?l?ve?t] vi. (過量地)分泌唾液

23.drool [dru?l] vi. 流口水