PISSY DUTCH AMERICAN NEEDS LUNCH, MIGHT BE MELLOWER AFTERWARDS

On a day like today, which used to be the last day off before the work week, until my schedule changed, the ideal thing to do would be to head over to Stockton Street for something over rice and a cup of milk tea at the New Honolulu, which a few years ago changed hands and direction, was reinvented, and became something quite different.
It's now a chachanteng with entirely new dishes.
Which I also like .


新品味
888 Stockton Street, San Francisco, CA 94108


Of course I haven't been there in thirteen months. We've had a bit of a pandemic here in San Francisco, and there have been certain necessary limitations. It's not been as bad as Florida or Texas, where the Republicans in power have signalled that they don't care how many people croak or end up with long term health problems -- there are always techies from California and business majors from the centre of the country to take up the slack, going there to contribute to pollution, the tax base, the jail population, and soon the county morgue -- as long as all the fully infectious people can wander around without masks at Walmart, Big Bubba's Barbecue Pit, and every damned redneck drinking establishment between there and an oil rig, damn the consequences, we're open fer bidniz mah freedums man cough cough cough ...

Sorry, I got distracted by the rest of the country.

[Asian Americans, take note! Move here. Rents are going down, yuppies and Republicans are moving out, and other than criminal scumsuckers from Oakland and Antioch, there is not so much to worry about. Plus we have good food.]

One of the great things about the New Honolulu is that in addition to superior food in a clean and comfortable environment, they didn't have the teevee tuned to Fox News. I never had to see that inbred degenerate Tucker Carlson or his kinfolk on the telly there at all. Heck, people scarcely paid attention to what was on anyhow, they had things to talk about, friends to see, lively conversation, good food, and beverages to enjoy. Bottle of Sriracha on every table.
You could dawdle while filling your pipe and planning grocery shopping.

There are a number of other fine restaurants in the Chinatown area, as well as grocery stores where they don't have mayonnaise, miracle wip, wonderbread, or frozen hamburger patties.
No rodeos, Nascar rallies, or all-day beer specials, though.


Anywhere there are bottles of Sriracha on every table is fine by me.




That late lunch in Chinatown was always gave me the necessary strength and resolve to deal with the rightwing all-American asswipes during the rest of the week. It made me a kinder and more tolerant man, quite capable of even dealing with visiting Texans and Floridians on an equitable basis, or assuming that they could read and write.
Which, as we know, is just not the case.

Smoke first. Then maybe some bami goreng.

TOBACCO INDEX


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CHACHANTENG SYNDROME

Quandary: statins counter levels of lipids in the blood, but also decrease serotonin, leading to an increase in obsessive and neurotic tendencies. For which the solution is more cheese, more bacon, more fatty meats .....
And eggs.

Which means that the thus medicated person must head to a chachanteng today in order to be truly happy. Lord knows that I don't need to be any more obsessive and neurotic than I already am.

Yes, you can all stop giggling now.


茶餐廳

For the unaware, a chachanteng is a Hong Kong style restaurant where you will enjoy things like porkchops on top of spaghetti smothered in cheese (蕃茄豬扒意粉 'faan ke chyu baa yi fan'), Portuguese chicken rice (焗葡國雞飯 'guk pou gwok gai faan'; a base of egg-fried rice with mild coconut curry chicken and cheese baked under the broiler), macaroni with fried egg and luncheon meat in tomato sauce (鮮茄牛肉午餐肉煎蛋通粉 'sin ke ngau yiuk ngau yiuk jin daan tong fan'), baked curry seafood covered in white sauce and cheese (咖喱海鮮芝士焗飯 'gaa lei hoi sin ji si guk faan'), won ton and porkchop noodle soup, French toast HK style, HK club sandwiches (公司三文治 'gong-si saam-man-ji'), and my current favourite, bitter melon omelette with a pile of rice (涼瓜煎蛋飯 'leung gwaa jin daan faan').
That last item is NOT covered with cheese.

All of these things are great with gobs of hot sauce.
And, conceivably, a rasher or two of bacon.

[A few explanatory notes: 番茄汁 ('faan ke jap'): tomato sauce. 白汁 ('baak jap'): white sauce. 芝士 ('ji si'): cheese. Statins (他汀類藥物): commonly prescribed cholesterol lowering drugs.]

The reason why they're called a chachanteng (茶餐廳 "tea restaurant") is because you can get tea beverages there. Hong Kong milk tea (港式奶茶: 'gong-sik naai-cha'; strong tea with sweetened condensed milk), lemon tea, mixed milk tea and coffee (鴛鴦 'yuen yeung', "mandarin ducks"), etcetera. Chinese style tea is served primarily to rinse your utensils.


唔該加一兩片培根 (煙肉)


Due to a change of schedule, I shan't be working on Superbowl Sunday, but an extra day in the preceding week. So my plans for February second at the present time include heading over to a favourite chachanteng for lunch precisely at kick-off time for a satisfying hour or two with food that makes me happy, and hot Hong Kong Milk Tea.

No noise. No loud screaming. No yobbos snarfing chili and pizza.

Even the rest of Chinatown will probably be quiet. No tourists. No fastidious visitors holding their noses when they see me smoking a pipe.


In an ideal world, Hong Kong chachantengs and Bombay Irani cafes would be combined, and pipe-smoking would be encouraged on the premises. This is NOT an ideal world, I shall have to spend time outdoors with my trusty briar, but at least I'll be well fed, and safe from the sports fans.

