foreign food
VicentaLakin
There's always one thing in memory, sour, sweet, and a thick smell of milk. It's just that at that time I didn't know the salad juice, but remember that there was always all kinds of fruit in the hotel's breakfast, one of which was a milky, creamy thing, but nothing but a special stomach, and I'd hang my dad around giving me a small pot of fruit, carrying a little fork round and round and round and round, and asking Dad what it was, even if he told me that it was a salad, and I couldn't remember it, because there was no Madonna at that time, except that I remembered too many new words, so I always wanted my dad to take me on a trip and eat this milky thing with my little mouth. Actually, none of the foods have a story, but there's a memory in the story, and there's a color for itself
