NO DOGS, JOGS, OR DONUTS

Gave cherries to my landlady yesterday, and snow pears to my downstairs front neighbor the Indonesian Chinese woman, along with a jar of Lee Kum Kee Curry Sauce (李錦記咖喱醬 'lei gam gei gaa lei jeung'). Because of course, being Jakartan, and Chinese, a mild curry flavour is desirable. Personally I prefer spicier, and a little bit more complex. But I tend toward extremism. A taste more unbalanced. Plus plenty chilies.


I'm fairly certain my landlady is not into such things. She was born here, and is Cantonese. She tends more toward a New York culinary aesthetic. Butteriness, bagels, cheesecake, stuff like that. You know, things that by me are exotic. Whereas curry is something just a little too upcountry Dutchman. And sambal is my primitive failing.

It's very Dutch to like exaggeration, that still stays at the edge of reality.


Which probably explains why I'm seriously into caffeine. Start the day with a thundering jolt. My apartment mate, on the other hand, likes warm milk diluted with weak tea, such as one would give a child. It seems to work for her. Me, I'd go back to sleep after drinking that.

A short coffee in the evening is perfect for enjoying the remaining few hours of the day without slipping off, and it leads to vibrant dreams.

The image above represents precisely such a dream, which started in the Indian Restaurant where I worked three evenings a week for over a decade. Fond memories, plus drama, and ghee. Masala chai; too weak, really, but stronger and much better. than the slop served at coffee chains to white people.

It also represents wandering around Nob Hill after that first cup of coffee, preoccupied and enjoying the last bit of darkness before dawn, largely ignoring joggers, dog-pooers, and people heading down to Polk Street for donuts. Corners in the shadows of the mind.


Ideally, the day should start with curry noodle soup.
Plus coffee and a newspaper to dawdle over.
Then the pipe and tobacco.



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