Football is an idiotic sport, and tourists are unnecessary. Tea, tobacco, and hot sauce ("sambal") are worthwhile and essential.

I'll probably have a selection of bulldog pipes with me.
I plan on enjoying myself immensely.

TOBACCO INDEX


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ROAST MEAT, TEA DINING HALLS, AND GARBAGE NOODLES

A conversation yesterday with a nutritionist may have left her hungry, and me slightly depressed. Largely because I had very good ammunition. We were speaking about ways I should eat better. No, we didn't even touch on the helpful advice of various self-acknowledged experts that apple cider vinegar and turmeric would solve all my problems and cleanse the world, or the recommendation that I should cut gluten and doing so would make me radiantly healthy. Damned well saintly, glowing aura and sh*t.
Or that Vegans are spiritually superior.
We settled on cookies.

Baby steps.

The cookies are between my apartment mate's laptop on mine on the table in the television room. At present there are three different delicious kinds there. Sometimes there's up to ten different kinds of cookie, just sitting there in their containers, whispering "liberate me, big boy, you know you want to", and shaking a chocolate chip suggestively.

Cookies.


甜餅乾
['tim beng gon']

We Dutch invented cookies. Both my apartment mate and the nutritionist are Chinese. They invented Cantonese Roast Duck, which is delicious and tender and juicy and has both a sweetness and a savoury quality and is wonderful by itself or over rice.

Cookies, sweet or savoury dry biscuits, flaky stuff, and crunchy snack things, are a presence in every Cantonese home. Because, you know.
You might be peckish. The grandkids could visit. Someone returned from a long journey. Angst.




香港飲食
['Heung Kong yam-sik']

My conversational input included all the ways things could go somewhat astray. Tea Dining Halls and Garbage Noodles, plus bakeries, coffee shops, snackiepoos, and what have you. Seeing as it was close to lunch time, and not having had breakfast all of this was at the top on my mind.


茶餐廳
['chaa chaan teng']

What I'm calling a 'Tea Dining Hall' is the chachanteng, a typical Hong Kong institution, where the emphasis is on a cup of strong black tea with sweet condensed milk, and a menu rich in easy to make high calorie foods that may send your cholesterol through the roof. Stuff with cheese and butter and white sauce. Fried noodles, casseroles, pork chops.

Or "French Toast". Thick, battered, fried. With sweet drizzles over.


垃圾麵
['laap saap min']

Garbage Noodles are pasta plus whatevers. Which may include fish balls, curry, various vegetables, soup stock, roast or preserved meats, and maybe a fried egg on top. And other fried things.

Garbage Noodles used to be what people threw together late at night while watching a sixty part soap opera with lots of weeping, lots of relatives of the main characters experiencing all kinds of drama and hardship, and lots of tender moments involving people who would never get to marry each other or achieve happiness. They were done commercially by street side culinary experts who often did not have the necessary permits for food preparation.

Over the past few decades those cooks have been forced indoors, and the number of optional things you can add has increased enormously. Various cuts of already cooked meat or offal. Sausage. Pork balls. Fish balls.
Several different vegetables. Hot sauce, curry sauce, oyster sauce.

Garbage Noodles are, of course, an affectionate nickname.



營養學
['ying yeung hok']

The nutritionist (營養師 'ying yeung si') works at Chinese Hospital (東華醫院 'tung waa yi yuen'), my doctor suggested that I talk to her. She has her work cut out for her. Most of her clientele may very well be elderly and stubborn, and within several blocks of her office the opportunities for backsliding or lapsing are legion, flamboyantly tempting!
Bakeries, chachanteng, lunch counters, Chinese bakeries, and shops with a huge variety of cookies and biscuits imported from Hong Kong, Malaysia, Singapore, and Shanghai.


燒味
['siu mei']

Even within a mere two blocks, there are four places where delicious Cantonese roast duck (燒鴨 'siu ngaap'), barbecue pork (叉燒 'chaa siu'), and roast meat (燒肉 'siu yiuk') may be had. Plus soy sauce chicken (豉油雞 'si yau gai') or poached chicken perhaps lightly flavoured with sesame oil and ginger (白切雞 'paak chit gai'). Four blocks, and you also have roast goose (燒鵝 'siu ngoh'') and marinated "stuff" (滷味 'lo mei').



身體保健
['san tai bou gin']

Osteoporosis (骨質疏鬆症 'gwat jat so sung jing'; "bone substance loss and loosened ailment"), high cholesterol (高膽固醇 'gou daam go seun'), and sugar pee disease (糖尿病 'tong niu beng'; diabetes) are of course major concerns of old folks eating unwisely.

And, in America, young people living on fastfood, chips, and soda.



It is getting towards lunch time. Chinatown is only a few blocks away.
Two of the places where I like to eat are closed on Wednesday, but at least a dozen others are open for business, and I can think of at least ten places which have Hong Kong Milk Tea.




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THE BAKED CHICKEN RICE PARADIGM

Lunch yesterday at the Washington Bakery and Restaurant was porkloin and egg on a bowl of rice, which is one of their new Thursday lunch specials: 豬腩蛋飯 ('chyu naam daan faan')。 They are updating the menu for a more contemporary fit.

