Eat Rice While It's Hot

Lin Xiao has a pair of golden eyes. These eyes can't see lottery numbers or other people's bank card PINs, they can only see a useless thing - the memory in food. How often the cook's hands shake when adding salt, the name of the person in his mind when kneading the dough, what flowers are blooming outside the window when making soup. Every dish made with care is like an unsent letter. And he can read letters. A former Michelin apprentice and now a delivery boy, he self-imposed exile for two years and picked up the spatula again because of a bowl of fish-flavored shredded pork. Since then, he has had an endless stream of customers: migrant workers who want to have another bite of their mother's lard bibimbap, old ladies who want to return a bowl of candied taro sprouts while their memories are disappearing, and honest brothers who want to regain the taste of a packet of crispy noodles in their childhood. He cooks a dish and they remember a person. And in the depths of these memories, he repeatedly saw the back of a woman - there was a shallow scar on her right hand, and the air was filled with the bitter fragrance of jasmine and angelica. That was his mother who had been missing for ten years. She made several dishes of her life and scattered them around the world. Every time Lin Xiao takes an order, he unintentionally eats back his mother's life. At the same time, an organization called "Food Memory Association" is watching every dish he cooks.