Chocolate mousse cake

How does it feel to be trusted and loved by a snack? A few days ago, I walked through a cake shop on the street with the little guy, looked at all kinds of cupcakes in the window, tried to tease her, and asked her if she wanted to buy one back? I didn't think the little guy looked at me and said, "Mother, don't you know how to do it?" I'll let you do it if I want to. Why would you do it? — How can she describe this feeling of certainty and trust in the little food you love, even though she blames her? When I was a kid, I didn't have so much food, and certainly not so much food additives and quantities. A little honey cake, a bag of chocolate ricin and a red bean ice cream were enviable luxury. It was near a big factory. Remember that in the summer, the ice cream tickets from the factory were carefully folded (the warmer benefits) and wrapped in one layer of handkerchiefs, calculated the amount of time that could be exchanged, as if the plastic bags in the hands were full of wind and floating behind them like wings. Go home and rip one off, break it in a cup, melt it a little, dig it up with a little spoon and eat it like ice cream. It's embarrassing to remember to lick a spoon after eating it. There's too much to remember, but the more I remember, the more I think they're precious. It used to be full of tungstens in the spring, a little toads in the wake of the summer rain, and the “Big Bay” of autumn ducks and birds, which was filled with only one third thinness, but which, with its heavy makeup, added to the lake's heart island and some sculptures, is no longer the somewhat mysterious waters in the child's heart. Even that school, where I spent my primary and secondary school hours, became more serious and the doors were always locked away from outsiders. But I prefer the way it used to be, back-to-back architecture, in the middle of the waterhouse and garden. Maybe it's why I still like it so much. It's a huge stone on the podium facing the playground. And when they were little, they climbed upon the high pavilion, looking at the golden playgrounds of the sunset and the smaller. If the school door is still open as before, I'll take my dad to the school playground after dinner, enjoy the cool wind of summer, look at Dad's proficient moves on the poles and scream on the high swings. It would have been nice to have been so free. But when people grow up, they grow up and enjoy being cared for until they become mothers, they feel like they want to do something for others. Never thought there would be such a wonderful world, with lovely, hateful, pitiful and one person, a smile and every move that would touch your heart. This little monster I call my little one, my little one, even though sometimes she's got a bad temper and can't stop her little feet, ass, even big teeth. I love her holding my neck with her little arm like a soft, smooth urchin, with her stench on her face, and with her stenching, with five short, fat little fingers covering her nose. I love her sleeping with her little ass on her back, with her little face squeezing like ducks; and she's holding something delicious in her hand, afraid that someone will grab her legs and squeezing her little ass. And, of course, when she doesn't listen to her stench, her little face is long and her mouth is full of tears. It's all in a smooth and beautiful moment, and I'm lucky to be a full-time mom and I'm able to get to know each other. Just as roses are the meaning of small princes, they are the infinite love and tenderness with which they are cared for. It is this daily irrigation, company and care that makes this rose unique to him. And now this little guy who depends on me and trusts me is six years old. My cooking has grown as she has grown, from young girls who don't touch the sun, to skilled domestic cookers, from her favorite foods to all kinds of baked sweets. I love her every time she wants to get started, and every time she eats up, she's got a thumb. Of course, more attention is paid to food safety, to the composition of the table and to the use of additives. There's no child in the world who doesn't love dessert, is there? Just like when we were kids, she liked cupcakes, chocolates and ice cream. But it's not as safe and healthy as it is to be bought outside. So I used this Fort-Lermerk Alien model to make the mid-empty honey sponge cake, and then I filled it in with light cream and chocolate-made mousse, and cold-to-condensed it was the mini-mus cake, the black chocolate solution on the outer floor, making a real cup shape, a triple taste, and a good taste. The little guy was very fond of it, and she'd probably go to kindergarten tomorrow and show off to the other kids, ask them what they like best to eat, and say, "I love chocolate cakes made by my mom, and cream, cookies, pizza, too." Thank the little man for his faith in his mother, and thank the little man for his love。