She insisted that I have the fresh shrimp rice sheet noodles (新鮮腸粉 'sin haa cheung fan). And, beeing a stubborn old coot, and having already eaten, I insisted that she eat it.
Besides, shrimp is mother's milk to her. She's Cantonese.
They love shrimp. It's in their bones.
Earlier I had been at the bakery enjoying a pastry at teatime. Where Stephen mentioned that he was trying out new hearing aids which he hated because everything sounded echoey, which was probably bone conduction wreaking havoc on his ability to parse.
So yes, I had indeed eaten already. Plus lunch earlier.
And tea. Plenty of tea.
Got to use my languages today. Cantonese, Mandarin, English, and Dutch. The Cantonese in connection with food. The English talking with Stephen and Robert. The Mandarin while augmenting my transit card, with a fellow Caucasian who works surrounded by Cantonese speakers but speaks Mandarin, as well as an elderly Toishanese gentleman who doesn't understand me when I talk Cantonese. The Dutch with two folks from Antwerpen after I heard one of them say "wablief", which is something only our people do. It means roughly I beg your pardon / what was that / eh what? More or less.
Huh?
Turns out they're here on their honeymoon.
Yes, they had already discovered that SF is far cooler than the rest of the state. By over thirty degrees at least. Here, we're wearing sweaters. Elsewhere folks are sunstroked, dehydrated, and skin cancered. Sweltering. Parched crusty sunburn.
We're in the fog zone here. Delightful.
By the way, because I found a seat at rush hour my eyes were more or less waist level with a charming young woman on the bus. I indicated that there was a seat nearby, but she mentioned that she was getting off soon, and did so at Leavenworth.
Nice intelligent face. I hope I see more of her.
She wore that sweater very well.
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