女人在灶台前忙碌着,灶膛里的火熊熊地燃烧着,被烧着的干柴发出清脆的响声。她麻利地将一张面饼放在案板上,一根擀面杖在上面打起了滚儿。不大一会儿,那面饼就被擀得如同一张纸,表面光滑细腻,就像是刚出生的婴儿一样。女人把那张面叠在一起,在碗里取出一撮面粉均匀地撒在面上,拿出切刀,熟练地切着。那切刀就像是一只舞动的铁凤凰,把那面变成一条条柔美的丝带。铁锅里的水开始翻腾了。她揭开锅盖,一股水蒸气往上直蹿,把她包围在里 The woman was busy in front of the cooktop, the hearth in the hearth burned, and the burning dry chai gave a crisp sound. She deftly placed a loaf of bread on the chopping board, rolling a rolling pin over it. Not a moment later, the pastry was rolled out like a piece of paper, the surface smooth and delicate, just like a newborn baby. The woman folded the sheet together, took a pinch of flour in the bowl and sprinkled it evenly on the surface, took out the knife and cut it with skill. The knife was like a dancing iron phoenix, turning that face into a soft ribbon. The water in the wok began to churn up. She opened the lid, a steam straight up, surrounded her