FRAGRANT TWILIGHT

It was too chewy, and I should have known better. The last time I had ordered the substance it proved impossible to eat, despite manful attempts But it's very Hong Kong, and I was feeling adventurous. As well as hungry, because as usual I had skipped breakfast, and having spent too much time putzing around at home, a very late lunch sirene-songed at me.

Really, I should have eaten earlier. I would have chosen better.

蒜蓉豬肚
Suen-yong chyu tou

Pig stomach, sliced thin, marinated with crushed garlic, a dash of soy sauce, and a smidge of sesame oil. Served cold. It was of course absolutely delicious, and quite impossible.

Some Hong Kong foods are not meant for human consumption. Unless you have good strong sharp teeth, and extreme patience. The owner is from Hong Kong, and there was no one else there at that hour -- although someone did call in an order for pizza (比薩) to pick up -- so there was no one to bother me as I chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed.

Probably should have had the pizza instead.

Or the cauliflower with salty meat.

臘味炒菜花。


After giving up and drinking my tea I went out to smoke. Chinatown was quiet, most people were probably inside having dinner at that time, the tourists were largely absent, and the streets were nearly empty. A few buses trundled past, one or two cars.
Slanting light from the western sky. Mild breeze. Tranquil.



That eatery's owner has two kids. The younger one is a sweet little fellow, ambulatory and developing into a person now. The last time I saw him he was still an infant in diapers, with all the dis-appeal of that age. But it has been over a year and a half since then.

I fervently hope that the virus passes over that place.
And all of the neighborhood, actually.



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