1. A 600-word essay on food on the tip of the tongue

The light rain was falling and the night was getting dark. After encountering the fiery grilled fish, how can we live up to the beautiful scenery? Go to the "First View Bistro" and meet the delicious food again.

The fragrant taste and crispy sound - rabbit willow, my "favorite concubine". Take a bite, your mouth will be full of oil, the outside is charred and the inside is tender, the comforting slightly spicy, the wonderful cumin, you can eat it with relish! Paired with a cup of roasted grass jelly, it’s perfect! The sweet taro balls and the spicy chicken tenders are a complete collision on the tip of the tongue!

Have a bowl of nutritious chicken soup. The milky white pot bottom, delicious chicken, and a few juicy wolfberries will whet your appetite! Holding the exquisite blue and white porcelain bowl, the rich fragrance spreads, and you take a sip. It is mellow and fresh, and the heat is overflowing. It is like a stove, and your shivering body is suddenly warm. The chicken is wonderful, the aroma rises in each piece, the meat is tender and chewy, the more you eat, the more delicious it becomes, the more you eat, the more you want to eat, it is so delicious that you can't stop. Chew quietly and savor the aftertaste slowly. Extraordinary charm! Wonderful, really wonderful, one bowl is not enough, let’s have another bowl!

The faint aroma of wine comes to your nose, perhaps it is the mood of the drizzle, and you really want to get drunk. Open the bottle cap and the morning floral fragrance overflows, warming your heart. It is full of the scent of the forest and the freshness of the morning. I am not good at drinking, so I mustered up the courage to taste it carefully and slowly. It’s not a poet’s way of drowning his sorrows with wine, it’s not a show of social ugliness, it’s not a childish youthful frivolity, it’s just a novel attempt... Holding up the ancient wine glass, a wisp of fruity, mellow and special flavor becomes more intense and refreshing. . Close your eyes and take a sip gently. Well, it's sweet with a hint of sourness, and soft with a bit of bitterness. Taking another sip, I felt a warm, wonderful liquid lingering on the tip of my tongue, jumping gently in my throat, quietly slipping into my belly, swimming in my stomach, taking root in my blood... I finished the cup. , but the fragrant floral fragrance wanders between the teeth, like a beautiful tune, lingering in the air, unique... The dim lights, elegant environment, coupled with the unparalleled peach blossom wine, everyone is immersed in the slightly tipsy atmosphere . All three thousand worries were forgotten, and he finally felt the same way. Li Bai feasted on the ten miles of peach blossoms...

The raindrops were like smoke and mist, and the delicious food lingered; accompanied by drunkenness and the night...

2. A 600-word essay on food on the tip of the tongue

When it comes to food, everyone will be hooked! I am no exception because I am a "foodie". However, today, the "foodie" in me wants to make a delicious dish, which is golden potato balls.

First of all, I took out a few potatoes, which looked like chubby little clay dolls. I decided to take off their dirty clothes first. After a while of scraping and washing, the little clay dolls were cleaned up. Suddenly, they turned into white and fat dolls, very cute. The fat baby came to me as if to say: "Little master, thank you for tidying me up so well. Now please cut us into potato slices." So, I took out my magic knife and said, "Swish, swish." "Uh-huh," it turned into thin potato slices in a short time. I put the potato slices in the pot and steamed them for ten minutes. The potato slices were cooked. I took out the potato slices, added salt, pepper, and starch, then pressed them into a puree, and then kneaded the mashed potatoes into a big ball. Take a ball from the ball and shape into small balls.

After a while, under my deft hands, snow-white and cute potato balls were born one by one. Then it was time to dress these little guys. I put the potato balls in a plate full of bread crumbs and rolled them around. They all put on pearl skirts. Finally, I put the oil in the pan. When the oil was half cooked, I put them one by one in the oil pan. Those potato balls danced ballet like lively little girls. But while I was jumping, I heard a "pop" sound, and a potato ball cracked, and white mashed potatoes flowed out. My mother heard it, came over to take a look, and said: "You took too long to fry. Just fry it." Two minutes, just fry until golden brown all over." After listening to my mother's words, I suddenly understood and put in a few more. According to my mother's statement, it did not break and I became more and more skilled.

