The private room

After autumn, the weather was still hot, and the most appetite was to come to a fresh, refreshing private room. It is said that Duft, the great poet of Tang Dynasty, once wrote "The Cold of Leaves" to praise the noodles, and that he is also an elegant eater: "Cyan and tall leaves for the middle chef. The new side comes to the market, and the juicy side fills it with the coldness of its teeth, prompting people to throw the beads.” As the poets say, it must be tempting to have a green noodle that is made out of fresh leaf juice and behind. I haven't tasted the "silent face" of the poet. But every summer, Mom's private room is a little cold face, and it's my favorite. When I was a kid, my mother used to flush out cooked noodles with wells, then cut cucumbers and tomatoes, mix them with soy sauce, vinegar and sesame sauce, put out some fried peanuts or put another spoon of pepper oil, and put a bowl of lazy, hand-to-hand room for the summer and cool noodles, and ate them, from the tip of the tongue to the stomach, with the indescribable coolness, appeasement and soothing. Improved cold noodles for Mom's private room, cold chicken soup and garlic, and cognac leaves and ham silk. Home on the weekends, I made a bowl of private house showers for my mother, and I was complimented by my mom, and I made cooler and better than she did, and how to make a clean and enjoyable private room. Hey, buddy, you might want to take a big bowl, too。