I am a young man from Xinjiang. I grew up eating Tiaozi. The girl I like is the most unforgettable. Her long braid is the most unforgettable

How many sheep have grown up to be a child. They are not afraid of things. They dare to take photos. The boy is as strong as a calf. The girl is as sweet as a mountain apricot. Let’s fall in love. Let’s kiss each other on the street. Drink in the woods. Don’t say anything.

I am a spoon, I can distinguish fish roes, drain fish roes, rub fish roes, count apricot skins, firecrackers, flags. Don’t look at me. I run around all day. Don’t look at me. I go to restaurants every day. I need to eat Xinjiang delicacies for a lifetime. After I finish eating, I sing a little tune to grab rice.

Served with side dishes of lamb shank, order skin-toothed noodles to fill up my belly. I drank a bowl of yogurt soup and rice. I played with it by picking slices of wild mushrooms and cutting them into dices. The mouth of the greedy gangster was so hot that everyone wanted noodles.

Eat noodles and braised them for the Chinese New Year. We have fried fruits for the New Year. The distinguished guests are here. We are braised pancakes. We are eating dumplings for a family reunion. We live on pasta and can’t even make a note. I feel a knot in my heart. I have been busy all day at work. I beg my son to buy some noodles after work. Masliang in the hall.

Roll the potato in the pot for a while, cut the potato into shreds, put on a persimmon, preferably whole, and some spicy skin. This is my beautiful Xinjiang!