COMING HOME TO CHOCOLATE

Yeah um. So we went directly to Miss Vivian's for hot tea (me), Guiness and Jameson's (the bookseller) after the burger joint. Where we talked about stinky tofu, everything deepfried, and heart attacks. And why the bookseller is glad that he isn't personally involved in food service. Which I have been. I still fondly remember slow evenings at the Indian restaurant, when bored Punhabi staff would start arguments to entertain themselves. Immensely.

Punjabis, especially if things are dull, like to be contentious. Nothing is quite so pleasing as irritating a coworker to the point where he or she is screaming about your mother or sister.

A stubborn Dutch American will naturally join in. The bulk of my remembered Hindustani is unprintable language. Oh, plus some polite greetings. Hardly the material for a sustained conversation about Gandhi's pacifism or existential angst.


I'm somewhat better in Cantonese. At least I can talk about food. And why you should choose the soup noodle dish. Specifically, braised pork noodles (燜肉麵 'mun yiuk min'); slow simmered meat with noodles in broth. Add a few drops chili oil for fragrance.
Then find a quiet place to light up with a book.


Which was not today. I got caught in the rain when I headed out to lunch. After meat over rice (牛肉免治飯 'ngau yiuk min ji faan') with a cup of milk tea, I headed to Portsmouth Square, where I got drizzled on. Fortunately I had an umbrella, because, of course, one does not wish to get one's pipe with red flake and a touch of Perique wet. One is picky that way.

In the evening one of the places where I buy ciggies after seeing my doctor (to reward myself for being a good little patient) was still open, so I went in. They were surprised to see me so late, and didn't say anything about the pipe. I guess they're used to white people being odd. They've long since gotten over the fact that I speak Cantonese. It's almost like we're in a settlement somewhere out near the edge of the world, and some of us are just the weird phenomena you should expect in such a place.

Anyway my pipe tobacco is not objectionable. Everyone here either has a relative who still smokes, or is the relative who still smokes. And it keeps the bugs away, you know.

Besides, Cantonese are cool with any amount of eccentricty.
The more of it there is, the more entertainment.
It's much better than picking fights.
Or acting like a Punjabi.



After having drinks at the bar we were wide awake, and headed over to our respective abodes to sleep. Which, as you can tell, I am not yet doing.



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