It's cold

To be honest, the father is not a drinker, and the amount of wine is not very large, but if he comes across a few more foods for his mother, whose halogens are well known to our extended family and sometimes make some halogens (not least because we're busy at times, we're busy cooking, and every time the mother prepares for our brothers and sisters, most of them we bring home). At this point, the father pours himself a glass of wine or a bottle of beer, then pulls the mother, and the two of them sit around the table and talk to us, slowly and slowly, to destroy it. It's the most common scene, but it's always sweet, I think, because I'm living out here alone, and every time I see it, there's a strange feeling. Since I started writing a food blog, I've hardly been able to come back with cuisine and say to my mother that if I bring home the food, I'll have it. Sometimes a mother buys me something I like to eat, but she doesn't buy, like today's raw material - the bull's tongue. The first time I did it, I asked my mother where to look - first I had to boil it in boiling water for five minutes and then I had to clean the white moss on the surface, so I could cook at will. Following the mother's usual practice, after halogenation, the slices are mixed with the spicy mouth that the father likes, and it is assumed that the father will be pleased to see。