Su Yunhe suddenly entered the interstellar era where mechas were rampant.
People all over the planet are eating bland nutritional creams, their sense of taste has collectively deteriorated, and everyone believes that high-energy pharmaceuticals are the way to survive.
As the heir to the earth's ancestral snack craftsmanship, her pupils trembled when she looked at the shelves full of mushy nutritional ointments.
No pots and pans? Renovate old mecha parts to make kitchen utensils.
No fresh ingredients? Travel across abandoned planets to collect wild crops.
While others went to the battlefield to fight with mechas, she squatted in the corner of the base and set up a food stall.
Frying, stewing, and simmering take turns, and the aroma from the pot directly stirs up the mecha's alarm system.
The cold mecha war god, the tough soldier from the maintenance department, and the scientific research doctor were all attracted by the fireworks and incense and lined up to eat.
"Report, sir! The enemy mechas are not attacking, and everyone is squatting at the food stall and queuing up to buy fried food!"
Su Yunhe waved the spatula: Don't crowd, don't crowd, everyone has a share, line up!
There is no love, only rice, cooking, and rescuing the interstellar's degraded taste buds.
The greatest miracle in the interstellar world is not an invincible mecha, but a hot meal of human fireworks.
*
No cp
scarf@zhouan_
Purpose: People who work for food, people who work for food, soul for food