媽媽做的手工餃子上，沒有任何產(chǎn)品標(biāo)簽。沒有能量值，脂肪含量，也沒有“每天五個(gè)”的說明。相反，我每吃一口，都能嘗到愛和家的味道。

On the last evening of my mom's most recent trip to visit me in London, she sat across the table peeling pomegranate seeds into a big bowl.
最近，媽媽來倫敦看我。臨走前一晚，她坐在桌對(duì)面，剝了一大碗的石榴籽。

"Eat this tomorrow after I'm gone, you lazy bee," she teased, dismissing the piles of books, clothes and electronics across the table waiting to be packed into her luggage.
“明天我走之后，把這個(gè)吃了，你個(gè)懶蟲。”她一邊剝一邊笑話我，盡管她還沒有把桌對(duì)面成堆的書、衣物和電子設(shè)備等打包裝好。

Mom knows me too well: pomegranate seeds are my favorite. They never appear on my food schedule though, as I lack the patience to peel them properly.
媽媽太了解我了：石榴是我的最愛。但它們從未進(jìn)入我的食物清單，因?yàn)槲覜]那個(gè)耐心去一顆顆地剝出來。

Mom doesn't have the patience either, except when it comes to feeding me.
其實(shí)媽媽也沒那個(gè)耐心。只是為了我能吃上，她甘愿去做。

Her hand moved gently and swiftly, while her eyes looked carefully at the small watery little seeds, attentively trying not to crush them.
她的手輕柔敏捷地移動(dòng)，眼睛緊緊盯著那一顆顆小小的多汁的石榴籽，生怕碰碎了它們。

When I woke up the next day and opened the fridge. Sure enough, waiting for me was a clear jar of perfect smooth and shiny pomegranate seeds.
等到我次日起床，打開冰箱一看，果不其然，一瓶圓潤鮮亮的石榴籽正等著我呢。

Ever since I left home to study in London ten years ago, food is a big part of mom's London visits.
自從我10年前離家赴倫敦求學(xué)，食物一直是媽媽來看我的必備禮物。

With each trip, she would be sure to fill the entire fridge with hand-made dumplings, rice cakes, rice puddings, sesame filled sweet dumplings and many other sweets I struggle to find English translations for.
每次來，她都會(huì)把冰箱裝滿各種手工餃子、米糕、八寶飯、芝麻餡的湯圓，還有好多我沒法用英文描述的甜食。

I love watching her knead the dough, turning the loose flour into individual circular layers of dumpling wraps, like little flower pedals. Her hand would effortlessly fold up these wraps into moon-shaped dumplings, and place them neatly into a tray.
我喜歡看她揉面團(tuán)，將那松軟的面粉變成一片片圓形的餃子皮，仿佛一片片小花瓣。她毫不費(fèi)力地將那些餃子皮折成月牙形狀的餃子，然后挨個(gè)在盤子里碼好。

Whenever it's time to say goodbye, mom would never say that she misses me, or that she loves me. Instead, she'll remark casually: "don't starve yourself while I'm not with you".
每每到了離別時(shí)分，媽媽從不說她有多想我，或者有多愛我，而只是隨意地提那么一句：“我不在的時(shí)候，別餓著啊。”

Mom belongs to a generation where food is an expression of love.
媽媽生在那樣一個(gè)時(shí)代，那時(shí)候，人們用食物來表達(dá)愛意。

Born in the 60s to parents who were accountants in a factory at a time when China was still a planned economy, food meant everything.
上世紀(jì)六十年代，媽媽生于一個(gè)工廠會(huì)計(jì)家庭。在那個(gè)計(jì)劃經(jīng)濟(jì)時(shí)期，對(duì)百姓來說，食物就是天。

Her favorite after-school activity was visiting an old nanny, who would feed her rice mixed with seasame oil. "Mmm…. that's the best food we could hope for back then," she would say.
她每天放學(xué)后最愛做的事，就是去看一位老奶奶，老奶奶會(huì)給她吃芝麻油拌米飯。“嗯，在那個(gè)年代，這就是我們能想到的最好的食物了。”她說。

During her last month at high school, when she was studying for her university entrance exam, my grandparents gave her the best ever nutritional food they could afford: an egg every day. "Gosh, the egg put on so much pressure on my studies."
高考前的一個(gè)月，媽媽復(fù)習(xí)考試時(shí)，外公外婆把家里最有營養(yǎng)的食物拿出來給她——每天一個(gè)雞蛋。“天啊，那些雞蛋給了我好多壓力督促我好好學(xué)習(xí)。”

By the 1990s, when I was born, food was no longer so scarce in China. So my understanding of why food is so essential to the Chinese culture mostly comes from my mom's stories.
到了九十年代，也就是我出生的時(shí)候，中國的食物已經(jīng)沒有那么緊缺。所以，關(guān)于食物在中國文化中占據(jù)的“天”的位置，我都是從媽媽的故事里了解的。

In my mother's generation, people would greet each other using the phrase of "Have you eaten?" instead of the more familiar "how are you?" We don't do that in China anymore, but I still look forward to the ritual of my whole family gathering together to prepare food across a big kitchen table at special occasions, such as the Chinese New Year.
在我媽媽那個(gè)年代，人們見面打招呼會(huì)說“你吃了嗎？”，而不是我們更熟悉的“你好嗎？”中國人現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)不這么說了，但是我仍然對(duì)春節(jié)等特殊節(jié)日里全家人聚在一起，在大大的廚房桌臺(tái)上準(zhǔn)備食物的傳統(tǒng)感到期待。

Such fond childhood memories have stayed with me. It's funny that living in the super health-conscious city of London has taught me to think about food in terms of calories and carb content when I shop at Waitrose.
這些幸福的童年回憶一直陪伴著我。有趣的是，生活在健康意識(shí)極強(qiáng)的倫敦，我學(xué)會(huì)了在Waitrose購物時(shí)，去關(guān)注食物的卡路里和碳水化合物含量。

Well, mom's home-made dumplings don't have any food labels. No calorie calculation, no fat percentages, nothing on the package telling me to eat my "five a day". Instead, every bite of mom's food tastes of love, and of the feeling of home.
媽媽做的手工餃子上，沒有任何產(chǎn)品標(biāo)簽。沒有能量值，脂肪含量，也沒有“每天五個(gè)”的說明。相反，我每吃一口，都能嘗到愛和家的味道。

Over the last few years, London's Chinatown has undergone a massive face-lift. New shops and restaurants are popping up, offering an increasingly diverse range of authentic Chinese snacks and regional products, which helped me to rekindle my sweet childhood memories.
過去的幾年里，倫敦的唐人街發(fā)生了翻天覆地的變化。新店鋪和飯店層出不窮，能提供品種愈加豐富的地道中國小吃和特產(chǎn)。這使我重新燃起了童年的美好回憶。

During those "treasure hunting" shopping trips, I would also see many British shoppers carrying big bags of snacks. I am glad that food can help to create for them a happy, tangible and real way to connect with the culture of China.
去那些店鋪“淘寶”的時(shí)候，我看到很多英國人手里也拿著大袋零食。食物能讓他們快樂、真切、真正地與中國文化相連，真好。

英文來源：“CHINA DAILY”微信公眾號(hào)
翻譯：寧欣然（實(shí)習(xí)）
編審：丹妮 董靜
音頻編輯：焦?jié)?/p>

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Cecily Liu is a London correspondent for China Daily, covering mainly financial news. She was born in Chengdu, grew up in New Zealand, and graduated from University College London with a BA in English Literature.