Essay about going to a hotel for the first time

My hometown is a remote mountain village. When I was a child, there were no restaurants in the village, only some delicious food in the supply and marketing cooperative’s distribution stores. When my mother exchanged eggs for large grains of salt, I often followed her like a little tail. When my mother was buying salt, my eyes greedily peeked at the snacks in bulk on the glass counter: stove fruits, jar stoves, bald cakes, biscuits...

Once I followed my mother to buy salt in a distribution store. The director, Grandpa Han, grabbed two biscuits from the counter, placed them on the bottom of a large salt bag wrapped in paper, and handed them to his mother. On the way home, I ate one bite after another. I still couldn't bear to finish the two biscuits when I got home.

When I entered middle school, I walked 20 miles on the mountain road to the countryside every day to study. The school is built at the foot of Xishan Mountain, 30 minutes away from the center of the street. Only when I need to buy some pens, notebooks and other stationery, I go out on the street during my lunch break. The stationery store is next to the only restaurant in the street. The door of the restaurant is open, and the strong fragrance of cooking is wafting, which is particularly tempting. Every time I passed by, I would unconsciously take a few glances into the restaurant. The well-fed diners looked at me while they were burping and picking their teeth with toothpicks. I felt like a thief, and my face turned red all of a sudden. I was in a hurry. Left hurriedly.

The first time I walked into a hotel was in the third year of the resumption of the college entrance examination. The admission notice came, and my father sent me to school far away. That year, I was 18 years old.

Before dawn, my father and I got up, drove more than 20 miles on the mountain road, crossed several rivers, and arrived at the long-distance bus station. We anxiously waited for the arrival of the bus, which lasted for more than an hour. Arrive at Nanzamu Railway Station. After buying the train ticket, my father said there were still 2 hours before we left the train, so let's go have something to eat.

Nanzamu is the largest transportation town in Liaodong. There is a particularly conspicuous hotel in front of the train station square.

I followed my father in and sat in a seat very close to the sales entrance. My father went to the sales entrance and looked at it for a while, then turned around and came back.

His trembling hands held a bag of gluten cakes and put it on the table, and said to me: "I'll buy another plate of cooking."

My father stood at the sales door. After looking at the hesitation for a long time, the salesperson urged impatiently: "Are you still buying it?" The father smiled awkwardly and said: "Let's have a plate of fried blood tofu." He took out a handkerchief with no original color from his arms and carefully The floor was opened, a few dimes were twisted and handed in.

A plate of fried blood tofu was served on the table, and my father said: "You can eat it first, and I will smoke a cigarette."

My stomach had already growled, so I He wolfed down the glutinous rice cakes and held the blood tofu between his big chopsticks.

When I suddenly realized that my father hadn’t eaten yet, there wasn’t much left in the flat plate of fried blood tofu. I slowly put down my chopsticks and said softly: “Dad, I’ll eat it.” You’re full, you can eat.”

The father took a few puffs of the dry cigarette and threw it on the ground, then picked up the chopsticks.

Over the years, I have gotten up early and returned to school late, but I have never paid attention to my father. Years of hard work have made my father's finger joints very thick, his entire palm is bent downward, and his skin texture is black. In an instant, my heart felt sour, and a feeling of pity arose spontaneously...

Soon my father finished eating the remaining bit of blood tofu, and he used the last small piece of gluten cake to stir-fry the blood tofu. Wipe the tofu plate clean and chew it slowly. Looking at my father, I secretly made up my mind: Father, I will study hard, and when I graduate and work and get rich, I will treat you to a big hotel next time and have a full meal of fried blood tofu!

Now that I have started working, my monthly salary is only a few dozen yuan. After sending 15 yuan to my family, my life is very difficult. I can only apply for mutual aid funds from my work unit. I have been working for several years and cannot afford to ask my father to go to a restaurant.

Finally, my salary increased to more than 100. Once I went home to visit relatives and invited my father to the restaurant in Nanzamu Railway Station Square. My father laughed and said, "Boy, you are just talking nonsense. Crop How can anyone in the hospital go to a restaurant that far away without any trouble? "He refused to go with me no matter what.

Later on, I was very busy with work and was always traveling, so I didn’t have time to ask my father to go to a restaurant.

Suddenly one day I received a letter from my family saying that my father had advanced gastric cancer. I hurried back home and saw that my father was extremely thin and had difficulty swallowing. He could only eat liquid food every meal.

That autumn, tortured by the disease, my father passed away quietly...

I knelt before the soul and burst into tears, "Father, I have an agreement with you. Please Your next trip to a restaurant has now become an eternity..."

Many years later, my mother said that it was the first and last time your father went to a restaurant. After hearing what my mother said, I felt very sad and my eyes were filled with tears...

After I got married, when I had family dinners, as long as there was blood tofu in the store, I would ask for an extra plate and put an extra pair of chopsticks. . My daughter, who was born in the metropolis of Shenyang and grew up eating KFC and McDonald's, asked in confusion: "Dad, is the fried blood tofu so delicious?" I nodded silently.

Time flies, time flies. Now, whether I am attending a conference or traveling on a business trip, whenever I sit in a splendid hotel and eat Northern and Southern dishes and fresh seafood, I can't help but think of my father, the restaurant in Nanzamu Railway Station Square, and the plate that lasts forever. Fried blood tofu...