SEtalk: What My Grandmother's Kitchen Taught Me

This is my grandmother's wooden spoon.

这是我奶奶的木勺。

It's over sixty years old.

它已经有60多年的历史了。

It's burned, it's cracked, and it's my most precious thing.

它烧焦了，也裂开了，却是我最珍贵的东西。

Let me tell you why.

让我告诉大家为什么。

Five years ago, I moved abroad to study.

5年前，我出国留学了。

The food was fine, but I missed home.

那里的饭菜还行，但我很想家。

So I called my grandmother and asked for her recipes.

于是我给奶奶打电话，向她要食谱。

"How much salt, Grandma?"

“奶奶，放多少盐？”

"Oh, just enough."

“哎，适量就行。”

"How long do I cook it?"

“要煮多久？”

"Until it smells right!"

“闻着对了就行！”

Ugh, I was so frustrated!

唉，我真是快抓狂了！

That summer, I flew home and cooked with her every day.

那年夏天，我飞回家，每天都和她一起做饭。

And slowly, I understood.

然后慢慢地，我明白了。

Her recipes weren't written in numbers.

她的食谱不是用数字写成的。

They were written in her hands, her nose, her memory.

它们写在她的双手、她的鼻子、她的记忆里。

I think culture works the same way.

我觉得文化也是这样。

We think culture is festivals and famous buildings.

我们以为文化就是节日和著名建筑。

But most of it lives in small, everyday things.

但它大部分其实藏在日常的小事里。

A song your mum sings while cleaning.

妈妈打扫时哼的一首歌。

A word only your family uses.

一个只有你们家才用的词。

The way your grandmother says, "Eat more!"

奶奶说“多吃点！”时的那种语气。

My grandmother passed away last winter.

奶奶去年冬天去世了。

But every time I cook her soup,

但每次我煮她的汤，

my kitchen smells exactly like hers.

我的厨房就会飘出和她厨房一模一样的味道。

And for a moment, she's with me again.

那一瞬间，她又回到了我身边。

So here's my small request.

所以，我有一个小小的请求。

This week, call the oldest person in your family.

这周，给你们家里年纪最大的人打个电话吧。

Ask them to teach you one recipe.

请他们教你们做一道菜。

Don't write it down. Cook it together!

不要写下来，一起动手做！

Because when we lose these things, we lose a part of who we are.

因为当我们失去这些东西时，也就失去了自己的一部分。

Thank you.

谢谢大家。