In ordinary daily life, everyone has the experience of writing essays, and they are very familiar with them. Compositions can be divided into time-limited compositions and non-time-limited compositions according to different writing time limits. So do you know how to write a good essay? The following is a composition about the taste deep in my memory that I compiled. It is for reference only. I hope it can help everyone. Composition on the taste deep in memory Part 1
The breeze, the cold moon, a kind of lovesickness, and two worries. This artistic conception seems to bring my thoughts back to the past. It is impartial and has that kind of taste. It is neither willing nor bitter, but it can always moisturize my heart. Never far away, never gone, a taste deep in memory.
Sitting alone in front of the window, looking up at the stars, what comes to my mind is the image of her holding a bowl of bean soup and staggering towards me that year. Before anyone came near, the aroma had already penetrated my heart and spleen, lingering and circling to arouse my appetite. I couldn't wait to take the bowl and drink it all in one gulp. Like spring seedlings drinking rain and dew, like morning flowers bathing in the sun. When I raised my head mischievously with the remaining bean soup hanging from the corner of my mouth, I saw her satisfied smile...
Lao She said: "The heart is like a tree, with deep roots of love and hope. In the soil. "Time is like a magical carving knife, passing by without leaving any trace. In that palm-sized little courtyard with her and me, I spent the most innocent childhood. Although they did not enjoy any valuables, they were filled with warmth and hope. Whenever I act coquettishly, she will always touch my head with her rough hands that have been blown by the wind and rain, and then move to my cheeks. They are not soft but very warm. She smiles and says: "You You are my little tree. I don’t expect you to reach the sky, I just want you to be good and fight for our reputation.”
It’s easy to throw away the light, the cherries will be red and the bananas will be green. In the blink of an eye, the little tree had grown so tall that she couldn't even touch its head. There are always bursts of bitterness in my heart, so bitter that I use this taste to numb myself. When I saw her again after an unknown amount of time while I was busy outside, it seemed that time was about to swallow her up, and every gray hair and wrinkle was engraved on my heart. Pain, pain that cannot be relieved.
Shakespeare said: "You have to catch it when it is gone, leaving behind a lonely sigh." I am like a fast-moving express train. I am always in a hurry and ignore too much, so I regret it. Stacked like a mountain. That year, when I returned home, she brought me the long-lost bean soup again. Looking at her and it, I didn’t know how to take it. The aroma was still overflowing and soaked into my heart. I drank the bean soup slowly. Was she forgetful and put the sugar in the wrong place? No, I think it’s the bitterness in my heart that has already covered up the sugar.
Zhou Guoping said: "Greatness, brilliance, and success are nothing. Only by truly living an ordinary life well can life be complete." Time is always passing, and life is still going on...
Lean against the window and close your eyes. It's that familiar smell again, the smell deep in my memory - my face is wet with tears. The Taste in Memory Essay Part 2
In a quiet and long alley, there is a milk tea shop belonging to my mother. Every time after school, the shop is always crowded with students. On a leisurely afternoon, a writer looking for inspiration will come to the store and spend the afternoon with a drink. There are often times when the store is too busy. Over time, I also learned to make milk tea, which relieved some of the burden on the store.
Strong Tea
In a cup of milk tea, tea is naturally indispensable. Tea has entered people’s lives thousands of years ago and is a cultural treasure that has been passed down to this day. It has a long history. , whether it is the richness of black tea, the freshness of green tea or the uniqueness of oolong tea, they are not inferior to today's new things. At the same time, in the mixture of the long culture of tea and the new thing of milk tea, tea can shine even more, It is precisely because of it that a cup of milk tea has a strong aroma. It sets the tone of the milk tea and adds a strong touch to the milk tea. In milk tea shops, the most common tea is black tea. During the production process, the most eye-catching thing is its rich red color, which is like the shop’s signature. Tea has only two postures: floating and sinking; drinking tea has only two postures: picking up and putting down; life is like tea, calm when it sinks, indifferent when it floats, you can pick it up and put it down.
