IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN SAN FRANCISCO, EVEN WHEN IT ISN'T

One of the things that has been a problem for all the years that I've worked in Marin is that there is no where with decent food near enough to where I work. Sure, if I had a car, there would be at least three or four places. People who have kindly recommended restaurants have, always, failed to understand that if it isn't in five minutes WALKING distance, it is NOT an option. Within half an hour driving there must be dozens of tasty things to eat: Suburban Chinese, Indian, Central American, pizza, and ekskweez sandwiches, bagels, and wraps.

Yeah, um.

So during my days off, I enjoy my food. Which is often Chinese. Cantonese. With minor touches of Toishanese. At places which have sambal or Sriracha. And, frequently, HK milk tea. And where there are no white people or suburbanites. Of whom I have had more than enough during my work days.


By the way, why do the people on the busses who are not properly wearing their masks almost always seem to be my fellow Caucasians? A lack of brains? Inconsiderate? No manners? Mah freedums? Maga? Or just a general Karen assholery? Perhaps a strong desire to be individualists and recongized as such while spreading disease?

To be fair, some of them are tourists.
It takes some idiocy to travel.
During a pandemic.

During a pandemic I do not feel quite comfortable or safe hanging around my fellow whities much. I don't know where they've been without wearing a mask, who or what they've tried to tongue kiss or face-lick without wearing a mask, which careless tourists or random diseased strangers they've hobnobbed with without wearing a mask, or which mass athletic spectacles or sweaty moisture everywhere prize-fights in large enclosed badly ventilated venues they have attended along with crowds of screaming yobos without wearing a mask.



The place where I had lunch today never gets white people, suburbanites, or tourists, as customers. They're off the beaten track and rather non-descript from the outside, not eye-catching. And they don't have beer. But they're home town folks (expand your definition of home town), they do decent food that I like, and the restaurant is small enough that you'll never have to wonder what happened to the waitress. Who is the wife of the owner. And who speaks both Cantonese and Toishanese. As well as Mandarin and enough English.

There's also a grandmother who works there, and a little daughter who comes home from school there. Neither of whom understand my Cantonese very well, because they speak Toishanese. Grandma also understands Mandarin, granddaughter is fluent in English.

So yes, I've been there before. Been going there for about six or seven years.

Something simple for lunch: black bean bitter melon fish and rice. After which I smoked a pipe while wandering around. Chinatown is showing the strain. More boarded up places, stronger metal shutters on some shops. Most of the places I like have survived.

A fine Virginia flake, mostly bright, some condimental leaf.

Sadly, time flies on my days off.




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