It was very good, but I really wish they would bring back the baked Portuguese chicken rice (焗葡國雞飯 'guk pou gwok gai faan'), one of the old stodgy chachanteng dishes that, in its Hong Kong interpretation, was both completely inauthentic, and yet completely real. Portuguese chicken rice, Hong Kong borscht (羅宋湯 'lo sung tong'), French toast (西多士 'sai do si'), and spaghetti (意粉 'yi fan') as the starch option with a multitude of things, plus hot milk tea (奶茶 'naai cha'), almost define the perfect Hong Kong chachanteng.
That, and the club sandwich (公司三文治 'gong si saam man ji') with fries or potato salad, plus a selection of dishes finished in the broiler, often with cheese on top.

A chachanteng (茶餐廳) is a unique institution, which is in both decor and menu variable and often quirky, as it provides fast food, comfort food, old favourites, and eccentric interpretations of Western and Chinese dishes. Almost Blade Runner meets Clockwork Orange.
With shades of Tampopo.

Many Caucasians won't grasp the concept, and most mainlanders will not understand the nomenclature on the menu. Food snobs may hate it, and Anthony Bourdain would have totally dug it.


For some people it's a beloved change of pace, a break from cooking rice plus soup and sung (餸) in a cramped apartment, for others it's the working man's lunch spot, or a place for a quick bowl of noodles (sometimes with Spam and fried egg on top). Plus a high-octane caffeinated beverage.



Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice exemplifies all that, as well as what your doctor may hate about your dining habits. A base of egg-fried rice, with cooked chicken and potatoes in mild curry sauce ("Portuguese Sauce", 葡汁 'pou jap'), and a sprinkle of cheese, shoved under the broiler till bubbly and golden. The mild curry sauce is, nevertheless, fairly rich, as there is coconut milk in the blend. If the right balance of greasy-salty-flavourful is achieved, it is heaven on a plate. I have often thought that the only thing missing from the Hong Kong production is two strips of bacon, but some chunks of sauteed chouriço would do the same.

Hong Kong style Portuguese sauce (葡汁) is a low-heat curry gravy, light on the coconut milk, thinned with a little chicken stock.


Chinatown is slowly becoming more mainland Cantonese and Mandarin. Things are changing. And successful change means, perhaps, that there will be losses, along with improvements. Less 'kongish', more modern.
Portuguese sauce and baked dishes may disappear.
Or be totally reinterpreted.
Change is good.
Can be.





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FOOD FOR THE HOWLING GALE: BAKED PORTUGUESE CHICKEN RICE

What with the recent closures and transformations in Chinatown, there is only one place nearby for Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice that I know of, and I cannot go there. It's not the fault of that restaurant, but the very nice waitress there three years ago wanted to introduce me to her single friend.

[dot  dot  dot ... ]
 

Though I speak passable Cantonese, the concept of a date with someone who thinks in Chinese rather than English frightens the bejayzus out of me.
I am a middle-aged crackpot with a fondness for Monty Python's Flying Circus, Vladimir Nabokov's prose, odd study subjects like Talmud-Torah, Mediaeval History, the Dutch colonial world, and food (about which I know a lot). A Chinese-speaking immigrant from Hong Kong or the Mainland would find me rather queer, once she got to know more about me.
And we would have little in common other than food.

Besides, I smoke a pipe. Smoking is no longer socially acceptable.
Also, no career. No chance of owning my own home.

So I responded nicely to her suggestion at the time, and never went there again. Unfortunately there are far fewer chachanteng style eateries in Chinatown now.

[Chachanteng (茶餐廳) are restaurants that have strong milk tea. Not boba joints, and not American Chinese restaurants. The food selection is Hong Kong western. Chops, casseroles, French toast, fried noodles, stew (市都 'si dou'), spaghetti, and borscht (羅宋湯 'lo sung tong'; Russian soup). Which isn't Russian, by the way.]

The one I went to with Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice has revamped.

Upgraded the menu, and reduced it to one printed sheet.


But as regards one of my favourite dishes, I am out of luck. Their curry porkchops with rice suit me nicely, and they still have a good selection of rice porridge, plus some quite interesting looking new items, so I will continue to patronize them as often as before.

No Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice.
Guk pou gwok gai faan.


焗葡國雞飯

It's a simple dish. A layer of egg-fried rice is put in a casserole, chicken chunks, cubed potato and maybe bell-pepper spread on top, mild slightly coconutty curry sauce poured over. A sprinkle of cheese, and bung it in the oven for ten or fifteen minutes, till the chicken is cooked and the cheese bubbly. It can also be done by simply glopping some mild Chinese restaurant style chicken curry over the foundation of fried rice, and sticking it under the broiler. The approach is flexible, the result is what counts. Rice, egg fragments, chicken, potato, mild curry sauce. With a slightly cheesy golden layer on top.
Ideally one or two chunks of chouriço or linguiça are in it also, for a porky fatty flavour -- at home I'll make it with smoky bacon -- and it should be stressed that it is not, in fact, Portuguese at all, but a typical Hong Kong crossover dish. Nor is it intended for high dining or healthy eating.

Have it with one of two cups of strong milk tea, then head out into the typhoon and scramble up the bamboo scaffolding for another full shift on the highrise, twenty floors up. Energy. Filling. Not high fallutin'.
Formica table food.


Just add hotsauce.
Or sambal.




AFTER WORD

What used to be the New Honolulu (新檀島咖啡餅店 'san taan tou ka fei bing dim') on Stockton Street is now 新品味 ('san pan mei'), but has not yet opened for business. It looks nice inside. And I am curious as to what foods they will serve. Naturally I am hoping that it will be chachanteng food, which is what the Honolulu had -- they were a pleasant and reliable stand-by and fall-back -- and at the very least they should offer Hong Kong Milk Tea (港式奶茶 'gong sik naai chaa'), and club sandwiches (公司三明治 'gung si saam ming ji'). Which are great with a little hotsauce. Or sambal.




