THE MORE LIQUID DETAILS

Woke up from a dream in which I was repairing a fan with calligraphy on it, when a friend came by suggesting that we get something to eat. No, not our usual Cantonese eatery this time, but take-out from a Vietnamese Chinese restaurant near some diggings for a new building project in Chinatown. The menu was mostly strange gibberish (!), so the waitress -- whom I recognized from the bus to Marin -- recommended something using an idiosyncratic mixture of Cantonese and Mandarin. The plan being that we would take it back to my friend's apartment nearby.
While we waited, we had chilled Vietnamese coffee.

When I woke up, I had an immense yen for Vietnamese coffee, cà phê sữa đá.

Now, in the waking world, I have never seen that friend before in my life, I do not know how to repair calligraphic fans (though I could make a credible stab at it), there is no immense hole in the ground near a Vietnamese Chinese restaurant that doesn't exist, and I do not know if that woman who isn't actually a waitress speaks any Chinese at all, Cantonese or Mandarin.
Which is a good thing; my Mandarin is awful.

I've never spoken with her, but when she gets on the bus I nod in recognition.

Detail of a photo taken by a friend.

It drizzled yesterday evening, as it did in my dream. What I eventually ended up ordering was grilled pork, fried imperial rolls, and sliced sausages, over cold rice stick noodles generously splashed with tamarind water and dashes of fish sauce. With chopped chives and basil. Plus chilies. Which could have been quite good; it's an easy favourite at the right restaurants.
I haven't eaten with anyone else in aeons, so it should have been very enjoyable.

[Bún thịt nướng chả giò: 春捲烤豬肉粉。Dressed with fish sauce (nước mam) and garnished with crumbled roasted peanuts, and tamarind-water pickled carrots, topped with fresh basil and mint. Also contains beansprouts (giá, 芽菜).]


What bothers me is that I do not know whether this non-existent friend smokes, and if he does, what does he smoke? Probably ciggies, maybe even State Express 555 non-filter, which have to be smuggled in from outside the country. Perhaps I should offer him a cigar? Possibly a Nicaraguan, Garcia y Garcia, or Joya de Nicaragua. Or an Escurio from Davidoff.


These are important details, which are strictly imaginary.
I can still taste that Vietnamese iced coffee.



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