Grandma's kitchen

It was a miniature world of my grandmother, narrow, familiar but containing so many dear things. She kept pots, pans, baskets... and even hung onions and garlic. Many things were covered with soot, looked black and dirty but she refused to throw them away, didn't want to change. Not because she didn't have the means, but because that small kitchen contained a sky full of memories...

My grandmother's house is different now because Uncle Phuong decided to build a very modern two-story villa, hiring an architect to design it. The kitchen is furnished with beautiful, shiny furniture. The electric stove and infrared stove are extremely convenient and clean. He wanted to destroy my grandmother's shabby tiled kitchen, but my grandmother absolutely did not agree. My grandmother said that it was her loving, warm kitchen. Every day, my grandmother had to see the fire flare up when boiling water, cooking porridge, boiling potatoes... then she would feel happy. Despite the pungent smoke from the kitchen because the straw and firewood were sometimes still damp, my grandmother missed the smell of smoke and the years of poverty. On cold days, sitting by the fire, my grandmother felt her legs less numb and cold, so she forgot about the rheumatism that tormented her.

Every time my family came to visit, my mother would sit next to my grandmother in the kitchen to reminisce about the past. She told me about the kitchen filled with memories of her childhood. She remembered the hot summer days, coming home from school and having to cook a huge pot of bran to feed the pigs. After cooking, when she left the kitchen, her nose would bleed profusely. In the winter, everyone loved to go into the kitchen to warm up, to roast corn and sweet potatoes, secretly eating them, making their faces dirty. The best time to enjoy Tet and spring was when the whole family gathered around the fire, watching the pot of banh chung and listening to grandparents tell stories of “the old days”.

In recent years, my grandmother has gotten older, her legs are weak, her eyesight is poor, but every Tet holiday, she still wants to wrap and boil banh chung herself and then share it with her children and grandchildren. Uncle Phuong often scolds her: "Nowadays, no one wants banh chung. If they want to eat it, they will deliver it to their house, it's available all year round. Mom, don't wrap it anymore, it's tiring." But my grandmother doesn't listen, she says: "If you don't wrap banh chung, what's the Tet atmosphere? You have to let the children know about cultural traditions and preserve and promote them. It's true that nowadays, everything is available, but making it yourself is still better, my child! Just ignore this old lady." My grandmother says and does. She also teaches me how to wash dong leaves, cut the leaves, and how to wrap banh chung without a mold but still make it square and beautiful. Not only during Tet, but my grandmother's kitchen always becomes a place for my siblings who have been separated for a long time to reunite. Busy all year round with homework and school, only during summer, Tet, and holidays do we have the chance to gather with my grandmother.

Grandma's small kitchen was renovated by Uncle Phuong to be cleaner and cleaner, with red tiles, utensils placed in compartments and boxes, both neat and fireproof. Hearing the laughter in the kitchen, Grandma knew that the children were watching the kitchen while playing "clown" or secretly roasting corn and sweet potatoes and giggling. It was from Grandma's small kitchen that my siblings and I bonded more, telling each other all kinds of stories about school, class, and our neighborhood...

Every day my grandmother gets older, she just wants her children and grandchildren to gather together happily. As we grow older, we care more about her, but the time we spend visiting her is gradually decreasing. Therefore, whenever I have a chance to go back to my hometown, I follow my mother or ride my bike alone. My grandmother likes to sit and boil water, stew porridge or boil corn and potatoes in the small, warm kitchen, smelling strongly of firewood, straw, and dry leaves, rather than standing and cooking on the electric stove. As for my mother, my aunt and my sisters, who are used to modern conveniences, my grandmother's "old-fashioned" kitchen is just a memory of a difficult time, full of hardship but also full of love. Therefore, we always cherish my grandmother's kitchen, like a priceless gift.