Rafael's grandmother cooked feijoada the way her mother had, which is to say she never measured anything. She used a handful of beans, a palm of salt, two onions cut while talking. When Rafael asked for the recipe, she waved a spoon at him and said the recipe was in her hands.
拉斐尔的祖母做炖豆的方式和她母亲一样，也就是说，她从不量任何东西。一把豆子，一掌心盐，两个一边说话一边切的洋葱。拉斐尔向她要菜谱时，她朝他挥了挥勺子，说菜谱在她的手里。
On Sundays the kitchen filled with steam and the radio. His mother, who worked long hours at a clinic, came late and ate standing up. His grandmother complained that she ate too fast. His mother complained that the beans were too salty. Neither of them ever left a full plate.
星期天，厨房里满是蒸汽和收音机的声音。他的母亲在诊所工作到很晚，回来得迟，总是站着吃。祖母抱怨她吃得太快。母亲抱怨豆子太咸。但她们谁也没有剩下过一整盘。
For a school project on family history, Rafael decided to write the recipe down properly. He set a notebook on the counter and a scale beside the stove. His grandmother looked at the scale as if it had insulted her, then began, with great ceremony, to ignore it.
为了一个家族史的学校作业，拉斐尔决定把菜谱认真记下来。他在台面上放了一个笔记本，在炉子旁放了一台秤。祖母看了看那台秤，仿佛它冒犯了她，然后非常隆重地开始无视它。
The trouble began with the sausage. His mother suggested using a leaner kind, for health. His grandmother said that was not feijoada, that was a salad with ambition. Rafael wrote down both opinions and then made the mistake of reading them aloud.
麻烦是从香肠开始的。母亲建议用瘦一点的品种，为了健康。祖母说那就不是炖豆了，那是一盘有野心的沙拉。拉斐尔把两种意见都记了下来，然后犯了个错误：他把它们大声念了出来。
The argument lasted through two pots of coffee. His grandmother said that changing a recipe was a way of forgetting where you came from. His mother said that keeping everything exactly the same was a way of never learning anything. Rafael sat between them with his pen hovering, unable to write a sentence that would not take a side.
争吵持续了两壶咖啡。祖母说，改一道菜就是忘记自己从哪里来。母亲说，什么都原封不动就是永远学不到新东西。拉斐尔坐在她们中间，笔悬在空中，写不出一句不站队的话。
In the end they cooked a batch together, and it was the worst one Rafael could remember. The beans were hard, the salt was wrong, and the kitchen was too quiet. His grandmother tasted it, put down the spoon, and left the room without saying anything at all.
最后她们一起煮了一锅，那是拉斐尔记忆中最难吃的一锅。豆子硬，盐味不对，厨房太安静。祖母尝了一口，放下勺子，什么也没说就离开了房间。
The next Sunday his grandmother called him into the kitchen alone. She did not apologize. She put the beans in water and told him to come back in three hours. 'This,' she said, 'is the part your notebook kept missing. The waiting. You cannot write it down, so you skip it.'
下一个星期天，祖母单独把拉斐尔叫进厨房。她没有道歉。她把豆子泡进水里，让他三小时后再来。“这一步，”她说，“是你的笔记本一直漏掉的。等待。你没法把它写下来，所以就跳过了。”
They cooked slowly, and she explained as she went: why the bay leaves went in early, why the pot had to be wide, why the last ten minutes mattered more than the first thirty. Rafael did not use the scale. He used his hands and wrote down what he noticed, including the parts he could not explain.
他们慢慢地煮，她一边做一边解释：为什么香叶要早放，为什么锅要宽，为什么最后十分钟比前面三十分钟更重要。拉斐尔没有用秤。他用双手，也写下自己注意到的东西，包括那些他解释不了的部分。
That evening his mother came home and ate standing up, as always. She tasted the beans and paused. 'This is it,' she said quietly. 'This is the one.' His grandmother nodded and did not look pleased so much as confirmed. Rafael typed the recipe that night with a note at the top: start three hours before you are hungry.
那天晚上母亲回家，照例站着吃。她尝了豆子，停住了。“就是这个，”她轻声说，“就是这个味道。”祖母点点头，与其说是高兴，不如说是被证实了。拉斐尔那晚把菜谱打了出来，最上面加了一行注：在你饿之前三小时开始。