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HONG KONG BAKED RICE

One of my friends, a likable gentleman of the same generation as myself, who is a prosperous restaurateur, has a Chinese girlfriend half his age.
He's sold a few of his establishments, and currently is semi-retired.
His friends undoubtedly are worried. Has she got her greedy claws into him? Is she bleeding the poor old rich bugger dry? What on earth could those two have in common? They're so different!
She's only half his age!

I am not too worried. She's Cantonese, so they have food in common. And whatever concerns I might have are diminished considerably by my crazy faith in the suitability of a middle-aged man getting a second chance at romance with someone vibrant, sparky, and half his age.

No, I'm not jealous. Though I could well be. But the fact that she isn't white argues very much in her favour, because the chance of her being vegan, vegetarian, gluten-phobic, flavour-hating, organic, self-diagnosed allergic to good stuff, or similar white woman food nuts, is far less than otherwise.
If anything, I am curious about their meals together.
Fatty pork? Fresh seafood? Oyster sauce?
And what does he cook?

Surely they eat together.


I myself am rather fond of what are called tea restaurants (茶餐廳 'cha chan teng'), by which are meant the places that serve Hong Kong variations on Western Food and local convenience dishes, often including spaghetti and macaroni dolled up easy (fried egg and sandwich meat).
Quick stirfries and rice, fried noodles, soup.
Toast, club sandwiches, won ton.
And stuff with cheese.

Two popular items are "white sauce and cheese fresh seafood baked rice" (白汁芝士海鮮焗飯 'paak jap ji-si hoi sin guk faan') and "cheesy curry fresh seafood baked rice" (芝士咖喱海鮮焗飯 'ji-si kaa-lei hoi sin guk faan'), which are extremely similar, as the base of either is cooked rice lightly fried, with a bit of egg added, cooked seafood with gravy put on top in an oven-proof dish or casserole, the whole baked till hot, then a handful of grated cheese strewn over it all and the dish put under the broiler till bubbly.
Cantonese are inordinatily fond of fresh seafood.
And, as it turns out, cheese.
Cream sauce.

Hot bubbly goodness.

Both of these, plus baked Portuguese chicken rice (焗葡國雞飯'guk pou gwok gai faan') and baked tomato porkchop over rice (番茄豬扒飯 'fan ke chyu-baa faan') can be got at tea restaurants in American Chinatowns, but you may have to hunt a bit. Or you could make them at home. The recipes are not complicated. Just look them up on the internet, and wing it.

Egg-fried rice. Generously sauced main ingredient.
Plus mushrooms, bell pepper, etcetera.
Bake. Add cheese. Broil.

If you are me, you will probably include bacon.
As well as Sriracha.

十分之十好味！



AFTER WORD

The reason why they are called "tea restaurants" is because the beverage of choice is tea. Specifically, hot sweet milk tea (奶茶 'naai cha'), which will get you back on your feet again and fuel your active life-style, whether you are a sleep-deprived student, harried householder, or ambitious aspirant capitalist presently holding down three jobs.

I am none of those.




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THE TEA RESTAURANT LIFE

Sometimes I want more out of life. Yesterday shortly after one o'clock I had a meltdown. For a few minutes it seemed as if nothing was going right, ever, I would never have enough money, everything had turned sideways, no one loved me, my body was getting older and more bothersome, the climate was conspiring against me, and I could not find the tobacco I wished to smoke after lunch in Chinatown.

My coat pongs of cigars from work, my clothes are old and ratty, and I hate trudging up the hill to do laundry, I am old goldarnit.
Fudge it all, I shall stink.


Half an hour later I was sitting down to garlicky pork chops and rice, plus hot sauce, and damned glad no one had seen my tantrum. It is undignified for someone so close to sixty to act that way.

Yeah, I still feel that the love of a good woman would make everything else more bearable -- and I did find the tobacco I wanted to smoke -- but pork chops improve one's mood immeasurably too.
Especially when an arctic wind blows in off the ocean.
I just cannot hack this weather.


On the other hand, neither can anyone else in SF.


Normally we have neither extreme heat nor extreme cold. Most of the year our climate ranges between sweaters and shirtsleeves. We rely on a medium range, and things feel wrong when it is beyond that.


I should probably repair this coat and wash it. Four pockets, one of which conveniently holds two pipes and a pouch when I'm wandering around.
It looks like hell (and smells bad, because of the cigars at work), but other than the hyper-sensitive noses of old biddies on the bus, no one else seems to object. And realistically the chances of meeting a vibrant young thing half my age who thinks I'm hot stuff and just what the doctor ordered would not be improved one iota if I were to replace it with something more dashing and cleaner.

I am not social enough to want random strangers to be impressed with my appearance. Chances are they would say something unbalanced and loopy anyhow. And be offended by my pipe.

The folks at the places where I go regularly probably don't even notice.

I am just not remarkable.



