GRIM DAWN, TRANSIT

One of the crucial flaws with much of the world is that you cannot get a bowl of wonton noodles and a hot cup of milk tea anywhere near the trainstation, from Lingnan northwards, and anywhere east of Washington and Stockton in San Francisco. It is a severe failing. There you are, it's forty minutes till the train for Rotterdam is scheduled, and you could have a warm comforting breakfast while the rain pours down on the 18 September Plein, except all that is available is a cup of strong coffee and a crocquette with sharp mustard (Löwensenf). Which are also splendid, but you had that yesterday. As well as the day before.
Occasionally you alternate it with a Frikandel.

[The typical Dutch kroket is marvelous, and bears frequent repetition. But sometimes a man wants something else, and the vicinities of trainstations are often culinarily staid and predictable. Except for the two places I mentioned.]

Despondently you seek out an awning underneath which to shelter. You fill and light your pipe. Dammit, plain Maryland ribbon. It will be at least a week before the next shipment from civilization: Oxford marmalade, Samuel Gawith's Golden Glow, another Latin dictionary from Blackwells, and a jar of potted shrimp made by your aunt Margeret. You look forward to gout and a good smoke a fortnight hence. Finally!

Or maybe Suleiman still has a few 100 gr. tins of Orlik Golden Sliced in his desk at the office between the Waalhaven and Eemhaven. He's in Morocco for the next five weeks, delivering contraband mutton and penicillin to the natives, he won't mind if you "liberate" it. He gave up smoking for ramadan anyway and was too busy since then to even clean his pipes.
You'll leave him a note.

A friend had written that he had an excellent breakfast at one of the places to which I go fairly often. Fresh wontons in soup. What he did not mention is what newspaper he read while he was eating. There aren't many Chinese newspapers left in San Francisco, most of them have shut down in the past few decades, and let's face it, neither the Epoch Times nor People's Daily are worth reading, being basically extremely suspect propaganda rags.



After that brief burst of tropic heat a week ago, the weather is that cold that a nice bowl of wonton soup with noodles and perhaps a few slices of charsiu does sound delightful.

Maybe I should head out early today. I'll open up a tin of that limited edition flake from Cornell & Diehl and rub some out to dry while I head into the shower.

==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================