The breakfast that knew my name
This morning, I had soy milk and youtiao—the taste of my childhood.
Grandpa would come home early carrying steaming soy milk, crisp fried dough sticks, and a bowl of silken tofu pudding. Their smell filled the room before the day had properly begun. Somehow, that was enough to make a morning feel beautiful.
In Shanghai now, delivery brings breakfast straight to our doors. We know more about what is healthy, what we should avoid. So many things have improved. And still, I miss the warmth of being cared for before asking: the small ritual of waiting, the ordinary life held inside a paper bag of breakfast.
Image: Asian Inspirations.