THE SONG OF WHALES

It seemed an echo of a Shanghainese place on Parkes Street in Jordan. Which is in Hong Kong. The combination of snow vegetable and pork shreds is very Shanghai, and they are much enamoured of thick softish noodles, which are actually wonderful with peanut-sesame sauce, chili oil, and wood ears. But as the base for snow vegetable porks shreds scantly stewed with thick noodles (雪菜肉絲炆粗麵 'suet choi yiuk si man chou min') it also works. Especially if one overdoes the sambal. As one does. Which I did. Delicious!

The other customers were an elderly HK woman who was having her afternoon tea with a sweet bun or scone-type thing, two women and a man who spoke with country accents, and a boisterous fellow with his wives (?) also enjoying afternoon tea, which is to say warm tofu pudding and coffee. Most of the seats in the chachanteng were empty, and the main daytime waitress had already left. The elderly fellow who is regularly there at the same time -- we have a nodding acquaintance -- did not show up for his coffee and bun in late afternoon.
I hope he's okay. It is hard to tell how much older some of these folks are.


On my way to my late lunch I had noticed several tykes who were going home with their grandads. Tiny little people, mostly adorable. Not quite as lovely as the infant sling-strapped to her mother at the landromat, who had the sweetest smile. Eyes focussed and curious.

Also in view at times were gigantic tourists, probably from the Midwest and South, where they grow "big". Dang. Shan't fat-shame. It's genetics. And lard, but mostly genetics.

Lunch was extremely enjoyable.

DUPONT STREET AT NIGHT

Later, after a brief nap at home, I met the bookseller at the usual place. I had smoked my pipe while waiting. He is not a pipe smoker, but will indulge in the cigarillos which I pack whenever we go on our customary pub crawl. Which is a very staid business. I do not drink and the bar where we usually end up changed hands and is no longer the venue for wild drunkenness and insanity by staff it once was. The current owner is not likely to rummage in the utility drawer for the Saturday Night Special and go after people, or engage in shotglass throwing fights with elderly delinquents. In fact, there may not even be a weapon in the utility drawer. I hope she's kept the baseball bat, though. What is a bar without a bat?
Especially a karaoke bar. Punishment is essential.
Crowd control.

The bookseller's birthday was today. He says he doesn't feel a day over what he was yesterday. Doesn't look it either.

A bit chilly out. Not horribly so. The large ceramic frog we had seen earlier had disappeared when we headed toward the bus stop. It was hideous. I'm guessing that some frat boy took it home, where tomorrow morning a brother will stumble over it in the bathroom, then shriek "what the heck is this ghastly thing, and what happened to my pizza? I had an entire pizza when I fell asleep last night, and now my pizza is gone! Gone! The world has gone mad!"

You know, I'm not too familiar with what Berkeley boys are like nowadays.
But I'm sure they still indulge in pizza orgies.
All students do.



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