THEY MADE THE BEST PORTUGUESE CHICKEN RICE

A man will experience a deep and abiding sadness when there is only ONE bonbon left in the box. Alas, it seems time to by another, because there are TWO people enjoying these. And of course one doesn't want to be the person who ate the last chocky. Especially because she (my apartment mate) bought this box. The other feeling is bafflement. Did I leave only two in the box last night, thus giving her the torment of eating one and making the last one my problem? Should I have left three, so that she could dump the issue back in my lap?
Four? Or five, so that it's more abstract?


"Four shalt thou not count, neither shalt thou count two, except that thou then proceedeth to three. Five is right out!"


If there were THREE people here, instead of just two, it would have been easier. One each, I'll go first, because I'm awake, whereas the rest of us are asleep.
At two o'clock in the morning.

Except of course then it would be too much like a nineteen seventies sit-com.

A wee bit peckish. Esurient. Sustenance required. Now more than ever I miss places like the Washington Bakery and Restaurant (華盛頓茶餐廳 'waa seng twun chaa chan teng'), which used to do a lovely Portuguese Chicken Rice. They changed four years back, then again during the pandemic, and finally this year sold the place to Hon's Wun Tun.
I'm quite okay with Hon's excellent wun tun.
But I want Portuguese Chicken.

In its Hong Kong incarnation the dish has little connection to Portugal, slightly more to East Africa, and derived mostly from Macao. Chicken, potatoes, sausage (in lieu of salt pork), mild coconut curry, and piri piri (a kind of African sambal) on the side. Often glopped over a layer of egg-fried rice and shoved under the broiler, with shredded coconut and grated cheese for extra cholesterol and flavour on top. You can understand why this is a popular dish. It's like an energy bar with real protein, carbs, and fat. Hot and bubbly, instead of cold and dry like American yuppies customarily eat. Fuel for living.

Few chachanteng make it with linguiça to render a cooking grease, and some of them take shortcuts with the curry. The ABC Restaurant on Jackson Street, which closed five years ago, made their with mushrooms and green bellpepper in the sauce. Sheer heresy! I ate it often. There was also a place which had a stellar version, where I stopped going several years before then, because the waitress indicated that one of her friends needed a husband. Seeing as the image people have of me does NOT match the reality, I didn't want to end up sowing disappointment all around. So I don't know if they even have the same cook.

[Now, if the woman was in her late twenties or early thirties and simply wanted the occasional stimulating company of a Dutch American who stank of pipe tobacco and had no realistic plans for the future, that would be fine. But such people are rare, and sadly do not wear signs or buttons stating exactly that, so that one might recognize them. I am resigned to eating a full serving if and when I find another place.]

Lunch today will be at home. Minor, and uninspired.
I'll go out for teatime later at a bakery.
A pipe afterwards is a certainty.


And yes, I'll be buying another box of bonbons.


NOTE: If I were to make "Portuguese Chicken Curry" myself, I'd semi-fry up some bacon first for the cooking fat, because I do not have linguiça in my larder. Instead of bellpepper, some Jalapeños for flavour and crunch. And fresh tomato chunks too.
The egg-fried rice would be authentic.



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