Qing·Milk
If tea is the rich and rich foundation of milk tea, then milk is the refreshing embellishment.
Milk in milk tea seems to be so inconspicuous in terms of taste and weight, but it occupies the top position of milk tea and has become the soul of milk tea. Although it is not eye-catching, it can bring a different kind of flavor to people. surprise. Every time you make milk tea, the pure white milk flows flexibly into the cup, like a stream flowing back and forth in the mountains and forests. Both the maker and the customers watching from the side will find it pleasing to the eye.
Black Pearls
When milk tea became popular, the pearls at the bottom of the cup accompanied the milk tea. There was no doubt that they were delightful. It is also the core of milk tea and is indispensable. But they are so important, but they have been settling at the bottom of the cup, obscurity, and seem so inconspicuous. The same is true for life. We should learn to settle and not be affected by the outside world. We should not follow the crowd or follow the trend, but listen to our own hearts. Know your true desires.
In a cup of milk tea, each raw material has its own unique taste, unique function, and extraordinary meaning. It is this profound taste that has always been rippling in the depths of my memory. . Essay on Taste in Memory Part 3
I love the pancake cones made by my grandma so much, because it is the taste of home. What I love is not just the warm words that grandma handed the wheat cake cone; what I remember deeply is not just the food I have eaten and loved. But the person I love makes the food I love.
At noon, my father took me out to buy cake cones. After buying it, I went home. I sat on the sofa and couldn't eat it after a few bites, so I said, "I'll just eat some bread later. I don't want to eat this." My father also knew that I was very hungry. pick. Doesn't stop me. I was sitting on the sofa, watching my father eat, and suddenly I remembered the pancake cones made by my grandma. In my opinion at the time, the pancake cones made by grandma were unique.
The crust and filling inside the cake tube are both important, and grandma is an extremely serious person. She rarely buys freshly made crusts from outside. What she likes is the fun of making them herself.
Grandma will mix the flour first, take out some and put it into the machine, spread the flour batter evenly into a round pancake, wait a minute or two, and the skin of a pancake tube will be ready. Done. Grandma pays great attention to the thickness and size of the skin and is very careful. The skin she makes every time is very good. After a while, she finished several pictures, but because there were a lot of people in the family, grandma would make preparations very early, preparing the powder and skin.
Afterwards, she would prepare several bowls of fillings, shredded eggs, meat, bamboo shoots, kelp, etc. And the pancake cones made by grandma are the best. Every time I ask my grandma to help me wrap it. She will first wrap my favorite stuffing in it, then twist the skin in a circle with the stuffing inside, then wrap both sides in it, and then twist it a few more times. A complete food tube becomes it. Why is it said to be complete? Because some people's biscuit tubes will leak out, and some will break, but grandma's will neither break nor fall off.
Every time I go back to my hometown, I will ask my grandma to eat cake cones, and grandma happily agrees. Sometimes when I open the door after a long journey, the familiar fragrance comes to my nostrils, and my grandma’s gentle words are all in the steaming pancake tube. So the dizzy feeling after sitting in the car for a whole day disappeared in this fragrance.
We will never forget the food we loved and the things that touched us over the years. The food in our hometown is what we miss when we are away from home. And it is these foods that will make us feel warm and happy throughout our lives. Essay on the Taste Deep in Memory 4
The sweet-scented osmanthus field in my memory has long been razed to the ground, and the sight of rice and beans paving the ground in the past is rarely seen. However, the smell of sweet-scented osmanthus has spread over the years. .
It was also autumn, and I came across this small sweet-scented osmanthus field. We moved forward quickly and slowly, and the scenes in front of us flashed brightly and darkly. Passing through the corner of the small street in a familiar way, unexpectedly, I broke into the other side of the small universe. Golden, everything you touch is golden. The bean straw is golden, and the small sweet-scented osmanthus is also golden. From then on, this little sweet-scented osmanthus field was our paradise.
