Remember a few years ago, there was a small iron-cooked shop near the house we rented, the owner being a young couple, and one day we didn't want to cook, and we went there for iron-crackers. The favorite thing was beef, which was good, but it was a little hot because we didn't. After some time, the shop had been closed, and perhaps the owner had recruited him, so this was a good place to eat. Sometimes I think about this shop, about the unsavory iron, about the busy shopkeepers, about the time they lived there, and sometimes I do it with my own taste or with the available vegetables, which is a little less spicy, but it's nice, and we like it, and it's usually a wash。
