THE FEAST OF NOODLING

Thanksgiving, not surprisingly, is always a very quiet day for the single man. Which by itself is enjoyable, never mind the absence of hullabaloo and stringy white meat.  It's a time to appreciate restfulness and warm solitude. Plus good food.


RICE-NOODLE SOUP AND GRILLED MEAT

Went over to a favourite noodle restaurant on Washington Street for lunch.
It was not crowded, but by no means empty either. Perfect for people watching.
There was an adorable little girl with a lovely hair ornament, playing with a video game while her uncles chatted. A young couple with their two cute kids off to the right, enjoyed a late lunch. A smiling old man and his cheerful chubby niece or whatever she may have been shared fried noodles. Various others.

As well as a gentleman of Slavic appearance and his girlfriend, whose make-up and garb suggested a demure variant of tropical trollop. It could be that both of them were seriously into a Paul Gauguin thing -- though she did not look anywhere young enough to play Gauguin's Tahitian squeezebit -- or it could simply be that she guilelessly got herself up as a Philippina peasant girl roping a wandering American. With a huge flower in her hair.
Whatever the reason, it seemed blameless enough. They were at ease in each other's presence, and obviously liked each other. Fun to watch.
An innocent couple.

Diagonally opposite my table were two happy girls speaking Mandarin. Not the same vicious-sounding hissy-fit Mandarin as the angry middle-aged coot and his daughter along the far wall, but a confident mellifluous variant, pleasing to the ear. Or it may simply have been that I will cut attractive young ladies who are likable and intelligent way more slack than elderly gnomes with gripes. Especially because I could imagine what the shoulders of the young lady whose face I could see might look like bare, judging by her build and her small elegant hands.
I do not know exactly what she ordered - but her graceful fingering of her chopsticks is permanently imprinted on my retina.
Everyone should have daughters like that.


While I was enjoying the last few bites of the grilled pork with hot sauce, a young English couple sat down at the table next to me. He looked like a standard-issue white person, she may have been Singaporean Chinese or Malaysian Chinese. They both had something curried.
One has to seriously doubt the food-knowledge of people who order curry in a Chinese restaurant. It does not come across as a sensible or well-considered choice.
Wishful thinking, more than anything else.
Other than their haphazard food selection (curried shrimp over rice, her; curried pork over rice, him), there was naught remarkable about them, so I returned my surreptitious attention to the young lady with the intelligent face (lively eyes, quirky lips) and lovely hands. She was ordering something extra.
Before it came, I had finished my drip-coffee and paid my bill.
I would have liked to have dawdled some more.
But a second glass of coffee would have been a bit much.
Twitching and jangling does not leave a good impression.
And what with strong coffee and a mug of tea, I was already plenty wired; no need for anything else.

Smoked a bowl of red Virginia in a quiet alley after lunch, then took the bus back home. There was a remarkable fragrance of fresh apples in the vehicle, and bright sunlight at the top of Nob Hill.
Not very many passengers, more empty seats than filled.
I rather wish that bus ride could have lasted longer.
The aroma of apples is very evocative, very happy.



Before entering my building, I admired a crow across the street investigating a fire-escape. There's a self-assurance about crows that is very endearing. They know that they are far more intelligent than the other birds - especially the pigeons - and they're gifted with a lively curiosity.
Crows in your neighborhood are a blessing.
They keep an active eye on things.
And they swagger.
Cocky.




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