We came walking on the withered straw, accompanied by the crisp sound of breaking. The popped soybeans rolled away smoothly. On this sweet-scented osmanthus field, we can see a series of little ants carrying crumbs on their backs, and from time to time they play tricks on these hard-working porters with wooden sticks.
I can also deliberately step on other people's straw slanting on the small road, because I know that it can create a sound like the autumn wind sweeping through the treetops. We seem to be free creatures, doing whatever we want in this world. At this moment, childhood is the taste of freedom.
We were active among the sweet-scented osmanthus trees, and wisps of fragrance passed through our noses, touching our minds. I saw the golden little things hiding under the green leaves. I couldn't help but pick a few sweet-scented osmanthus flowers from the tree, put them in the palm of my hand, and smelled them gently. He turned around and ran home, picked up a glass jar and returned to Guishu. My heart is full of picking more and more, so I can make osmanthus tea and osmanthus jam. It was getting darker and darker, and our parents who noticed that we were coming home late urged us to go home quickly. "No, Mom." I pulled my mother, who was eager to discuss things, into a coquettish tone. "There's really nothing we can do about you." Mom pretended to be helpless and glanced at us. "I agree," I shook her hand, which seemed a bit unruly. "We're almost there, almost there. Got it." I winked slyly. But it turns out it always escapes out of my other ear. At this moment, childhood is the taste of contentment.
Now, childhood is gone forever, staying in the orbit of the hour hand forever. But when I grow up, I no longer look like I was at first, so easy to be happy and satisfied. What I have always missed is the days of freedom, happiness and easy satisfaction in my childhood. Composition on the Taste in the Deep Memory Part 5
In the long river of time, some things are like the flowers that bloom deep in the memory and never wither. ——Inscription
Since the fourth grade of elementary school, she and I have become close friends. We talk about everything, are inseparable, and never get tired of each other. At that time, we had nothing to say. Taboo, as if the sky falls and can be carried by the other party.
His ideal is to become a painter. She has painted many sketches, especially portraits, which are like artificial beautiful pictures. Others ask him why his paintings are so good. It must have taken a long time to study. Actually, that’s not the case. He only studied for a few months. As for the reason why he paints so well, I asked him and he told me that he loves painting and feels every painting with his heart. He said it very seriously. , so firm that until now, this sentence has become the most vigorous flower blooming deep in my memory.
For him, the right hand that can create beautiful works has become a close lover. However, fate played tricks on people, and God played an irreparable joke on her. Her entire right arm was broken in a car accident.
I was restless during those days, and it wasn’t until a month later that I saw him come back wearing a plaster, and then I figured out the whole story - it turned out that he was out of school a month ago When he was young, he fell off his father's car and was run over by the front wheel of an electric tricycle, causing a fracture in his right arm. During his hospitalization, he thought his right arm would never recover, so he almost gave up. He loved art, but when he saw the young eagle taking off after trying countless times, he regained hope. He began to practice painting with his left hand. In a month, it changed from the initial jerky to the final painting. Mature, he actually used several stacks of paper! When he fully recovered, he was able to copy many famous paintings. When I asked him how he overcame difficulties, he only said one sentence: "Where there is a will, there is a way."
This sentence has always been engraved in my heart and opened a chapter deep in my memory. A magical, graceful and gorgeous flower. The Taste in Memory Essay Part 6
New Year’s Eve is a well-known important festival unique to the Chinese. In my memory, New Year's Eve is beautiful and warm, but also mixed with different flavors of salty, spicy and sweet. Once awakened, it lasts for a long time. No, the "taste of the New Year" has begun to exude a unique taste: salty, spicy, sweet...
