A SUFFICIENCY OF WALNUTS

Six prescriptions, three supplements, coffee, and a pipe. This is not a whine about my condition, as my blood pressure is excellent now and I am often so full of piss and vinegar I must be unbearable, but a celebration.
And it's breakfast.

I woke up with a sore elbow, and Little White Nipple Guy and a bittermelon omelette in my head. I can't figure out the elbow.
What did I bump yesterday?

Little White Nipple Guy has been around twice in the past week. No, it's not that he's worried about the flame adjustments on his three Dunhill lighters, which "T" has not seen-to yet; he's blowing through his lucky money from Chinese New Year. Despite the wife and fourteen year old daughter that manifested themselves three years ago, in the eyes of his parents he is undoubtedly still an unmarried son. He must've gotten piles of leisi.

The bitter melon is what I would like to have for lunch today, but the place where I usually go has already seen me once this week, and I don't want to wear out my welcome or have them start taking my patronage for granted. Though I am just one of many customers, I want to be a happy surprise.
The goofball one is glad to see, rather than a fixture.


"You cannot sit there, that's Uncle Stinky Kwailo's table!"


Yeah, um, no.

I am not a nice enough person to be a good fixture, nor interesting enough.
More likable as a rarity than a regularity.

Bittermelon omelette over rice with hot sauce is the lunch of champions, but so are any number of other things, including chicken bits and salt fish fried rice (咸魚雞粒炒飯 'haam yü gai naap chaau faan'), century egg and lean pork congee (皮蛋瘦肉粥 'pei daan sau yiuk juk'), and porkchops, which as a nod to the good advice from the nutritionist whom I made miserable before a normal person's lunchtime several months ago by describing in great and glowing detail everything bad available within three blocks of her office which would be good to eat and completely inadvisable from her point of view I should probably not have too often.

Lest I run in to someone I know from the clinic.
Who would be undoubtedly horrified.
Or themselves embarrassed.
Eating bad stuff.


The chance of encountering Little White Nipple Guy in Chinatown is slim to nil. Not only is his ability to talk Cantonese so much worse than mine, but he's unfamiliar with the neighborhood, and that cowboy hat makes him look ridiculous. The local people may be extremely tolerant of eccentrics, but they are also extremely realistic.


Besides, they see enough crazy already.
I go there.





==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================