A thousand cups are few for a bosom friend, but the memory is better than the tongue.

if you want to classify travelers, I think I can be regarded as the kind of person who uses his tongue to explore the journey.

to put it simply, I ate it all the way. And eat what delicious, to write down, after returning home also unforgettable, will always ask people to buy, online purchasing agents, in short, will not break that bite.

all kinds of oil, soy sauce, butter, olive oil, all kinds of rice, lotus leaf rice, bamboo tube rice, Laver wrapped rice, all kinds of soup, onion soup, pot soup, hot and sour shrimp soup, all kinds of cheese, creamy, pepper, and even smelly, are gradually encountered and accepted during the journey, and slowly add their recipes to become part of it.

so my worldview can be said to be broadened bit by bit at the dinner table.

when I visited the West Lake in Hangzhou, I didn't see the ten sights of the West Lake. I remember drinking good tea once in Manjelong. Four or five people sat around a yellowish table and watched the Longjing leaves picked in front of Grain Rain falling slowly in the slender glass, full of fragrance and serenity. When I arrived in Beijing, I didn't climb the Great Wall, but I was thinking about eating the authentic Beijing flavor Mongolian Hot Pot. Now I always have to find a chance to go to Beijing every six months, not for work but also for that bowl of Jubaoyuan Beijing-flavored sesame sauce hot pot. The beer drunk in Germany, the seaweed encountered in Thailand, the cheese tasted in France, and the cake is eaten in Japan are far more deeply rooted in my mind than the scenery on the journey.

so all over the body, the one with the best memory is the tongue.

I ate home cooking once in the countryside in the south of France. There is no gorgeous cutlery, but there are large flowers of butter melting on the bread, vegetable roasting mixed with rich and unique vanilla, a bite full of juice, do not feeling greasy at all.

in Paris, I was afraid to walk into a restaurant because I couldn't figure out the dining etiquette of French cuisine and made a few jokes. Until now, it is not clear whether the napkin should be spread on the leg or under the basin. So the home meal in the country was the most comfortable one for me, and my heart was full of not only the worship of delicious food but also the gratitude for this tolerant atmosphere. The large cast iron pot is placed directly on the rough wooden table, which contains the rich aroma of beef stew. At the end of the meal, you have to tear a small baguette down, wipe the sauce from the basin, and finally put it into your mouth to finish the meal.

that happy dinner stayed in my travel taste buds and was unforgettable for a long time.

I have a food partner in Shanghai. Chris is my senior sister in college.

Why is it called a food partner? Because she is good at food, but she can't shoot it well. I shoot good food, but I can't cook it myself, and I'm greedy. So often have to go to her house to eat, watch her cooking process, but also rub her room full of kitchen books to read. Chris's house has a clean floor, and I sit on the floor reading her blue ribbon bread books, European country food recipes, and Taiwanese snacks, watching that it's dinnertime, brazenly sitting on her small solid wood table and tasting delicacies that can be told by molecules. While eating, you can also listen to the story of her traveling around the world to get food scriptures, so the delicious taste in the mouth is especially good because she has learned from others.

when I thought of filming country roast chicken, it occurred to me to invite Chris to cook for me. I didn't tell her what I had in mind about the picture, but she showed what I wanted as if I had guessed what I was thinking. Thick and shiny pumpkin soup with baked bread, roasted vegetables, rosemary roast chicken, Rambo cheese, a country table changed to her in the twinkling of an eye, I can only admire it. It is probably a kind of bosom friend to be able to guess each other's thoughts.

on the night of early summer, with roast chicken, taking a sip of beer, talking to good sisters, and recalling the past and interesting events of each other's travel, from the big shark in Okinawa to the purple sunflower in Kamakura, from the night market in Hualien to the red bean ice in Tainan, the tiredness of life was suddenly put down, and a sense of drive and happiness gradually gathered in my heart. The so-called mind wandering, the so-called bosom friend, probably so.

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