SOMEWHAT RELATING TO FOOD

There are German tourists in town. The splendid thing about Germans is that one can be reasonably certain there won't be any banjo music, and they've almost certainly seen tall buildings before. Plus they aren't loud. Americans from the interior, I don't know.

Interior Americans are large, walk three or four abreast, slowly, shouting. Plus if they can't eat at Cracker Barrel they tend to be unhappy. And we don't even have a Waffle House where they can scream and throw things.

The American tourists passing by while I was smoking my pipe while in Chinatown tonight were audible an entire blocklength before they waddled into view. The Germans could not actually be heard till they were almost in front of me. They were clearly speaking German, but they were melodiously softspoken, not screechy.


Also, Germans do not mind that we don't have civilized restaurants like Cracker Barrel and Waffle House. Sadly, wir haben auch nicht einmal einen Bratwurst- und Bierbunker.
Wir sind trostlos (nous sommes désolés).

We do have a mighty fine hamburger joint at the end of the street.
It's almost as good. And there's imported beer there.
Not just the inferior American swill.
Budweiser, Coors, Miller.

Having had a meal earlier while it was still light outside, I didn't need a burger. A plate of rice, something sautéed and sauced, and sambal. But if I were to have a burger it would be there. With some Sriracha. The breakfast, lunch, and dinner of champions.

To reward myself for being a good little patient and dutifully picking up my refills, I purchased some 五葉神 ciggies while in Chinatown. Actually, I would have gotten them anyhow. I relish being able to buy them so close to the hospital and so "far from the revenuers".
Many of the other patients there also like them.
As does my doctor's father.

By the time the bookseller arrived I had finished smoking my pipe. During our "pubcrawl" I downed three cups of tea. So I'm quite awake now, and wondering if I should load another bowl. It's very pleasant outside, there are no loonies, and not even the usual wandering eccentrics. Also, uphill from Polk Street there are no drunks.



One thing particularly of note: Anthony Bourdain on the telly at the bar, digging into a roast pig in the Philippines. It's been ages since I've had Filipino food. Which is very good.
It's not just the lovely lumpia your office auntie brings in.



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