A few months ago, as advised by my regular care physician, I had a talk with a nutritionist. Which was right near her lunch time. In Chinatown. At the Chinese Hospital. Our conversation was partly in Cantonese. I quite enjoyed it, but it may have been less pleasant for her. Not because I have a horrid habit of derailing discussion -- which I do -- but because I dwelt lovingly upon all the good things to eat within two or three blocks of her workplace, which she probably avoided most of the time. Two places with stellar roast duck (燒鴨 'siu ngaap'), three where you can get a porkchop baked over rice with sauce and cheese (焗豬扒飯 'guk chyu baa faan'), three lovely bakeries for egg tarts (蛋撻 'daan taat'), charsiu turnovers (叉燒酥 'chaa siu sou'), or curry puffs (咖哩角 'ka-lei kok' ), several stores where you can get the fixings for streaky fatty pork (五花腩 'ng faa naam'; pork belly) steamed or simmered with salty additional ingredients, a shop with live lobsters (生猛龍蝦 'saang maang lung haa'). Hot Hong Kong Milk Tea (熱港式奶茶 'yit gong sik naai chaa') coming out of your ears. Malaysian style chicken curry (馬來西亞式咖哩雞 'maa loi sai ya sik kaa lei kai'). Dimsum (點心).
Hong Kong style French Toast (港式西多士 'gong sik sai do si'). And so many other things.
Knowing how to eat is not knowing how to eat healthy, but how to eat well.
All medical appointments should be scheduled near meal times.
The nutritionist has her work cut out for her.
Most of her clients know food.
你食咗飯未?
Whenever I am near the hospital I automatically think of lunch or a teatime snack, followed by a pipefull of good tobacco. It's almost Pavlovian.
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