that smell is like a flower blooming on the taste buds!

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Seven years old, that magnolia.

Grandpa is a very kind old man. When I was a child, I always liked to throw palm-sized grape leaves on the bed in the golden sunshine, and pull Grandpa together to breathe the fresh air. Come to a simple outdoor snack bar and ask for a bowl of tofu brain. A bowl of crystal-clear tofu brain is like a piece of white jade without carving, which is suppressed without trace and can not be flawed. So my mouth is watering, but I can't bear to destroy it. Pour a spoonful of fragrant marinade on this white jade, as if it were dotted with pieces of dark amber, which is undoubtedly the icing on the cake. Finally, I can't resist the temptation of delicious food. A spoonful of tofu brain is like a ribbon wrapped around the tip of my tongue. It's tender and smooth, and it's instant in the mouth, which is really enjoyable on the tip of the tongue. The entrance of tofu brain is like a mint, refreshing and lubricating.

This is a magnolia, which blooms quietly and surrounds my little self with delicious food and love.

nine years old, that lilac.

Grandma is a rural woman, always stepping on eager little steps. In my impression, grandma always has endless work and endless heart. But grandma always takes time out of her busy schedule and cooks me a bowl of sticky pumpkin porridge. A bowl of golden pumpkin porridge was placed in front of me, held in a small porcelain bowl with blue flowers on a white background. The golden pumpkin was cut into small pieces, like a little crystal sprinkled by a fairy in the sky. A spoonful of pumpkin porridge, the sweetness of maltose slowly surrounds me. When the upper and lower teeth touch gently, the fragrance hides, and the sweetness of candy turns into the pure fragrance of food. After eating a bowl, people can't help but eat another bowl. But on a rainy afternoon, I had to eat pumpkin porridge. Grandma had to go to the vegetable field at the intersection to pick pumpkins in the drizzle. When grandma came back with full pumpkins, something unfortunate happened. It was just a screeching brake, and the pumpkins were smashed to pieces. Grandma could no longer cook porridge for me on a hurried little step. Every time I drink sweet pumpkin porridge, there is always a lilac blooming in my heart, melancholy and slightly bitter.

The taste of memory spreads on the tip of the tongue, and Hua Teng usually wraps me around.