WHERE MILK TEA COMES FROM

When you think of Hong Kong, what you see in your mind's eye are typhoons, the confined spaces of small crowded apartments (especially in Kwun Tong), narrow streets in Central, the shady warren of Kowloon away from Canton Road, Kaitak airport, and the ferry to HK Island. And drunken Australians. Plus wonton noodle soup, hot kaidanchai dusted with confectioners sugar, steamed meat patty with ginger and salt egg, porkchops over rice, fried noodles, dried fish, fish balls, baked rice dishes, little egg tarts, and milk tea. Especially milk tea.

All of that excepting typhoons and Kaitak can be reproduced in San Francisco. Including the drunken Australians. They aren't unique, and the people who habituate the outdoor facilities along Polk Street and in the Marina are close enough that the difference is negligible.
Just add Fosters and overcooked shrimp on the barbie.

Kaitak was unique. It is no more.

Really, why would you want to have drunken Australians around? Like their kin the Pommies, they get pugnacious.


Best to avoid the bars that cater to white people, and head toward a chachanteng in the evening for some French Toast and a hot cup of Milk Tea. Or, if that can't be done because of covid, make it at home. Strong tea, a hefty dollop of sweetened condensed milk, briskly stirred with a spoon to froth it slightly and aerate it, and listen to the neighbors having a raucous cocktail party across the lot in the other row of buildings while reading the news.
Pretend you are in HK, and those are cricket fans.


Good lord, it's already eleven o'clock! When will they pipe down?
Damned drunken English speakers. Noisy, lah!
Maybe they're Aussies.
蘭桂坊。




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