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In my memory, there is always something that is sour, sweet, and has a strong milky aroma. However, I didn’t know that it was called salad juice at that time. I just remember that there were always various kinds of fruits in the hotel breakfast. One of them was covered with a layer of milky-white stuff, like butter, but it was nothing but very appetizing. I would always pester my father to fill a small basin for me, and after taking it, I would hold up a small fork and twist the fruit in my hand, just to lick the milky white outside of the fruit. At that time, I would always ask my dad what it was called. Even if my dad took the trouble to tell me over and over again that it was called salad, I still couldn't remember it, because there was no KFC at that time, and there was no McDonald's at that time. There were just too many new words in my memory that I didn't quite understand. So I always hoped that my dad would always take me with him when he went on a business trip, and take my greedy little mouth with him to the hotel to eat this milky white thing. . . . In fact, any kind of food itself has no story, but there is an extra layer of memories in the story, which gives it its own color. "Tuna Egg Salad" by Chi Chi Qiu Chong brings it to you in June
