The place where I have the deepest memory of potatoes is in Yunnan.

in p>2112, just turning 18, I took a train all the way down from a small county in north China to Kunming, Yunnan, to study at a university. Everything is novel, the climate, the city, the language, the people and the food. Here, the tip of the tongue meets the potato, a delicious food called "potato" here, and the taste buds bloom.

Yunnan people's love for potato can be said to be a kind of love in their bones. Streets and alleys, old people, middle-aged people, young men, women with children on their backs … Any Yunnan person can set up a small stall to fry potatoes. A trolley, a coal stove, a small iron pot, and an iron shelf on half of the pot mouth. The shape of the iron shelf is small squares that cross horizontally and vertically. Some potatoes are cut into long strips by some tools and have a corrugated surface; Some simply don't do modeling, just cut into pieces. After frying in boiling oil until golden brown, scoop it up to the iron shelf with a colander to control the oil. In another half minute, put the potato into a small bowl, mix some Chili noodles, sprinkle some shallots and mint leaves, and sprinkle some houttuynia cordata with heavy taste, insert some toothpicks, and a bowl of fragrant fried potato will be baked. However, for one or two dollars, it tastes sweet and soft with a little coolness, and my love for potato has laid the foundation.

baked potato, old milk potato and shredded potato in bait are all unique flavors in Yunnan. Besides being a delicious food, potato is a life-saving thing.

In the summer vacation of p>2115, the school organized a poverty alleviation activity in the mountainous areas of Yunnan. More than 21 teachers and students came to a county town in Yunnan by bus, and then went to a village under the jurisdiction of the county under the leadership of county cadres. When we arrived at the village, there was no road, and the car couldn't get in, so everyone walked along the mountain road to the village. At that time, the sky was blue, the air was fresh and the road was green. When I walked to the entrance of the village, I saw poverty in my eyes. Not far away, villagers dressed in national costumes sang folk songs and dressed up to meet us. Walking past them, I accidentally caught a glimpse of a little girl, her eyes were opposite, and her clean and clear eyes seemed to be mixed with envy and longing for the outside world. I still remember that kind of eyes.

After that, we went to the village head's house, and everyone sat around. The villagers served us pots of potatoes. The potato is dark, and from time to time there are several flies flying around and even biting on it. According to the village chief, potato is the most important food for them and the best food for the guests. I waved away the flies, picked up a potato, wiped the dirt still on it, and I ate it with a big mouth. Looking at the villagers around me and the mountains in the distance, my nose was sour and I swallowed my feelings about poverty one by one.

Now many years have passed, and I often travel around and taste a lot of delicious food in my spare time. After work, I also love cooking, especially meat. However, whether it is the painstaking search for food in the streets or the delicious dishes cooked by myself, while satisfying the taste buds, what I have left is only psychological and spiritual satisfaction. As time goes by, those tastes gradually fade away. And whenever I think back to that small potato in the depths of the mountains, it fills my heart with deep awe.

I think, the deepest feeling for a kind of food may come from a deep appreciation of reality and life.