From the bittermelon omelette OR baked porkchop over spaghetti covered with melted cheese to the Portuguese egg tarts and red bean biscuits.
There are over a score of eateries in Chinatown to which regular exercise on my days off will take me, and that's plenty of walking.
Nor will I inform him of recent coughing jags in the morning. He would tell me that this indicates that I should quit smoking forthwith, while gaily ignoring the prevalence at this time of seasonal colds and respiratory ailments. Such as the one currently afflicting me, which is on the wane, and which I've been hiding during the working day because three of my co-workers are totally paranoid. As they should be.
But not because of a cold.
And surely everyone wakes up occasionally with a small stubborn gorilla on top of one's pile of clothing clutching one's wallet, and exclaiming happily "it is mine, I found it!" Such as happened recently.
If I tell that to my doctor he'd recommend counseling. "Subject is depressed, and hearing things". He would ignore the context (the private lives of stuffed creatures, the voices, the socialization of small furry entities), and go straight for the worrisome symptom.
I'm not sure, but I suspect that the good man does not encounter patients who regularly have to argue with a Froad, two monkeys, a sheep, and a cow, that the leathery thing does not belong to them, and they may not use the rectangular plastic card within to browse the internet.
Recently their number has been augmented by a turkey vulture.
Who wishes to have cadavers delivered.
We adopted Sydney Fylbert a few days ago, as an early birthday present for my apartment mate. He's from New York. Where, apparently, there are loads of fresh cadavers, why, the streets are positively littered with them!
And they're flat and crispy!
Remarkably, the bookseller with whom I enjoy regular late night weekly visits to places in North Beach returned from New York a fortnight ago, where he had a wonderful time. As he does once or twice a year.
Must be all those cadavers.
Most of my doctor's patients are Chinese American, and not given to voices.
Middle aged Dutch Americans are not a key demographic.
We hide ourselves extremely well.
With our beasts.
There are of course many other good things to eat in Chinatown. Such as egg tarts (蛋撻 'dan taat'), flaky barbecue turnovers (叉燒酥 'chaa siu sou'), coconut tarts (椰撻 'ye taat'), roast duck (燒鴨 'siu ngaap'), steamed fish (蒸魚 'jing yü'), pan-fried noodles (沙河粉 'chaau ho fan'), steamed rice sheet noodle (腸粉 'cheung fan'), tomato porkchop (番茄豬扒飯 'faan ke chü paa faan'), fermented black bean sauce spare ribs 豆豉排骨 ('dau si pai gwat'), baked fish (焗魚 'guk yü'), Portuguese chicken rice (焗葡國雞飯 'guk pou gwok gai faan'), steamed pork patty with salt fish (鹹魚蒸肉餅 'haam yü jing yiuk beng'), salt fish chicken fried rice (鹹魚雞粒炒飯 'haam yü gai naap chaau faan'), pork and vegetable buns ( 菜肉飽 'choi yuk baau'), congee (粥 'juk'), and wonton noodle soup (雲吞湯麵 'wan tan tong min'), which is perfect for a rainy day.
Neither my doctor nor the turkey buzzard hold with such things, alas.
I have not found the piggy buns (猪仔包 'chü chai baau') yet.
But I'm still discovering good things to eat.
Always keep looking.
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