It was time for the annual Potato-Salad Contest in Russet Park. After trying for the third time, Alexis shook her head sadly. There was no way she would win the Golden Potato again because Grandpa wasn’t here this year.
Memories of how Grandpa taught her to make potato rose in her mind. She sighed and missed Grandpa so much.
Alexis cut the potatoes and mixed the boiled potatoes, some sauces and a little salt and peppers in a bowl. But it didn’t taste right. Alexis tried a bite of the salad mixture, wondering what was missing. Seeing her frown, Mom suggested, “What about something spicy? Your Grandpa loved spicy things.”
“You’re right! Maybe he put a jalapeno pepper in it,” Alexis said, cutting up a bright green jalapeno and adding it to the bowl.
It was closer, but it still didn’t taste right. Alexis was drooping her head, disappointed. “Should we look in a cookbook?”
“Grandpa was never one to follow a recipe,” Dad entered the kitchen and said.
It was true. People loved Grandpa’s potato salad because it was one of a kind. Alexis remembered posing with Grandpa for a photo while they were making the salad.
Photo! That gave her an idea. Alexis hurried to the bookcase and found an old photo album. She immediately flipped it open, expecting to find clues in the photos there. Lots of photos showed Grandpa and Grandma cooking together. Dad laughed, “He and Grandma loved to tease each other but he always called her Honey.”
“Do you think he put honey in the potato salad?” Mum asked.
“It is worth a try,” said Alexis. She stirred some honey into the bowl.
But it still wasn’t quite right. Alexis’ heart sank, on the verge of giving up. Dad kept flipping the album. At the end of the album was the picture of Grandpa and Alexis making the salad together.
注意：1. 续写词数应为 150 左右；
2. 请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
It looked like Grandpa was crying in the photo.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________With hesitation, the family tasted the potato salad with onions in it.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Since I was young, I always enjoyed cooking. Every night I would sit in the kitchen and watch my mother make dinner. I had a toy set of pots and pans, and would copy her actions at the table—pretending to pour in ingredients and mix them excitedly just as she did. On Sundays, my grandmother would make us a huge family dinner. A dish cooked from a charred chicken with flavored sauce enjoyed great popularity with us. Watching her in the kitchen was like watching an artist at work. She never needed a cookbook, never had to follow a recipe. Everything was second nature. I couldn't wait to learn to cook myself.
So it was no surprise when as an adult I decided to be a chef. I had worked in a number of kitchens over the years, but when I got the chance to be the head chef at a new restaurant, I could not have been more excited.
On the first night the restaurant opened, I proudly put my apron on and prepared for success. Soon, orders came in, and the kitchen was at full staff running in every direction. There were many waiters coming in and out, and cooks walking between stations. It was very exciting, but a bit stressful. There was so much to do and a lot of pressure to do it perfectly. It seemed like the crowd was not slowing down.
I was hurrying to gather ingredients from the shelves and fill the orders when there was a scream from the other side of the kitchen. Looking over, I saw one of the other cooks holding her hand in pain. She had burned her fingers on a pan. I ran over to help, and as we placed her hand under cold water, a puff of smoke started to rise out of the oven.
“Oh, no!” I screamed. I reached the oven just in time to open the door and see the charred remains of a roast. Placing my hand on my head, I thought the night couldn't get much worse. One of the waiters came into the kitchen, looking very worried. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he said anxiously, “The guests are asking for the roast.”
注意：1. 续写词数应为150词左右；
2. 请按如下格式作答。
Paragraph 1:
I stared at the charred roast, anxious to find a solution.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Paragraph 2:
Just then, one of the guests asked to speak to the chef.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
