I am almost 30 years old. There are no wives. There are no children. I will not say that the fate is easy, but at three stations he lived for a week and a month under the Tolbukhin Bridge in Yaroslavl. It looks like it went well. And until the end of the mortgage apartment in the capital there are only a few months...And only now I realized the worst. I love one salad. I love it crazy. I can eat a lot at a time. I never cooked it myself. And yesterday decided not to buy such a thing, but to do it yourself.Since the store is made in a hurry and without a soul.
I cooked everything. Every portion of vegetables is frozen into different plates so that it is more convenient to disassemble. and intentionally.
I wanted to do as in my childhood. As my mother cooked. This taste cannot be passed on. The taste of happiness. I broke a lot of recipes. All are different! I needed it as my mom cooked it. But I can’t call her anymore...and the recipe for my happiness is lost forever.
I made a couple of plates for trial, according to different recipes. Not that... all. There is no mother. There is no happiness.