茶餐廳生活

Last Friday (Chinese New Year): grilled pork and garlic noodles (燒豬肉蒜麵 'siu jyu yiuk suen min'). Tuesday: Plum vegetable fatty pork over rice (梅菜扣肉，飯；'mui choi kau yiuk', 'faan'). Wednesday: Baked ham and chicken rice, with white sauce (焗火腿雞絲飯，白汁；'guk fo teui kai si faan', 'paak jap'). This Friday (yesterday): baked garlic sauce pork chops and rice (焗蒜茸豬扒飯 'guk suen yung jyu baa faan').
Note that 蒜茸 is a mis-spelling of 蒜蓉。

"Oh, I just LOVE the smell of a pipe. It reminds me of old farts and crusty European eccentrics. Old school, don't you know. So last century."

Yeah, that's gonna happen.




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VERY HONG KONG CANTO

Last year the ABC (ABC大餐廳) on Jackson Street closed down, and while it was never one of my top ten eateries, I had quite enjoyed eating there at least once or twice a month for many years, for a variety of reasons.
Not all of it was the food. Indeed, they did have Sriracha hotsauce, but HK chachanteng menus are not know for excellence and Michelin-quality. Rather, speed, comfort, and convenience. Chachanteng cater to an audience that wants to be fed, and not bothered. The style of food is heavily weighed toward familiar uncomplicated stuff, washed down with strong milk tea, so that you can go out and climb the twenty story bamboo scaffolding again, pick up the kids from violin lessons, and play mahjong all night.

Or, in my case, read the newspaper and then go out to smoke my pipe.

Actually I rarely read real newspapers any more, the last one I bought at the newsracks near my house was the edition that carried the article about a conflagration at an oil refinery recently (煉油廠爆炸起火). The headline had suggested that a chili oil factory exploded, but it turned out what they meant was a disastrous pipeline rupture in an industrial park.
Which did not interest me nearly as much.


The ABC had been around for years, and they still are. They have other locations elsewhere, which it would take an expedition to get to because one does not live out in the avenues or suburbia.
My area is downtown, in the North Eastern part of the city.
Tongyanfau is the closest Chinese neighborhood.
Those other Chinatowns are not.
And they are far.
唔好方便。


Their Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice was very decent, likewise the Black Pepper Sauce Porkchop, Singapore Noodle, and Salt Fish Chicken Rice. And, though I had it rarely because of a tendency to gout, I also fondly remember the Baked Curry Seafood Rice, which is a purely Hong Kong dish that most people will not think of as even remotely Chinese.

咖喱海鮮芝士焗飯
['gaa lei hoi sin ji si guk faan']

Mild mixed creamy seafood curry on top of rice, liberally sprinkled with shredded cheese and baked under the broiler. Superior with hot sauce.


It's so easy to make you do not need an exact recipe. Per serving, enough cooked rice for one person. On top of which you place slightly precooked seafood, your choice. Shrimp, scallops, crab, cod fillets, surimi, oysters, mussels, etcetera. Add enough curry sauce to cover, sprinkle the cheese over, and shove in the oven for eight to ten minutes till bubbly.

The curry sauce is very English, and almost unrecognizable to a Punjabi. Small cubed carrots and potato, sauteed in butter till starting to gild. Add milk or cream to cover, and enough curry substance to colour but not overwhelm. Cook gently for a few minutes, then add chopped onion and maybe a pepper or two (which is non-standard). Simmer a bit longer.
Instead of carrots, celery and green bell pepper are also an option.
And I prefer browned potato chunks instead of small cubes.


Heavenly with a cup of milk tea at one of the back booths, when the place was crowded and filled with people snarfing down goodies. Even if some of them were Northerners who didn't understand any of this Southern muck, or tourists limiting themselves to everything sweet and sour over fried rice.


The number of chachanteng in this part of the city has diminished, and Chinatown is changing. It's shrinking, becoming more white, and more acceptable to whites.
Immigrants are going elsewhere, we have tech bros now.




AFTERWORD

Someone recently mentioned the Dragon Ball Bakery (龍珠餅店), Kowloon branch, on Shanghai Street in Yaumatei. That may have been pursuant my flip comment that in most of HK you are never far from a Seven Eleven. There is, in fact, one right next door from the bakery, and another around the corner on Portland Street. Plus one on Dundas Street, one on Reclamation Street, and on Hamilton, and Pitt.

See, that actually proves that Chinatown is nothing like Hong Kong. There are no Seven Elevens here. The nearest ones are in the Financial District, so that the suburbanites won't panic.

In Hong Kong, Seven Elevens are as familiar as submachine guns in Honduras. Hector would know.




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CHAO MAI WITH DOLLOPS AND STUFF

For a quick snack nothing beats a plate of noodles with shrimp and porky substances. And you can usually find this at a chachanteng or a kopi tiam, sometimes at a restaurant or a Sunday brunch place. The version below is standard, but quite variable. The eggs aren't always there, the ham can be augmented with charsiu pork cut similarly, or even some diagonally sliced lapcheung, and instead of large juicy shrimp you might use oysters.
But shrimp and ham are common.
Also often beansprouts.

If you live in the North Eastern corner of San Francisco you should have no problem finding whatever ingredients aren't already stocked in the kitchen.
And you always have noodles, oyster sauce, and sambal, don't you?


廈門炒米
['haa mun chaau mai']
Amoy Rice Noodles


2 eggs.
Half a dozen large shrimp.
One bowl boiled ham, matchstick cut.
One medium onion, sliced.
One red bell pepper, sliced.
One or two scallion, cut long and diagonally.
One clove of garlic, minced.
10 oz. thin rice noodles, broken and soaked in warm water for at least half an hour (that's somewhat more than half a pack, usually).
A brisk dash of rice wine or sherry.
A small splash stock or water.
A pinch of sugar.
Two Tsp. oyster sauce.
One Tsp. soy sauce.
A small drizzle sesame oil.

