巷口的餛飩攤擺了二十年，張叔的白圍裙永遠干干凈凈，竹篾餛飩皮薄如蟬翼，在沸水里翻個個兒就熟。每次路過，總能看見他彎腰包餛飩的身影，蒸汽在路燈下氤氳成朦朧的紗。

小時候我總愛纏著母親買餛飩。張叔的餛飩餡里放了蝦米和榨菜，湯里撒著蔥花和蛋皮，碗邊還臥著個荷包蛋。“小寶長身體，多吃點。” 他把餛飩端給我時，總會多舀一勺湯，熱氣撲在臉上，暖得人心里發顫。

有次我發高燒，母親背著我去醫院，回來時已經半夜。張叔的餛飩攤還沒收，他看見我們，趕緊燒了鍋熱水，下了碗餛飩，還加了把姜絲。“趁熱吃，發發汗就好了。” 他坐在旁邊看著我吃，自己卻一口沒動，說晚上不餓。后來母親說，那天張叔收攤后，推著小車走得特別慢，背影在路燈下被拉得很長。

高中晚自習結束，我總愛繞到巷口吃碗餛飩。張叔知道我怕燙，總會把餛飩晾得溫溫的。有次考試沒考好，我坐在攤前掉眼淚，他沒多問，只是在餛飩里加了個雙黃蛋：“這蛋金貴，吃了準能考第一。” 那碗餛飩，我吃得很慢，湯里混著眼淚，卻覺得格外香。

大學畢業后我回了趟老家，巷口的餛飩攤還在。張叔的頭發白了大半，包餛飩的動作也慢了些。他認出我，笑著往鍋里下餛飩：“還是老樣子？多加蛋皮？” 我點點頭，眼淚突然掉了下來 —— 原來他還記得我二十年前的喜好。

去年聽說巷口要拆遷，我特意回去看了看。餛飩攤已經不見了，只剩下空蕩蕩的街角，路燈照著青石板上的油漬，像是餛飩湯留下的印記。有個老街坊說，張叔搬去了兒子家，臨走前還念叨著：“不知道小寶回來，能不能找著地方吃餛飩。

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現在每次路過類似的餛飩攤，我總會停下來買一碗。可湯里的蔥花再綠，蛋皮再薄，也吃不出當年的味道。原來有些滋味，不僅藏在食物里，還藏在某個深夜的燈光里，某個陌生人的笑容里，藏在那些再也回不去的時光里。