Spicy, spicy, spicy

I bought a big fish, scratched off a lot of fish scales, got bigger, I couldn't throw them. It's a good taste. It's a shame Dad's not here anymore. He can't teach me his hand. He has to do it with memory. My dad is a real eater, not just a eater, but a doer. When we were little, we were in material need, but with Dad's work, our sisters had not suffered, and Dad always turned all kinds of food into delicious food, and we were satisfied. Remember this fish platinum, when Dad made it for us and let us guess what it was, and it tasted like a fragrance, and left and right, but it didn't happen because he didn't think he could eat it. I know it's made of fish. It's new. I don't believe it. And then when Dad did it, I was watching, and I knew that the fish scales that I was going to throw out could be so delicious. What I did today was do what Dad used to do, and the fish caps were so soft, but I ate a little bit of it, and I knew it was about Dad, and I kept it in my heart! Food is a way to express my deep thoughts about my father