Scramble the eggs lightly, set aside. Quickly stirfry the shrimp, and set aside also. Now put the flame on high, add a bit more oil when the pan smokes, and dump the onion, garlic, and bell pepper in. Stir around, throw in the ham, followed shortly by the drained noodles. Stirfry, add everything, and toss till toasty. Serve, with sambal on the side.
See? It's criminally easy.


This was late luch today. No, I didn't cook it myself. In fact I did not know that I was going to have it till I perused the menu at the ABC on Jackson.
It was a spur of the moment decision.
I want fried noodles, dagnab!
Comfort food.


They have Sriracha hotsauce, by the way.


And Hong Kong Style Milk Tea.




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SHEER PORKCHOPPY MAGNETISM!

Gracious that was delicious! Tender meat smothered in tomato and onion with a pile of rice. Which was not what I set out to get, but after visiting my bank I needed lunch, and decided to head over to a familiar chachanteng, where normally I just have Hong Kong milk tea and a pastry or two.
The pork chop rice plate fair jumped out at me.
It was something I never had before.
A grievous omission.

That lunch definitely bears repeating.


番茄豬扒飯
['faan-ke chyu-baa faan']

Two thin chops, with cooked fresh sweet tomato, and a little onion. Rice fluffy. No need for hot sauce. Delicious. Possibly they salted and peppered the meat before pan-frying. The heat must have been immense but brief, terminating in fresh chopped tomato, onion, and a splash of liquid.
Probably one of the best meals I've eaten.

Soup and a roll included.


I should also mention that I must have been radiating something yesterday, as six women in Chinatown reacted with pleasure upon seeing me. Maybe it's my faint perfume of tobacco, or more likely they recognized me, and for a non-threatening middle-aged goofus I'm kinda likeable.
Or something like that.

It can't be my sex appeal, because three men did the same.

Besides, if I actually had sex appeal, it would probably frighten people. "The were-wolf came up the stairs, and a horde of people panicked and fled." "A dark cloud of dread preceded the old coot where ever he went, causing pedestrians to quail, and tender females to avert their eyes."
Let us assume that I am a known quantity.
A familiar landmark.



AFTER WORD

Upon finishing my lunch I ponced around a bit with pipe and tobacco for a while, revisiting several alleyways, terminating at the edge of Portsmouth Square, where I observed the loonies near the end of my bowl.
Still baffled at the man wearing only dirty shorts.
If I had that torso, I should hide it.




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DOUBLE YOUR MUSHROOM

While twiddling my toes in soapy water yesterday, I realized that for lunch something different would be nice. This is not a sudden flash of insight, I've actually thought that many times before. Usually while at work, where too often I fall back on convenience store tuna salad sandwiches with a sploodge of chili sauce.

So on my three days off each week, I wish to eat something better.
The only thing that's the same is the presence of chili sauce.
Single men of a certain age and bend require it.
It keeps our eyes bright.


雙菇雞飯

At a chachanteng I perused the menu and placed my order. Only afterwards did I start to read the specials on the wall. The pig stomach with celery (豬肚炒西芹) looked interesting, as did the selection of yummies mentioned directly below it, which all involved fatty pork: 榨菜炒五花腩、尖椒炒五花腩、and two others I do not remember.

I always do that; I order from the regular menu before looking at the special posted at convenient eye-level. Unlike restaurants for white people, where an art-student will chirpily inform you of the pangolin in truffle sauce with a port reduction which the chef recommends today while it lasts, or the sorbet of pickled calf liver on a bed of tender quinoa sprouts with toast points, Chinese restaurants quite logically expect you to read.

Donald Trump would be totally lost there.

[Please note there are terms in this post which perhaps you do not know. Like 'quinoa'.
Explanations might be provided, elsewise your own research will provide answers.
Unless you are Donald. Then you are hopeless.]

The double mushroom chicken rice was truly excellent. But the fatty pork would have been nicer.


PICKLED MUSTARD STIR-FRIED FATTY PORK
榨菜炒五花腩 ('jaa choi chaau ng faa naam')

One pound of five flower pork.

Small amounts of white pepper powder, oyster sauce, and up to half a cup roughly of Szechuanese pressed mustard stem (which is nice and crunchy, and need not be rinsed before use - taste it to judge how much you want in the dish), plus between a teaspoon and a tablespoon of soy sauce, teaspoon or two of cornstarch.
Sherry or rice wine.
Oil.

Slice the pork not too thin, taking care to divide the pieces into fatty bits and lean. Cut the pickled mustard into thick shreds.

Rinse the pork slices, dry, and marinate them with the cornstarch, oyster sauce, and soy sauce. Mix well to distribute the flavours.
Let it sit for half an hour.

Separate out the fatty bits, and fry these a little first. Then add the lean meat, stirfy with the fatty bits. Add the pickled vegetable, toss to mingle, and splash in the sherry or rice wine, plus a little water.
While it seethes sprinkle white pepper over it.

Cook a little bit longer, and plate it.

It is ganz einfach.


GREEN CHILI STIR-FRIED FATTY PORK
尖椒炒五花腩 ('tsim chiu caau ng faa naam')

One pound of five flower pork.

