Every week I try to find a different snacky thing so that my apartment mate (a good friend) is happily surprised, as well as the fuzzy turkey vulture for whom she channels. These are stressful times, and domestic peace is worth its weight in gold. Errm, snacks.
Unlike me, my apartment mate does not read Chinese. For her, too many of these things lack transparency. The major advantage of reading Chinese, in some ways, is that it makes it much easier to avoid durian flavour (榴蓮味 'lau lin mei').
榴蓮芋頭餅 ('lau lin wu tau bing'; durian and taro cakes), 榴蓮芒果布丁 ('lau lin mong gwok pou deng'; durian-mango pudding), 榴蓮咖啡 ('lau lin ga fei'; durian coffee).
Many things have durian added which shouldn't.
[Durian icecream, cakes, beverages, pie, pastry, nougat, macaroons, cream biscuits, pork jerky, sucky balls, toffee ...]
Admittedly, durian is good for social distancing, but, nevertheless, faugh and heck no.
Durian is proof that not everything Chinese is edible.
We don't often eat together, having entirely different tastes and times, but remarkably we often like similar Chinatown snacks.
Sydney Fylbert
And we always share what we're eating with the turkey vulture.
He complains vociferously if we don't.
Pudge wumps.
That's my pipe, by the way. Not his.
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