New Year's Eve is salty. People here, in order to pursue happiness, will make pickles and bacon. I remember when I was a child, when my grandma was making pickles, I would always run around bored and jump with joy when I thought of something delicious. Grandma would try to prevent me from falling. Unfortunately, she had no choice but to ask me to move a chair and sit next to her. When my grandma makes pickles, she always likes to fry some minced meat in them, in order to stimulate my appetite. But grandma never expected that although I loved this dish, I only ate the minced meat in it. Grandma was very distressed when she saw it.
New Year’s Eve is spicy. During the New Year's Eve dinner, my family must eat the dish "Pig's Blood", which means prosperity and wealth in the coming year.
Pork blood requires many common condiments, the most essential of which is chili. Every time grandma stir-fries this dish, she has to stir-fry it constantly with a shovel. Of course, I don’t know how many times she stir-fries it. But when my mother brought it to the table, the spicy, hot smell hit my nostrils. The aftertaste is endless when we eat it, and the fragrance overflows in our mouths.
New Year’s Eve is sweet. Contains "happiness and sweetness". Every household here will buy some drinks and wine on this day, and people of all ages will take a sip. It is pure and sweet, which makes people feel refreshed, comfortable and comfortable. The family raised their glasses high, drank happily, and had a great time. There is also sweetness in the air, and they surround us.
Every taste is so memorable for me. Salty bacon, spicy pig's blood, sweet drinks...these New Year's Eve flavors are our expectations and longing for a happy life in the future. This kind of happiness will touch my heart unconsciously and stay in the depths of my memory... The taste in the depths of my memory essay 7
The light purple has a light white, like a halo. Painting-like natural gradients.
On the coffee table, there are several peonies in vases. Tall green branches stand upright in the vase, and drop-shaped leaves are piled on the mouth of the vase, making the flowers more fresh and elegant. Some of them are in bud, delicate and charming; some are in full bloom, revealing light yellow stamens. The subtle fragrance floats, making people feel refreshed and relaxed!
Once, my mother criticized me for studying and said that I could improve my efficiency and squeeze out more time to study. But I felt that I had worked very hard, so I felt aggrieved and angry... Both of them felt that they were justified, so they quarreled. I locked myself in the room and didn't come out for a long time. I was lying on the bed, thinking that my efforts were ignored and my shortcomings were magnified... grievance and sadness came to my heart, and I became more and more depressed. I turned over irritably and saw a bunch of peonies on the windowsill that were the same as those in the living room. Suddenly I remembered that two days ago, my mother put this bouquet of flowers on the window sill of my room and said, "If you are tired from studying, look at the flowers and you will feel more relaxed." My mother was so gentle at that time, and her body exuded a light fragrance like peony, which made me feel relaxed. I am warm. But at this time, I shed tears. I don’t know whether it was because I still felt wronged and not understood, or because I suddenly felt that although my mother was strict, she always thought about me, and she seemed to be a protective umbrella for me as I grew up. It is precisely because of her protection and guidance that I walk smoothly and evenly.
Tears flowed into my mouth drop by drop, salty and sweet! The smell of this flower is so fragrant and refreshing! The smell of mother, the smell of tears, mixed with the smell of peony, became an indescribable smell deep in my memory! Memoirs of Taste Composition Part 8
It was a particularly peaceful night. Turning off the lights and looking out the window, I could only see a few stars flickering on and off.
I walked quietly to the door of my grandma’s room. I heard a rustling sound and opened the door. My grandma was lifting up half of her clothes with her left hand and holding a yellowing plaster in her right hand. Seeing me coming in, his hand stopped in mid-air. The unique fragrance of the plaster rushed into my nose, bringing back images deep in my memory.
When I was a child, my favorite thing was to help my grandma apply plasters. Every time I take the patch and smell it again and again. It has a musky smell, not strong, slightly bitter at first, then a little sweet. At that time, I was also smart. I could always follow my grandma's hand to accurately find the place where his back hurt. Then I peeled off the ointment bit by bit and applied it to my grandma's back. I couldn't bear to throw away the remaining piece of yellowed paper, so I picked it up and sniffed it repeatedly between my noses. The light musky scent seems to have a special appeal to me, and I seem to smell it differently every time.
