I'm still leaning towards pig hoofs, not greasy, red fever, stew, fried, hot, halogenated, and eating. If you ask me where I like to eat a pig's hoof, I'll take the tip of a pig's hoof, a chopstick in the middle of a hoof's hoof, a bite of the meat and the band next to my mouth, a juice flowing down the chopstick, and a true picture of the food. When I was a child, my mother made a pot of pig hoof soup, and a burning pig hoof was divided into large pieces. Mom says it's a nice thing to cut a pig's hoof. And there's a lot to do in the 30th year, full of tables that can't be eaten. Mom says it's not a rule that has been passed down for so many generations; there are 30 fires (the fire must be lit in the home all night in the middle of the year) and 15 lights (the light must be lit one night for the 15th of the month). Since it is customary, I do not have to ask, however, that the pristine custom has a very important place in my childhood memory, because their very existence always gives us a sense of ritualism and prestige. So far, our family has maintained this tradition, as long as it's a pig's hoof that's cooked on our mother's dinner. The soup is still a large pot, with a family of four eating pigs' feet around the table, and a smile on the face of their mother, a sweet smile full of love for their daughters. Instead of following the traditional practice of our family, the pig hoofs made today have changed the way of cooking, first cooking the pig hoofs with spices, and then getting some fresh sauce, completely free of greasy and sour. You'll see。