Half a dozen or more big Jalapenos, deseeded, cut, and briefly blanched in boiling water to tone the buggers down a bit. You could also use smaller hotter green chilies, or sweeter milder bellpeppers. And the duration of blanching to lessen the heat effect is also flexible. Or mix it up.

Garlic and ginger as seems appropriate, chopped.
Scallions, sliced.
Salt and oil.

Slice the pork semi-thin. Gild the pork in the pan with a little oil, remove and drain. Add the chopped ginger and garlic to the pan with a little salt, stirfry briefly, cast in the peppers and stirfy. When they start to turn, add the meat, and seethe with a small splash of water. Strew the scallion into the pan, turn over with a spatula a couple of times till the liquid is reduced.
Cant it all onto a plate.

Speed and heat are of the essence.


DOUBLE MUSHROOM CHICKEN
雙菇雞 ('seung gu gai')

About a pound of chicken de-boned cut into small chunks, rinsed, and mixed with beaten egg white and half a tablespoon of cornstarch.
Tree oyster and fresh champignon in equal measure, rinsed and trimmed, sliced thick, more than the amount of chicken. A little chopped yellow onion, somewhat more than that chopped bell pepper.
Very small amounts of garlic and ginger.
A tablespoon of oyster sauce.
A dash of soy sauce.
Pinch of sugar.
Oil.

Briefly gild the garlic and ginger, decant. Same with the onion and bell pepper. Do likewise with the mushroom. Now over high heat stirfry the chicken, splash with water or sherry, add the oyster and soy sauce, and throw in everything else. Stifry till mixed and turn out onto a plate.

It is not complicated.



All three of these dishes are suitable for four people, served with one or two other dishes, soup and rice. And easy enough to prepare that you shouldn't be frustrated. A keen eye for quantities and sound judgment of both heat and speed are important, though.

As one of the other dishes I would suggest stewed bittermelon with a little bacon or fishpaste. Good for you.

The soup, ideally, would be thin chicken and or pork bone broth with watercress. Add a few slices of carrot for a cheerful colour, and one or two slices of ginger.

[Optional additions, for a fuller soup, would be a smoked date or two, a small handful of yellow beans or pearl barley, and some dioscorea opposita (淮山 'waai saan') root.]

Did I mention 'ganz einfach'?
This is ganz einfach.
Trust me.



孤膽英雄食晚飯

Though chachanteng cater to all types, they greatly appeal to people dining by themselves. They're for casual eating rather than refined dining, and the selection of dishes on the typical menu could very well be enjoyed by one person alone. Some are more suited for morning and mid-day, some do their best business in late afternoon and early evening.
All of them have hot Hong Kong style milk-tea.
Which is a pick-me upper.

Yesterday there were five other single men dining there, and a small family (one child). Quite possibly I was the only person not scanning my text messages, almost certainly the only Luddite without a cell phone, and quite definitely the only Caucasian; most white people cannot make sense of the menu, as it isn't what they expect Chinese to be. Yes, they do have lemon chicken, and kungpao, but so much else is different.


It was very quiet. There was no background music.
Most of us dined in solitude.


A contemplative smoke afterwards while darkness fell.
Alleyways, corners, and past the park.
Then night and rain.



POST SCRIPTUM

A friend in Shanghai recently posted photos of eel and pork kidney noodle soup (鱓絲腰花麵 'sin si yiu faa min'), which is very Shanghai - Jiangsu - Anhui, and a dish which one would also associate with some place like Hangzhou. It looked quite yummy! There is no place in Chinatown that serves it, so I shall have to research the recipe and make it myself. Dutchmen and Flemings, people like me, are eel lovers.
And kidney flowers, well, delicious.




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FEEDING THE RARE CRESTED COOT

There are two dishes that say "comfort food" to the male Dutch American middle-aged pipe-smoking bachelor like nothing else. And by "male Dutch American middle-aged pipe-smoking bachelor" is meant a specific subset; an ethnic minority of monumentally small proportion, dammit we need protected status, AND we're a work of art.

The problem is that, like male spiders, the male Dutch American middle-aged pipe-smoking bachelor has risky and even suicidal tendencies.
My grandfather got married in his fifties after heading to France as a pilot during World War One. He died over eighty years ago. My own father joined up with the Royal Canadian Airforce and spent nearly three years bombing Europe during World War Two, got married in his early thirties, moved to Holland and promptly passed away forty years later.

So you see. There are limitations on the tribe.

Marriage and military aircraft.

One of those two.


HOT AND SOOTHING SCRUMPTY!

Anyhow, the two dishes are Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice (焗葡國雞飯 'guk pou-gwok gai faan') and Penang-style Hokkien Mee (檳城福建蝦麵 'ban-seng fuk-gin haa min').


加葡汁！

Alas, the last time I ate Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice it was utterly disappointing. Ideally it consists of egg-fried rice topped with chicken and potato chunks, optionally with an inclusion of either bellpepper or perhaps jalapeño, doused in Portuguese sauce (a mild coconut curry slurry), grated cheddar cheese and coconut shreds sprinkled over, and shoved under the broiler for ten minutes to brown a bit on top and get hot all the way through.
Add salt and pepper to taste, and have some hot chilipaste on the side to zap up every other bite or so. Delicious.

One place in Chinatown which does Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice adds large chunks of onion plus canned mushrooms to the mix, which is horrible anathema, and another chachanteng seems to have recently replaced the mild coconut curry slurry with an entirely uninspired bland whitish starchy liquid ("white sauce"), which indicates that instead of a decent chef of Hong Kong provenance, they've hired a farmer.