As waves of aroma come to your nose, the golden potato balls are finished. I decided to give them a good-looking appearance. I found a rectangular plate, placed a few green vegetable leaves on the plate, placed the golden potato balls on the vegetable leaves, and poured some tomato sauce on it. The exquisite golden potato balls are completed. My mother and I quickly tasted it. It was crispy on the outside and crispy on the inside. It was delicious. My mother also praised me for the delicious color, aroma and taste of the food I cooked, making me the chef of our family.

Eating the delicious food I made and listening to my mother’s praise, I felt a sense of accomplishment and sighed that labor is so beautiful. If you don’t believe it, come and try it too!

3. A 600-word essay on food on the tip of the tongue

During this winter vacation, I learned my grandpa’s specialty—sweet and sour pork ribs.

That day was New Year’s Eve, and my grandpa and I came to the market early to pick meat. Grandpa said the sweet and sour pork ribs made from grilled ribs are the best. At a glance, the large and small ribs were neatly placed on the chopping board. I picked and picked all the way and finally found a piece of meat that was evenly fat and thin and the right size. I held the meat in my hand and followed my grandfather back home with satisfaction.

Grandpa first brought me a cutting board and a kitchen knife, and then put an apron on me to avoid staining my clothes. When I was ready, I put the meat on the cutting board, then stepped aside and watched my grandpa lift the knife and cut off three neat pieces of ribs with a "dong dong dong". It looks so simple, I want to try it! Just do it, I took the knife from my grandpa's hand, "Be careful, don't hurt your hand..." I heard grandpa's nagging voice in my ears, which annoyed me so much that I just wanted to cut some meat. Nothing to worry about. While thinking about it, I imitated my grandpa's cool look and cut three pieces of ribs. As a result, a piece of meat was cut into tofu pieces, one piece was ridiculously large, and another piece... was completely different from the meat cut by grandpa. I calmed down my inner irritability and concentrated on cutting the remaining ribs. At least the rest of the meat was not as ugly as before.

Grandpa asked me to wash the meat and then pour it into the pot to cook. I stared at the pot curiously. After a while, bubbles began to bubble upward from the bottom of the water, which was a sign that the water was boiling. Then grandpa took out the meat, replaced it with a pot of water and continued to cook it. After the water boiled again, my grandpa guided me to pour in soy sauce. The originally white meat suddenly turned black and red, and then added rice wine, ginger and other seasonings. After stirring evenly, grandpa covered the pot. After waiting for seven or eight minutes, when the water was almost dry, my grandpa reminded me to add water. I opened the lid of the pot, and a stream of milky white smoke came out, rolled in the air and disappeared. I pushed away the smoke and poured a bowl of water into it, and most of the smoke disappeared immediately. After another seven or eight minutes, I opened the lid this time, and there was a smell of meat in the thick fog, which made me salivate. After repeating the same action again, grandpa added another spoonful of sugar and a little vinegar... Then I took out the meat and served it to the dinner table.

I found this dinner to be unexpectedly sweet and delicious, perhaps because it was the result of my joint labor with my grandpa, my first hard-earned income!

4. A 600-word essay on delicacies on the tip of the tongue

If you eat radish in winter and ginger in summer, you won’t need a doctor to prescribe it. When I was a child, I was not a picky eater but would not eat white radish, beef and radish soup, stewed radish with pork ribs, stir-fried shredded radish, and boiled radish slices. My mother tried all of them, but I still didn’t eat them. Every time, she quietly put them in the bowl. The radish inside was put into mother's bowl again.

When my mother raised a fierce face and told me to eat, my mouth seemed to be filled with stones and it was difficult to swallow. The bitter taste went up my mouth. Water flowed from my eyes. I wrapped a mouthful of radish, lowered my head, looked at the white rice in the bowl, and quietly told it with tears: I don't want to eat radish, radish is bitter.

The white rice shouted to me: Close your eyes, stretch your neck and swallow it. As a result, the radish spit out the white rice he had eaten without swallowing it. While patting me on the back, my mother muttered: It's okay, it's not that you don't like to eat radishes, it's because my mother's cooking is not delicious.

