My Favorite Hot&Sour Soup
“Give my daughter a hot and sour soup, please?” My mum asked the vendor while hugging me in her warm arm. I was three years old.
“Hi, can I get a hot and sour soup, please?”
“Of course, little girl.”
I gave the money to him, and got my soup and ate it immediately with big smile, even forgot the changes. I was four years old.
Now, I am 24 years old, living in the U.S., a country quite different from where I was born. Here, people look differently, speak differently, and live differently, but there is one thing keeps the same: My lovely hot and sour soup.
It was the day that I just came back from California during Christmas vocation. Chef Zhang is a very kind old man, who works for a local Chinese restaurant in Chandler. Before the vocation, I usually went to the restaurant to help a little bit and played with them.
That was a very cold night, the wind is blowing, and cats all came back home.
I was hungry and tired in the restaurant. Zhang saw me and then went to the kitchen without saying a word.
I fell asleep on the dark booth in the restaurant for a while.
When I opened my eyes a few minutes later, I saw one particular thing in front of me.
That was a bowl of hot and sour soup, steam was still running from the soup when I opened my month.
Tears were running without control, I missed my mum, my dad, my sister and my brother. At that moment, their faces all showed up in my mind. But I was happy, because people like Chef Zhang treated me like his own daughter. I was not alone.
In an unfamiliar country, an extremely cold night, I even could not remember what time, but I did feel warm.