Spaghetti

Lucas is a German, blond, tall, scrawny, and he has always described himself as the purest Aryan, huh. Lucas has been in China for two years, teaching at a university. He met Lucas at a meeting as a language teacher for S, who attended the friends' dinner. I find it funny that he sits next to me, with a table full of pork, and looks at him with a weird but serious use of chopsticks. Lucas is very fond of S's fine modern bouquet, and he's got a weird half-Chinese language. As a dinner companion, I shared with him the history and basic knowledge of the development of China ' s green flowers, and Lucas was very impressed by their hearing and their envy and aspirations. After the meal, after Ting ordered the waiter to pack the rest of the food, Lucas invited me to the balcony to get a dozen of Warsteiner and two Billson glasses, professionals. I'm very impressed by the fact that the most wine I've ever had in my life is beer, and there's some research into beer, which is more bitter than Coug. Foams are thin and thick, but they disappear relatively quickly. The soft bubble slowly rises in the clear yellow, beautiful. I like this bitter water that most Chinese can't accept, and I like it when it's clear, it doesn't work, it feels like it's back. "Prost!" "Prost, aufunserZusammenseein!" With the basis of the table, Lucas and I made a joke: "Lukas, this beer is not selling well in China, you know why?" Lucas wrinkled his head: "No way, Blue, this is the real German beer, which strictly follows the good wine made by German Purity Law." "Oh, Lucas, you know, Warsteiner's Chinese name is Vossler, and the Chinese can't accept a beer in the fridge that calls me dead." Lucas looked up, like a child's paper, with incredible faces. “This is China, an old and sensitive country. Oh, Prost! For Premium." The night wind is blowing, drinking an eight-centigrade Warsteiner. Lucas, in half Chinese, introduced me to German sausages, chips, sour cabbage, gin sauce, Brezel, salty pig's hands, with pride in his eyes. In fact, German food is boring to me as a big country, and it's cooked, roasted with stew, completely incapable of showing the cutest food, but it's also very German. The best cook in heaven is the French. The best cook in hell is the Germans. In return, I introduced Lucas to local Chinese foods, red meat, vinegar fish, delicious shrimp, bacon, ham, in return for his “reward”, and in his continuous saliva, I saw a hairy hand reaching out of his throat. "Blue, I thought Chinese food was kyo sauce, saline, red meat, potatoes, sauerkraut..." Lucas lives in a teaching university, and his cuisine paradise is near the Kogawa restaurant. The German tradition of eating meat and drinking, and the poor food environment around the school, which allowed him to look at Chinese food in his head, may think that every S table is a royal feast. This time he's kind of open-minded. Since then, Lucas and I have become good friends. For him, China is an incredible country, so complex, so beautiful and so delicate. Every time I looked at him in a fashion, I couldn't help but look at him in a liner, and I couldn't help but read him so seriously, and I suspected that he could read a few words, huh. "Lucas, do you know why the ancient Chinese are writing? Lucas has a blind face. "For nodding yes, shaking no, ha." Lucas was obsessed with China, with the ancient beauty, with the traditions we left behind, and he was a legend. He thinks Chinese dishes are the scenery of the table, and the flowers are elegant and mysterious, and his dorms have a collection of 56 varnishes, which he never fired; he thinks that China's tea lanes are the midgets in the beverages, the bitter liquids are silent, the cat-drawing tigers have replaced their water cups with a bowl of green tea that is cheap in the supermarkets; he thinks Chinese pages are the nobles in the records, and those folded words are so dazzling that I have taken some notebooks from me, and I don't know how to use a brush pen. Because I live near the university where he lives, so he's a natural partner with me. Every time I cook, he looks at him, and asks, and although the steaming smoke has caused him to cough, the old oil and salt vinegar has caused him to slobber, and I don't think he will ever miss his home-grown pig-cooked feet on sour cabbage again. We're both carnivores, and Lucas showed me the power of the world's first people to eat pork. Drinking German beer, eating Hunan, Lucas's face full of happiness and intoxication. The weight of the Germans surprised me, and indeed the beer festival that attracted the world's eyes was not blown. But Lucas is drunk, and it's interesting to hear his big tongue in Chinese. “Blue, I really don't understand why you Chinese would not like to live in your own country but would like to emigrate. For me, China is wonderful. You have so many wonderful legends, so many beautiful sceneries, so many delicious foods, so many interesting customs, so many deep cultures, so many beautiful girls..." “Lucas, in your eyes, these beautiful things are backward in the eyes of some Chinese, a treasure of history, a useless thing that should have been abandoned long ago.” “How is it possible?” “Well, they feel that everything abroad is better than China's, rich technology, popular commerce, noble Western food, and the language of the air is a dream country.” “I have fallen in love with this charming country since I came to China. If you don't say anything else, it's Chinese food alone. Now I think Western food is barbaric and can't be as varied as Chinese food. Your utensils, they're like art, the colours, the shapes, the variety of categories, so that you can eat it all up to the art level." “Lukas, the world knows China, and China knows the world. Although we are not developed or rich enough, we have been working. I think that in the near future those who leave their homeland will miss the beauty of their homeland, the depth of our culture, our rich variety of foods, our pompous and noble national festivals, our unstinting struggle, and they will know that China was the best.” Lucas was drunk. It was China that got him drunk. Put Lucas on the bed and I said, "GuteNacht, Lucas. Thank you for loving China." When the first sun came into the room, Lucas was hungover and looked at me: "Blue, what to eat in the morning?" "Today I'll make you a spicy spicy pasta from the south of the lake to show you the international Chinese smell. Guten Morgen, dear Lucas." Chu's heart is blue and he's crazy。