One time my father and I were playing at the door, and my mother told us to go home for dinner. After gnawing on my favorite steamed chicken legs, my mother smiled and put a chopstick as thin as a toothpick in the bowl, crystal clear white, with strands of vegetables clustered together, and let me try it. I picked up a few. , put it in your mouth, it is sour, sweet, delicious, crispy, smooth, and heart-melting, in one word - refreshing. I immediately stuffed the rest into my mouth. It was sour and sweet, sweet but not greasy, juicy and crispy, but still soft after being crispy. I couldn't help but stretched out my chopsticks and asked: Mom, what is this?

My mother said: This is my mother's hometown dish - Qianwei, my mother missed my mother, so I made this dish.

I ate it all in one go, and in the end I was so greedy that I drank all the soup on the plate. I still wanted to please my mother: Let’s eat this Qianweiwei in the afternoon.

My father and mother looked at each other and smiled. My mother called me over, opened the refrigerator, took out the remaining half of the white radish and told me that what I just ate was actually shredded cold white radish, which is easy and delicious to make. convenient. So it’s not that I don’t like eating radishes, there are no children who don’t like eating, there are only bad cooks.

To make cold shredded radish, you must use radish grown in natural light after late autumn. After peeling, rub it out with shredded radish. Add two tablespoons of sugar and mix well. Leave it aside for a while, then beat some minced garlic. A little salt, a little peppercorn oil, sesame oil, and finally some hot rapeseed oil and pour it on the minced garlic, pour two tablespoons of balsamic vinegar, stir it up with chopsticks, and mix well. After putting it on the plate, sprinkle some chopped chives to make the snow-capped mountains and grassland look interesting.

Later, I also learned this inextricable thread, every thread is my mother’s love, my mother’s love!

5. A 600-word essay on food on the tip of the tongue

We are going to watch how noodles are made on the weekend. Noodles are a traditional delicacy made through complicated processes.

The masters started preparing from the afternoon of the previous day. They first roll the noodles into long strips, each strip is as wide as a chopstick, and then hang them neatly and orderly on bamboo sticks to ferment for several hours, that is, to rest the noodles. This requires the master to get up early at four o'clock in the morning, hang the noodles in the cellar for fermentation, and cover them with a piece of cloth to prevent them from being exposed to light. After waking up the noodles, it’s the most exciting last step, the noodles. Now I’m going to talk about dried noodles.

The master first took out the dried noodles from the cellar, then stood on the tall triangular ladder and began to hang the noodles on the tree stump used for hanging noodles.

The master first inserts the bamboo stick with the noodles on it into the mouth of the tree stump, and then uses two bamboo poles with skillful skills to gently separate the noodles that are stuck together. This process must be done very carefully, otherwise it will happen if you are not careful. Break one noodle; then turn it upside down and separate it. The strips of noodles were like magic, they were no longer sticky, and they seemed to never break no matter how long they were. The longer the noodles were, the more we were shocked.

The noodles were hung up and tied together. Looking down, there are bricks and iron pendants pressed under the noodles, both three meters high. We can’t believe it just by looking at it, let alone hearing about it. Seeing such thin, long, and fragrant noodles makes us feel very proud of the wisdom and talent of the Chinese nation. This thread-like noodles is a symbol.

The separated noodles look like a waterfall from below, pouring down. From a distance, it looks like someone is drying clothes. Only when you look closer do you realize that it is dazzling, as silky as silk. Thin noodles. When you enter the house, the fragrance will be so fragrant that you won't want to come out. You will be immersed in this fragrance and smell it hard!

What’s even more amazing is that it is still hollow, which is hard to believe. The noodles, which are not much thicker than a hair, are actually hollow! Although I can't believe it, the fact is right in front of me. There is no doubt about it. Once again, we are proud of the wisdom of the Chinese nation and shocked by the talents of the Chinese working people.

Noodles are not only a delicacy, but also the crystallization of people’s wisdom and a representative of Chinese craftsmanship. Eating the fragrant noodles, I couldn't help but think about how good those masters are at making handmade noodles. What I eat in my mouth is actually not only the noodles, but also the hard work, crystallization and sweat of our Chinese nation.