At the back of the hill

Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Saturday, June 02, 2018


It's not entirely surprising that little Cantonese girls like jaa kai yik syue tiu (炸雞翼薯條). Well, at least one of them. A four year old (with a very pretty mommy), who, I assume, is representative of the class. Quite possibly little Caucasian girls also like 炸雞翼薯條 but call it something else.
Fried chicken wings with French fries.

The gentleman sitting opposite me very hospitably divided his order and gave a portion for the moppet's mother to take over to the little girl, who had been put at a table with a small screen playing a children's programme in Mandarin. In places like this, everyone is, more or less, family, and many folks recognize each other, though not always by correct name.
The cute young mother works there during the day.
An auntie helpfully brought the kid over.
Probably from kindergarten.

Mui-mui, Ah-yi, Leng-neui, Ah-sook, Ah-pak, Kau-chai ...
Und so weiter.

When one of the cooks (廚師叔叔) came out the kitchen, he playfully tried to grab some of the four year old's food. She put her hand around it and stared at him with mistrust. With each feint, she grew more agitated.
Do NOT mess with a Cantonese girl's food.
They will cut you.

Cook Uncle realized that he was skating on very thin ice, and he stopped teasing her. He didn't know how close he came to seriously bodily harm.
As the only native speaker of English present, I would have been a hostile but very believable witness. "She was pushed beyond endurance, Your Honour, she had no other choice".

She would have gutted him with a plastic drink straw.
And steely feminine determination.

Do not mess with a Cantonese girl's food.
I may have already said that.
It bears repeating.


Much of my familiarity with Cantonese girls comes from associating with my apartment mate, who is in fact a Cantonese girl. If Cook Uncle tried to grab some of her fried chicken he'd end up needing surgery for a fractured wrist. And no one, least of all her, would understand how that came about.
It would be a complete mystery.

Cantonese girls should not be compared to Mandarin speakers, many of whom are whiny and altogether lacking in spirit.

My apartment mate and I very rarely eat together. She has her own favourite food places, some of which are also in Chinatown. But she doesn't find people watching as anywhere near intriguing as I do.

Because, you know, it gets in the way of food.

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