Behind a bowl of old noodle tea and a bowl of almond tea, there are stories of two elderly people hidden. After becoming a mother, I realized that the smile of my father's fried noodle tea was a spoiling for his daughter. The taste on the tip of the tongue, the sweetness always carries tears. I grew up in a military village, and in an era when supplies were scarce, noodle tea was a must-have snack for every family. In addition to flour, the noodles in military villages only have sugar. They don’t add a drop of oil at all. They can’t be burned, and they have to be fragrant. They rely on real skills. Dad used to pierce his hips and copy noodles with the other, and he was like a stalker, no matter how hot he was or not, he always shouted whether he was done. Wait until the noodle tea is immersed in boiling water and stirred into a paste, even if it is hot, you have to taste it first. The years have gone by, but when I remembered the taste of this childhood, I couldn't find it everywhere. The noodle tea in Fangjian was either fried with oil or there were some inexplicable additives. At this time, I knew that taste buds have memories. Over the years, we found the flour from a century-old German factory, and asked Lukang master Fu Wenhuo to cook it slowly, finally recreating the old taste of the military village. Holding a bowl of fragrant and simple old noodle tea, I just want to ask the father of heaven: Hello?