LATE AFTERNOON NEAR FLOWER GARDEN CORNER
It was a lovely romantic ballad. I can't sing worth diddly, the place was seedy and had horrible acoustics, and snide snarky cynical middle-aged Dutch Americans should NOT sing sentimental songs in Mandarin.
Or even doing anything karaoke related.
I realize that now.
The good thing is that it was never captured on cell-phone video, so I can pretend it never happened. It shall not show up on Facebook. Ever.
I wish I could say the same about the Gangnam Style Dance-Off.
But enough about me, let's talk about something that could be made better; the hod-carrying filling fortification.
Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice ('guk pou-gwok gai-faan')
What it is, is a layer of egg-fried rice en-casserole, with cooked chicken and some vegetable matter on top, covered with a healthy pouring of mild coconut curry sauce, a sprinkle of grated cheese, and stuck underneath the broiler till hot and bubbly. A not-really-optional touch is a teaspoon or two of shredded coconut to toast brown down the centre. It is a popular dish in tea-restaurants (茶餐廳 'cha-chanteng'), and considered distinctly lower-class hearty fare suitable for working men with appetites.
Or middle-aged Dutch American personages.
Who eat alone and day-dream.
It would be excellent if shared, in which case some yauchoi with oystersauce alongside would be a good idea.
The best versions have potato chunks for the vegetable matter, and maybe pieces of green bellpepper. But ideally there would also be minced scallion in the egg-fried rice used for the first layer, and a strip or two of smoky bacon laid over the casserole before baking it in the oven.
In some places they don't quite realize that the sauce is supposed to be Portuguese (Maccanese), and use a blanket of white sauce instead, which is an abysmal deviation. Plus canned mushroom should NEVER be included, what the hell were you thinking?!?
[Portuguese Sauce: Coconut milk, chicken stock, curry powder, minuscule amounts of cayenne, garlic, and cornstarch to give it body. It was probably invented in Macau. We'll blame them for it.]
And more sprinkle cheese; there should always be more cheese.
A little bit for you, a little bit for me, and some yauchoi.
Bon appétit, enjoy, maan maan sik.
We shall have some more milk-tea.
One place which does a good version has a table near the window and also lovely Italian cake. But one has to time it just right, because if it's too early that table is occupied by businessmen or middle-aged ladies.
Apparently I am not the only person who likes a spot of Hong Kong style milk-tea in late afternoon.
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