The casserole

Think of the meat that came from Yunnan's home when I was a kid. After a long mail, the meat that arrives at home is more precious. Every time, Dad's like a solemn ceremony. He would carefully cut a piece of meat, clean it with rice water and scrape it with a knife. Slice it into thin slices and potatoes and make it a very good meal; or put it wrongly with white carrots and steam it in the pot, which is so fragrance that I and my sister often sneak up and eat it in secret; and Dad's gonna cut the gravy into a crumb with green bean carrots; or cut it into a small pellets and a pot of rice greasy meat; and the bones on the gravy are made with a smoky cologne soup. And the rest of the meat, the original one on the meat. The rope was hanging in the shade of the roof, wrapped in a sheet of oil, and the oil on the meat slowly permeated, and looked up at it and salivad out of it under conditions, and he begged him to make another meal of meat. Now that logistics is well developed, you can buy some meat, and you can help yourself. It's a beautiful taste. It can last a year。