Summer, heat and rural soup. Still yesterday since evening wanted to make childhood memories of
for lunch hlebovo today. On the street what day the sun bakes, and to me the childhood, more precisely summer was remembered: a heat, flies, the heated Russian oven. Parents lived in poverty, ate generally potato, cabbage, sometimes there was a fat. I remember, the father will bring a piece of fat, will cut off to us and himself and says that as though nothing hurts it as he fat will eat.to
Sometimes it happened what to bake was not heated, and then for lunch prepared this most hlebovo. Most often bought a hamsa, sometimes herring. And here mother natolcht in a bowl much - a lot of onions, will add fennel, herring, several eggs, boiled potato, it is a little sour cream and will pour cold water there. Such plain summer soup turned out. Very much I loved it. Took a spoon and scooped this soup from a bowl. To our grandsons now and not to understand, probably, what to us for pleasure was to pokhlebat such soup.
Sat, remembered that time: as lived as endured a heat - for the night laid blankets on a floor yes so on a floor and slept, having opened a window in a garden; annoying flies were sent some scarfs, nothing else was known. Held cattle: cow, pig, hens. At us (children) was a daily duty to dig and chop on a nettle bucket for a pig. You want, you do not want - put on mittens and go to tear a nettle. Then not that to argue, we could not but listen to parents with the brother. Tried to help the father with mother.
It is good that milk was, sour cream, and here meat and fat from a pig remained a little since were forced to sell the main part. That to make a lunch, it was necessary to bake to heat, I go in chugunka to weld. There is such chugunok with Russian cabbage soup in an oven, pines, and we will begin to eat in the evening - Russian cabbage soup hot, potato even reddish became. For me taste of that food will not be compared to anything... Perhaps lived it is rather poor, or perhaps and the food in an oven more tasty turned out.long ago is not present
of the Russian oven, flowers on a kitchen garden grow in the only thing which escaped to a chugunka, and one of favourite dishes of my childhood - hlebovo I with pleasure sometimes prepare and I treat the granddaughter, nephews and other relatives and acquaintances who with surprise try it and ask additives. And here the husband does not love and never eats this dish. For it I cook okroshka, and to itself is not present and I will make in the summer hlebovo. Not just the dish is a taste of my childhood. And what it at you, taste of your childhood?