THE WILD CARNIVORE

There were two little girls that had wiggled into the bus seats opposite me, who were small enough that they risked being trampled. Cantonese, perhaps first or second grade age. One of them had that firm-mouthed face that indicates "better not mess with me buster" that you may remember from some Hong Kong movies. Petite tough cookie. They happily mixed Cantonese and English, and, because I speak both without looking like it, I listened in.

Okay lah.


There are Cantonese females who just don't have it in them to look like poor helpless goobers. Looking that way, or acting like it, is more of a Northern thing.


The owner of one of my favourite snack-emporia seems sweet and good-natured. As does her sister, friend, or partner. She's a savy business person, seems to have a hand in half a dozen enterprises. I vote her most likely to own a fleet of pirate ships.

It does not surprise me that veganism, glutenphobia, and such things are far more common among English speakers than anyone else. They just sound insane in most other languages, possibly excepting Dutch because of historic reasons. In Cantonese, the entire gestalt sounds like a berserk stylistic choice. 同埋你個頭梗係有啲嘢唔妥。

The place where I had lunch today did not have a single white vegan on the premises. It's not that they have a sign on the front door saying "oh piss off you pretentious twats", but there's something about certain Chinese restaurants that cater primarily to Chinese which radiates "we would gladly have eaten the woolly mammoth into extinction". Pursuant which I should mention that we Dutch discovered the dodo first, and now there are no more.

At least two women there had iron plank steaks with gravy and fries. Delicate little persons. Fastidious eaters. Totally devoured everything, and one of them ate a plate of noodles afterwards. You know, they were both smaller than me, and I felt full after lunch.

THE MAMMOTH-FREE LANDSCAPE OF FAR NORTHERN

KWANTUNG NEAR THE SIBERIAN BORDER

When I came home my apartment mate was devouring a bowl of soup with large pieces of chicken as big as her head. Which, undoubtedly, counts as a mere snack. Because there was no rice accompanying it, and therefore it does not qualify as an actual meal.

The average delicate little Hong Kong flower can armwrestle you for that roast goose (燒鵝 'siu ngo') and consume it entirely, leaving only cleaned bones bleaching in the hot dessert sun near the watering hole.

My apartment mate is a small Cantonese woman.

The two little girls on the bus were talking about food. They both love porkchops.



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