THERE ARE BEASTS ABOUT

Sometimes I wonder how my apartment mate puts up with me. It cannot be easy having a grumpy eccentric Dutchman in one's living space, even though she is Asperger enough to be oblivious to very much unless it is specifically spelled out, in clear unequivocal language. But that begs the question how she enjoys so many British shows, where sly insinuation and dry snootiness are key elements. Most of them are detective shows with a dead body, so there is that. Dead bodies are always interesting. How did they end up being that way? Who is the culprit? How will the little old lady amateur detective solve the case? Is it poetic justice?
Or a resolution that has a moral value? Was it the mushroom soup?

Personally, I tend to avoid mushroom soup. Not because I am suspicious of it, but because realistically there is so much more you can do with fungi besides simmering it till it falls apart.

British cooking is not known for a judicious treatment of mushrooms.
Speaking of which, Double Mushroom Chicken is very nice.
It's standard chachanteng fare. 雙菇雞飯。
Rather good with rice.


Don't know why that came to mind, as that wasn't what I had for lunch. Something with tofu and hot sauce, rice, Hong Kong milk tea, regular tea. I've gotten used to, and quite fond of, actually, the standard hot sauce they have there. It's rather precisely like sambal oelek. Which is mother's milk to some Dutchmen, and should always be in your pantry.

As usual I lit my pipe afterwards and strolled toward to bus stop near the place run by the Shanghainese woman. Which is also an excellent place for eaties. It's further down toward the Financial District, and not as crowded as the stops on Grant or Stockton. If you time it right, the bus won't be quite packed.


There were white women singing very loudly and badly at the karaoke place a few hours later, so the bookseller and myself headed directly somewhere else. As I get older I'm becoming more like Herbert's dad in the Holy Grail; no singing!
Guards, make sure of that!

Life, generally speaking, is too short to let anyone go full Herbert.


The bookseller is hosting "the broets" tomorrow evening. Think people somewhat like the Beat Generation, but with considerably more talent and brains. Seafood stew (cioppino), baguettes, salad, cheese. Bottles of wine. Coffee and dessert.

And probably cogent commentary about our leaders.
Delivered with educated diction.


Sadly, I neither drink wine nor poetize.
And I would frighten the youngsters.
As my self-portrait above shows.
Growls, thumps, and roaring.



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