There's always one part of a city in memory time, or one part of an alley in a story. For more than a decade, I've been thinking of a noodle shop in the Pire River, built around mud brick walls, with poor sanitation and hygiene, which add up to more than a dozen tables outside the house, but is filled with friends who sometimes eat in long queues. This store makes handmade noodles, which are the essence of the store, and whose raw materials are selected for special-grade flour, flour and hard flour, and which has to be covered in hard flour. In the early days, when the bar was stuck in a wall hole, you would have seen a crusher riding on a lever, with his feet stretching over a pedal of gas and a pedal of leverage, and the freshly prepared face would have been taken to the bottom of the kitchen, with a warm, warm face with all sorts of halogens or seafood in his house, and a fine, sweet odour of odour, a very elastic face that would be particularly delicious after eating meat soup or seafood soup, eating a slush past lips, and the absolute taste of the city. At that time, it felt like a 15-dollar bowl of seafood was luxuriant, but after a bite of it, it was like there was no regret. A few years back, it was a memory. The previous period had suddenly learned to mix with seafood, but it had not tasted like that, it was not fresh, it had no face, it had no face, it had been mentioned by the mother of the family that tomatoes and mushrooms were essential in addition to seafood, and it had to choose the good side, with no added substance to keep the pasta. Let's teach you to make seafood noodles today。