Thinking of this, I sat up and said to grandma: "Let me help you apply it." Grandma chuckled and nodded, and I quickly took the plaster from grandma's hand. The small hands I once had were able to fully hold those big, chapped hands like dead branches, but I needed more time to find where my grandma’s waist injury was.
"Oh, my granddaughter has grown up..." Grandma's words were filled with sighs of relief, but what I clearly felt was infinite sadness.
I didn’t smell the paper like I did when I was a kid. Although that faint fragrance has long been immersed in memories, it seems that I will never be able to go back to my childhood! The Taste in Memory Composition Part 9
With a "bang", I pushed open the door of my house and shouted: "Grandma, I'm back."
"Driving for an hour, I looked forward to the smell of my grandma's house, and my thoughts went back to the past.
When I was three years old, my mother went to work and sent me to my grandma's house. As soon as I entered the door, my grandma saw me. , with joy on her face. When I come back, she will make big radish buns to entertain me. The taste is something that even my mother cannot make.
When I was five years old, my mother fell ill and my father went to the hospital. During that time, my grandma came to the house to take care of me. Whenever I was hungry, her classic radish buns would always come to my mind and make me drool. . Grandma had already seen through my thoughts and started making steamed buns.
When I was eleven years old, I was eating my mother’s buns. The various snacks and fruits I bought may have caused unbearable stomach pain, so I had to go to the hospital for an intravenous drip. At that time, the doctor said: "It's because of my gastrointestinal problem. Let me eat more light food and drink more." Porridge. "I had just finished the IV drip. My face was pale, I was in a daze, and I had no appetite all day long. My mother was very worried. When my grandma came over to see me, she said, "Ah, girl, your mother told me that you can't eat. Go, look, what I brought you. "After that, she took out the radish buns and the fragrant millet porridge. I tasted the buns and showed joy. That is the taste deep in my memory, and that taste always accompanies me. The rich aroma of the buns cannot be copied by others. Yes, if you taste it carefully, you will taste grandma's love.
Whenever I go back to my hometown, I always open the door and shout: "Grandma, I'm back!" "When I first entered the house, what I looked forward to most was the radish buns. Now there are fewer opportunities to go home and the time is short, but I always remember the radish buns. It has an irreplaceable position in my life. Deep in my memory The taste of the essay 10
The memories of childhood are always so beautiful, and the people in the memories are always so amiable. This deep taste makes me linger even more
When I was young, I always lingered. The people who live at my grandma’s house are very friendly, especially to children like me who are four or five years old. The one who impressed me the most is my neighbor’s sister. She is two years older than me. We have a good relationship and I often go to her house. Playing games, he would also help me with my homework.
I fell asleep at 5:00 that afternoon. After my grandma and grandpa had dinner, they went out for a walk, but I was still immersed in sleep. When I woke up, it was dark and there was no one at home. After I called my grandma several times, no one answered. I burst into tears and started crying. I immediately put on my clothes and locked the door to go find my sister. Normally, it only takes a few steps to get to her house, but this time I thought the road was particularly long, as if we were about to reach the end of the world. I didn’t dare to look back, for fear that something strange would appear.
Finally I reached the door and reached out to knock on the door. After a while, the door was opened and my sister asked me: "It's so dark, why are you here?" Come in quickly, it's cold outside. I cried as I walked and said, "I don’t know where my grandma went. When I woke up, I saw no one at home. I was scared alone." " At this point, my sister immediately hugged me into her arms and said to me: "I'm afraid your grandma must have gone out to buy you delicious food. She will be back in a while. You go to my room to play for a while. I'll see what I have at home. I'll bring you something to eat. "I nodded and went to her room.
