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Prose on Fragrant Jujube Steamed Buns
In the Mid-Autumn Festival, my hometown has the custom of steaming steamed buns and making jujube cakes.

I don't know when my father became a disk expert. The next day, my father will observe the size of the bubbles and the taste of the batter until he thinks it is suitable, and then he will start to add an appropriate amount of alkaline noodles and add flour little by little. Dad has a good grasp of the hardness and acidity of dough.

Mother took out a clean comb and scissors and put red dates and pepper seeds in a bowl. A mass of dough was kneaded into a long strip by my mother, then pulled into a uniform dosage form and coded into a neat row on the chopping board. When I was young, my brothers and sisters would struggle to name the fruits, vegetables or animals they wanted. Mother picked up a dough, wrapped in a jujube, and first kneaded it into a rough bun. To our surprise, she cut out the rabbit's ears with scissors, pressed out realistic claws with a comb, and then stuck two black pepper seeds on the rabbit's head. A lifelike rabbit jumped on the chopping board.

Under our admiration, the little dough was rubbed, rolled, pinched, cut and pasted by mother's hands. Soon, those cats, cicadas, peaches and pomegranates dressed up the big case board as a paradise for harvest.

Whenever this happens, my mother will straighten up and have a rest. When I anxiously urge her to make jujube cakes quickly, my mother will smile easily: "You are afraid that you can't afford to build a building after all the bricks are laid?" Mother called those short bricks "cats, rabbits and bergamot". I saw her pick up a large piece of flour and knead it evenly and smoothly into a big round cake. I quickly took out the thimble for sewing clothes and circled around the edge of the cake. Grandma said, that's endless wealth. "Bricks on the second floor of the first floor foundation, please invite Dalong to keep safe, fill big red dates in the middle, and cover the linden tree." After humming grandma's old songs, a five-story jujube cake symbolizing a full moon and a bumper harvest was also made.

Over the years, my mother has changed the stereotype of putting flowers on it and put out the words "Happy Mid-Autumn Festival" with the times, which often makes her grandchildren applaud around a table of steamed buns and jujube cakes.

"How bright the moonlight at home is! The cake is so fucking delicious. " The festive season is coming again, and that long-term yearning urges me to return to my hometown.