SORT OF A GENTLE FOOD FILLED ESSAY

For nearly two years now I rise late on weekends, pad around the house in my sleepwear drinking coffee, and have a nice hot bath. Then I go into Chinatown for something to eat. It is not good for the soul to hide in the apartment all day, one has to get out and do something. But I have far more routine than imagination in that regard, and, as you can guess, snackipoos followed by several hours at the office are a great good. The lively crowd of people on Stockton, followed by quiet in the financial district - these complement each other.
Plus weekends are for pipe-smoking. Can't really do that at home.


3:45 PM
When I got off the bus at Clay and Stockton, a mother and her little girl disembarked also. Both were shorter than me, of course.
Other than that the woman was probably only five foot one or two, I cannot remember much about her. Young, with gentle eyes. Cheerful.
But the kid I remember distinctly. Three, maybe four years old, bright and very intelligent looking, wearing a pretty red jacket with little yellow flowers. Sparkling dark brown eyes, mop of black black hair. Small hands.
An extremely beautiful child.
She had the most engaging hopeful expression that I have ever seen.
Without speaking, she seemed to say that good things would happen.
Surely there were interesting adventures ahead?
A fine sunny day downtown, yay!

At the place where I ate a bowl of fish-slice rice porridge, the owner’s little son was saying farewell to a new best friend. At that age, children do not need much of a language in common. Both boys were the same height, barely three years old. One spoke Cantonese, the other something that sounded very much like Teochew. While the father of the little non-Cantonese speaking fellow was getting him ready to go, his new companion kissed him.
Very sweet. It was the cutest thing.

An elderly gentleman purchased two hargau and a cup of tea, then sat down and started unwrapping tea-eggs. Possibly the hargau and tea-eggs were the only thing he was going to eat today. He did not look like there was any superfluous money in his life. Gaunt, with very worn though clean clothes; clearly he wasn't a rich capitalist. Shrimp pockets and boiled eggs cannot be a very satisfying repast.
He ate calmly, not rushing, nor excessively dawdling over each bite.
Rinsed his mouth periodically with tea, then wiped his lips.
He thoroughly enjoyed his tiny meal.
Smiled afterwards.

[Fish-slice porridge (魚片粥): fresh fish curls that poach just barely in a large bowl of hot rice porridge, with shredded ginger added. Hargau (蝦餃): shrimp bonnets, being fresh chopped shrimp wrapped in a translucent skin cleverly tucked at the top and steamed. Tea-eggs (茶葉蛋): the eggs are first boiled till hard, cooled, rolled to crack the peel, then simmered again to allow the flavouring to seep in through the cracks and marbleize the surface of the egg within. Often they are kept in the tea-spice liquid for several more hours for the best flavour. Use two TBS black tea or pu-erh in a pan of water, add a hefty jigger of soy sauce, whole five-spices plus extra star anise, a slice of ginger and a large piece or two of dried tangerine peel. The first simmer is for twenty minutes after the liquid has come to boil, the second simmer will be about three hours - prolonged cooking eventually re-tenderizes the proteins.]


4:15 PM
While puffing on a post-lunch pipe on Jackson Street I saw that the windows of Yong Kee are now papered-up. The owner of the shop next door informed me that 'yes, they’re closed, all gone'. A very great pity, their haahm dan sou and gai bao were excellent.  I’m sure I’m not the only one who will miss them. They probably retired at last, and there isn’t any point in passing on the business to the Americanized generation.
So many of the familiar places are gone, the neighborhood has changed.
When people move out now, it’s usually to go to the avenues.
Only old people still embrace these streets.

[Yong Kee (容記糕粉店): a bakery and dim sum shop that dated from before the war, which had a stellar reputation and made some truly marvelous items. Mostly unknown to outsiders, as the awning was only in Chinese. Nothing in the trays was labeled. You knew what you wanted when you went in, and asked for it by name.  Haahm dan sou (鹹蛋酥) are salt-preserved egg yolks, very rich, inside a flaky pastry crust with a little sweet lotus seed paste (莲蓉) to anchor them in place. A gai bao (雞飽) is a steamed chicken-filled bun, than which there is naught finer when the mood strikes.
Regarding the post-lunch pipe, note that I have several pipes and three different pipe-tobaccos with me today: a matured red and black Virginia with Perique, a blend of red Virginia ribbon and matured red Virginia cake plus Orientals and air-cured leaf, and a profoundly fumigational pressing of red Virginia with Latakia and Turkish. I'm heading to the Occidental later this evening for a few bowls. Red Virginia dusk.]


Outside the New Orchid Pavilion a cluster of retirees were discussing the opera poster in the window. I’ve seen the same one all over Chinatown, some well-known artist from HK is going to perform. Seven entirely different plays! Seven Cantonese operas I’ve never heard of, and of which I have no recordings at all in my collection. Maybe these are unique rarities, but more likely they're minor theatre pieces that allow a greater interpretational range – the other ‘stars’ are probably amateurs from the local opera clubs.
I’ve heard folks practicing in the basement on Sacramento Street, as well as at the club near the Broadway.  Some of them have far more enthusiasm than skill. Few have less.
The retirees were animated, and probably looked forward to a good show.
Behind the window pane, one of the people who works at the New Orchid Pavilion was intently observing them.
Would they come in? Were they going to eat?
Hey, how about some business here!
There’s an empty table in the rear. Two empty tables!
Eat, eat, eat! Oh please!

4:45 PM
Having been unable to satisfy my craving for a haahm dan sou at Yong Kee, I stopped by another bakery instead. They didn’t have any haahm dan sou, so I ordered a lo po bing (老婆餅) and a cup of coffee. While enjoying my flaky wintermelon pastry, a young mother and her little child came in, got stuff at the counter, and sat down at the very next table.
I recognized them as being the two that had gotten off the bus at Stockton.
The mother asked the little girl about her lo po bing.

“Ho m-ho sik-ga?”

The tyke beamed up at her.

“Dee! Lishus!!!”

Yep.



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