MISS, NOODLES

What I ate for late lunch in no way influenced what I dreamed about last night. Lunch was pan-fried salmon on a bed of mustard stalks with rice and hot sauce. The dream was about eating noodles in soup with a smile-faced dark haired miss at a darkish bistro on Nob Hill which doesn't exist, after the street lights outside had failed. Then catching a train.

When you eat with someone you would like to kiss, avoid hot sauce.

Why a train? Why, specifically, a luxuriously appointed high speed underground intercity? This, I suspect, was the bloodpressure meds speaking. And no, I cannot remember what we had to drink while slurping our noodles. Something caffeinated, cold, and non-alcoholic.

Seeing the old geezer at the chachanteng two tables over inhaling his bowl of noodles may have had something to do with it. But the noodles were quite different, and instead of a whizened old grumpus, male, it was a winsome woman. Nice, female.
Which is a considerable improvement.

Noodles are not, most of the time, something one eats with other people. They aren't really a meal, more of a snack. Emergency sustenance, chance-decided, oh this lookes good, and can they prepare it speedily?

The chilled coffee beverage is forethoughtful.
Quick fuel. Wakey-wakey liquid.

Helps keep one alert afterwards.

Beef chunk plank-noodle (牛肉板面 'ngau yiuk paan min') is not commonly available here. The closest is HK style brisket stew chunk noodle in broth (牛腩麵 'ngau naam min').
Some places offer the option of rice noodles (米粉 'mai fan') in lieu of wheat.



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