THE PAST TENSE OF COOKING

It wasn't till I had lit up that I remembered that by the time I would finish, there might not be anywhere in Chinatown to have a cup of HK style milk tea. Both bakeries I patronize would have shut for the day. Since the pandemic, almost everyone closes at six. C'town, sadly, had become a bedroom community. And being at the top of Nob after five, even if I hurried it wouldn't happen.

What with being a bit of a loner, there wasn't a single place that suggested itself as a good alternative. And what with being neurotic and on the spectrum I didn't feel paricularly like venturing out of the shell to discover new things late on a Monday afternoon.

And why the heck am I trying to justify myself?


Lunch had been an easy plate of a mashed potatoes, chopped mustard greens with ginger sauteed till soft, and a grilled wurst. With mild spices, salt and pepper, and a hefty sploodge of sambal (between four and five tablespoons) added to the hot pan. Not reflective of any particular cuisine, but something a typical college man years ago in the Netherlands or Belgium would probably have recognized and liked. Stoemp, deconstructed.

Added benefit: the smell of meal preparation would drive the hint of tobacco out, and with the windows open there is no chance of my apartment mate suspecting that I spent the whole day puffing away. Plus it's a good thing she has a bad sense of smell.

Also, I had shut her bedroom door as soon as she left this morning.
So there is no way any of the stuffed creatures reek.


Unlike Hong Kong or Kuala Lumpur, it is not warm enough to spend the entire day outdoors, there is no tiled area out back with a corrugated overhang shielding the man, his pipe, and a typewriter from the occasional rains -- there are no occasional rains here either -- and coffee shops that encourage college students to spend all afternoon in a smoke-filled environment poring over their textbooks, scribbling notes, and lighting up, such as Berkeley once had in abundance, no longer exist.


No hard-working college students. No kittens. No bearded intellectuals.
No smoke-filled cafe mezzanines reeking of Gauloises.


Yesterday afternoon two of my favourite Dutch Americans spent several hours being social with other pipe smokers. I observed from the sidelines. I cannot do that. Often, after roughly twenty minutes of butterflying-socially I will excuse myself.
Today was down time. More or less.
Much needed.



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