PISSY DUTCH AMERICAN NEEDS LUNCH, MIGHT BE MELLOWER AFTERWARDS

On a day like today, which used to be the last day off before the work week, until my schedule changed, the ideal thing to do would be to head over to Stockton Street for something over rice and a cup of milk tea at the New Honolulu, which a few years ago changed hands and direction, was reinvented, and became something quite different.
It's now a chachanteng with entirely new dishes.
Which I also like .


新品味
888 Stockton Street, San Francisco, CA 94108


Of course I haven't been there in thirteen months. We've had a bit of a pandemic here in San Francisco, and there have been certain necessary limitations. It's not been as bad as Florida or Texas, where the Republicans in power have signalled that they don't care how many people croak or end up with long term health problems -- there are always techies from California and business majors from the centre of the country to take up the slack, going there to contribute to pollution, the tax base, the jail population, and soon the county morgue -- as long as all the fully infectious people can wander around without masks at Walmart, Big Bubba's Barbecue Pit, and every damned redneck drinking establishment between there and an oil rig, damn the consequences, we're open fer bidniz mah freedums man cough cough cough ...

Sorry, I got distracted by the rest of the country.

[Asian Americans, take note! Move here. Rents are going down, yuppies and Republicans are moving out, and other than criminal scumsuckers from Oakland and Antioch, there is not so much to worry about. Plus we have good food.]

One of the great things about the New Honolulu is that in addition to superior food in a clean and comfortable environment, they didn't have the teevee tuned to Fox News. I never had to see that inbred degenerate Tucker Carlson or his kinfolk on the telly there at all. Heck, people scarcely paid attention to what was on anyhow, they had things to talk about, friends to see, lively conversation, good food, and beverages to enjoy. Bottle of Sriracha on every table.
You could dawdle while filling your pipe and planning grocery shopping.

There are a number of other fine restaurants in the Chinatown area, as well as grocery stores where they don't have mayonnaise, miracle wip, wonderbread, or frozen hamburger patties.
No rodeos, Nascar rallies, or all-day beer specials, though.


Anywhere there are bottles of Sriracha on every table is fine by me.




That late lunch in Chinatown was always gave me the necessary strength and resolve to deal with the rightwing all-American asswipes during the rest of the week. It made me a kinder and more tolerant man, quite capable of even dealing with visiting Texans and Floridians on an equitable basis, or assuming that they could read and write.
Which, as we know, is just not the case.

Smoke first. Then maybe some bami goreng.

TOBACCO INDEX


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