Half an hour later, I found that my sister had not come back yet, so I went to the kitchen to take a look. There were messy things on the table, and this person was just older than me. My two-year-old sister stood in front of the stove, holding a bowl in her left hand and a spoon in her right hand, making glutinous rice balls for me. The aroma that hit my nostrils made me energetic. I couldn't wait to taste the taste of these glutinous rice balls.
Waiting for the bowl of hot glutinous rice balls to be served, I was a little confused, why is this soup black? I asked her: "Sister, what is the filling of these glutinous rice balls?" Could it be that you were deceived by the supermarket owner, or that you can't cook, and the stuffing inside has been cooked to pieces and flowed out. "I made such a joke to him, and she said to me awkwardly: "This is a new product in the supermarket. The owner of the white sugar filling said that after the glutinous rice balls are cooked, the soup will be black. "I was successfully amused by him, and without saying anything, I picked up the spoon and took a bite. It had no taste. When I ate it in my mouth, it was sweet and warm. At that time, I thought it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. Food.
The dumplings were so delicious that all 12 dumplings in the pot went into my stomach. This taste was deeply imprinted in my heart.
When I grow up, whenever I eat glutinous rice balls, I will think of that failed bowl of glutinous rice balls. The taste will always be in my memory and will never be forgotten. Essay on Taste in Memory Part 11
Since I was a child, my favorite food is hand-made noodles, especially the hand-made noodles made by my grandpa.
Every time I go back to my hometown, my grandpa will make hand-made noodles for me. Although my grandpa has a dark face and rough hands, his hand-made noodles are excellent. Not only are the noodles chewy and smooth, but the knife cuts them evenly, which is full of praise.
I clearly remember one Sunday in March this year, when my parents and I were still on the way back home, my grandpa had already started making noodles. He called from time to time to ask us where we were in order to time the noodles. As soon as we entered the house, grandpa was rolling out the noodles.
I smelled the aroma of noodles and entered the kitchen. I saw my grandpa putting evenly cut noodles into the pot in the steaming hot water. I leaned over and called softly: "Grandpa!" "Hey, baby is back! Are you hungry? The noodles will be ready in a while!" Grandpa responded while stirring twice with chopsticks and covering the pot lid. Then he stood by the stove with a smile. At this time, grandma prepared the marinade for mixing the noodles. Suddenly, the aroma of marinade mixed with diced pork, diced carrots, green beans and bean paste wafted through the kitchen.
The noodles are cooked! Grandpa picked them up with a strainer and put them into warm boiled water, then took them out and put them in bowls. Grandma poured the marinade on the noodles, mixed them, and delicious hand-made noodles were born! I ate two bowls in a row. The chewy and smooth noodles and the rich soup made my mouth full of flavor. Grandpa looked at me affectionately and said, "Eat slowly, baby! If it's not enough, grandpa will make it for you."
"Grandpa, next time I come back, I will eat hand-made noodles." I He pulled his grandfather's clothes and said.
"Okay, baby! Next time I come back, I will make some dough for you!" Grandpa said, touching my little face with his rough hands.
Reminiscing the smell of the hand-made noodles made by my grandpa, and carrying the agreement between me and my grandpa, my parents and I returned to the city. No one thought that it would be the last time I would eat the hand-made noodles made by my grandpa, and that it would be the last agreement between me and my grandpa. One morning in April, a sudden car accident took my grandfather's life. Grandpa left me forever. When I heard the bad news, I was heartbroken and cried loudly. I cried and shouted: "I want grandpa, I want grandpa..."
Grandpa is gone, never to be seen again. You won’t be able to make dough for me anymore. Every time I think about this, tears always come out of my eyes involuntarily. Now, the taste of hand-made noodles has become etched deep in my memory. The hand-rolled noodles seem to be still steaming, and the rich aroma of the noodles seems to be still between my lips and teeth. But dear grandpa, I can no longer taste your hand-rolled noodles. I can only miss, miss, miss...