My first papparoti

Actually, I’ve never tried any papparoti so I don’t know exactly what it tastes. But I remember when I was a student studying laws at university, I lived apart from my family at the time. I, with three other girls, rented a room in a central of Ho Chi Minh city, the biggest city in my country with its dense population and high cost. Well, it was such an expensive residence area. We often wandered around in the evening, dropped by the supermarket near where we were living and a small baking store always attracted my attention with the fragrance of the coffee and butter of papparoti pervading the air. But I didn’t buy any. We just stood there and enjoy the stimulating smell. In a short time, it got us feel like children waiting for their moms from work with hugs, kisses and candies.

It’s been 4 or 5 years since there. We graduated, applied for jobs, changed places, loved, got married and have become moms. It’s a cycle of life. Sometimes I reminisce back then and recall that innocent time when we all stood there with the unforgettable smell of the combination of coffee and butter around, thinking those seemingly childish moments actually are invaluable.

Anything has a story behind. And this is a short story about my first papparoti even though I did not have chance to taste it. How ridiculous!

By the way, I made my first papparoti myself last week and succeeded at my first attempt.





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