EVIL LAMB STEW AND POOR MILK TEA

It was already raining when I left the restaurant to smoke a pipe. But that lamb was probably the most miserable baa-beast I ever ate, and I was desperate to exchange the bad taste in my mouth for something better. Sadly, I cannot think of many worse things to do with cheap mutton than blanketing it in white sauce. The chef must have spent time in the Deep South, and it's a wonder that he had not chicken-fried it.

As I said, that "lamb" was pretty damned bad.
But I like ambiance there. And the soup.
So I will not tell you where it is.


Chinatown is beautiful in the rain, but Chinese people themselves act goofy when water falls from the sky. Most of them hate getting wet, and become brittle and temperamental if that happens. Their patience with other pedestrians is less, and almost non-existent as regards strange Caucasians standing under awnings with pipes in their mouths.

But I got here first, bitches, I own this space!

Feel free to enjoy my pungent smell ...

Awning. Dryness. Smoke.

Perfect.


Yeah, I enjoyed my smoke. Even though no one except an old codger chainsmoking Red Double Happiness (紅雙喜 'hung seung hei') joined me. I'm surprised that none of the passing young ladies took advantage of the opportunity to share time and space with two harmless gentlemen enjoying tobacco and a convenient dry spot.
When will they ever get that chance again?
Rain is the perfect excuse, girls.
And we're friendly.


The only places still open where a warm beverage may be got after the stores close is a bubble tea bar. If you aren't familiar with the type, you should know that most offerings are fruity-flavoured chilled drinks with your choice of tapioca balls, grass-jelly squiggles, shredded pudding, and lychee fragments or whatever. The target audience occupies the age-span between junior high and about-to-graduate from college.

They are a cheering bunch of people to have nearby, because the sugar in their chosen beverage is almost always too much for them to handle, but one cannot have a conversation with them for fear of seeming an elderly creep, and also because they have little in common with adults, such as I claim to be. Nor have they developed significant character distinction or personality strength at that age; that will take more time.
At least till they've finished school and started reading independently.
Really, they don't know a heck of a lot before then.
But they've got a lot of self-confidence.
If one doesn't disturb them.
They're fragile.

[Unfortunately one doesn't run into many young ladies writing doctoral theses in such environments, nor bright sparkly things researching material for scholarly papers in their chosen academic specialty.
Probably because of the sugar and the noise. This is a sad reality.]

Bubble tea places also do hot milk-tea, but it sure isn't a decent strong cup, and doesn't even remotely come close to the cha-chanteng standard, which is ruddy and bitter.

So the only reason to enter such an environment is because it is raining. The wise old coot will make sure that there are more people there than just the counter girl, but that it isn't overflowing with female teenagers. One doesn't want to freak anybody out, but similarly one wishes a place to sit and be left alone looking out over the dark wet street.

I wasn't the only person to think of that.

Not even half-way through my tall container of tea-flavoured warm milk, there were twelve other customers, none of whom were older than the early twenties at best, only two of them were on a date.


Cantonese are shorter than Mandarin speakers, but more vibrant.
Even when they have to speak Mandarin to their date.


I spent nearly an hour there, listening.

And looking out over the street.

It was a good evening.

Very good.




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