It was that second version I had the last time.


I dare not go to the place where they probably still do an excellent version, because the last time I was there the waitress was mighty keen to introduce me to a single friend of hers, why the two of us would make a lovely couple, that woman would be ideal for me!

It's been about ten months.
I am still scared.

I do not think I am ideal. And I could just imagine the disappointment all around. It would have been excruciating for three people.

See, that's one of my 'talents'. I can provide enough excruciation for a plurality. It's quite remarkable.


蝦湯麵

The other dish is an intense noodle soup that utilizes a huge quantity of shrimp heads (蝦頭 'haa tau') for the broth, simmered for hours until deeply and passionately prawny.
It is strained, augmented with a dollop of garlicky chili paste and a little sugar, then dished up with thin noodles (I usually use typical Chinese egg noodles), fresh prawns, and a little vegetable matter for crunch and colour, plus cooked sliced lean pork, or short ribs (quite of course I use fatty pork instead). This marvelous concoction is NOT available in Chinatown; as the name ("Hokkien Mee" 福建麵 'fuk gin min') shows; it isn't Cantonese but Fujianese, specifically from Amoy (厦門 'haa mun', Xiamen), and most particularly the version made in Penang (檳榔嶼 'pan long yiu').

Chinatown folks are mostly Cantonese .....


"Prawn concentrate?!?"

"Cooked chilipaste?!?"

"Added to the soup?!?"

"How utterly FOREIGN, it sounds inedible!"


I cannot say that the Cantonese would be repulsed by it, but this just isn't a concept that they would naturally come up with, nor would conceive of as being a treat.

They've got their own comfort zone.

It's different.



AFTERWORD

Triggerwarning: a few sentences in this post may not be meant entirely at face value. If you cannot read with tongue at least partially in cheek, please come back some other time.

I realize I have to say this; some people are sensitive.



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LATE AFTERNOON NEAR FLOWER GARDEN CORNER

While it is splendid as is, if done well, it could be improved. A good rendition is satisfying, filling, and fortifies you for a long afternoon of climbing up and down the bamboo scaffolding with a hod. Or, if not that, playing mahjong all night and singing karaoke. That last part should scare a good friend, who probably still has nightmares of me doing a number by Teresa Teng years ago.
It was a lovely romantic ballad. I can't sing worth diddly, the place was seedy and had horrible acoustics, and snide snarky cynical middle-aged Dutch Americans should NOT sing sentimental songs in Mandarin.
Or even doing anything karaoke related.
I realize that now.


鄧麗君: 月亮代表我的心


[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bv_cEeDlop0.]

The good thing is that it was never captured on cell-phone video, so I can pretend it never happened. It shall not show up on Facebook. Ever.

I wish I could say the same about the Gangnam Style Dance-Off.

But enough about me, let's talk about something that could be made better; the hod-carrying filling fortification.


焗葡國雞飯
Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice ('guk pou-gwok gai-faan')

What it is, is a layer of egg-fried rice en-casserole, with cooked chicken and some vegetable matter on top, covered with a healthy pouring of mild coconut curry sauce, a sprinkle of grated cheese, and stuck underneath the broiler till hot and bubbly. A not-really-optional touch is a teaspoon or two of shredded coconut to toast brown down the centre. It is a popular dish in tea-restaurants (茶餐廳 'cha-chanteng'), and considered distinctly lower-class hearty fare suitable for working men with appetites.

Or middle-aged Dutch American personages.

Who eat alone and day-dream.


It would be excellent if shared, in which case some yauchoi with oystersauce alongside would be a good idea.


The best versions have potato chunks for the vegetable matter, and maybe pieces of green bellpepper. But ideally there would also be minced scallion in the egg-fried rice used for the first layer, and a strip or two of smoky bacon laid over the casserole before baking it in the oven.

In some places they don't quite realize that the sauce is supposed to be Portuguese (Maccanese), and use a blanket of white sauce instead, which is an abysmal deviation. Plus canned mushroom should NEVER be included, what the hell were you thinking?!?

[Portuguese Sauce: Coconut milk, chicken stock, curry powder, minuscule amounts of cayenne, garlic, and cornstarch to give it body. It was probably invented in Macau. We'll blame them for it.]

And more sprinkle cheese; there should always be more cheese.


A little bit for you, a little bit for me, and some yauchoi.
Bon appétit, enjoy, maan maan sik.


We shall have some more milk-tea.


One place which does a good version has a table near the window and also lovely Italian cake. But one has to time it just right, because if it's too early that table is occupied by businessmen or middle-aged ladies.

Apparently I am not the only person who likes a spot of Hong Kong style milk-tea in late afternoon.




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BEAN FERMENT, FIRED LOINS, AND RICE: 豆腐火腩飯

Early dinner yesterday was excellent; tofu and roasted pork loin, sauced together, and served with a mound of rice. I had gone to a chachanteng, and even though that was a lunch option (lunch ends at three o'clock), I asked if it was still possible to have it. They had no issue with that request, despite the late hour, and I ate well.


I also got to observe two tourists become totally baffled at the menu, because a chachanteng is not your mother's Chinese restaurant.
Baked spaghetti? Grilled salmon? Toast?

The typical chachanteng is strictly Hong Kong, meaning that whatever can be cobbled together into a hot or fast meal is offered, including tinned luncheon meat and tomato sauce over macaroni, odd noodly combos, bland Western soups served alongside plate lunches, snacks, casseroles, and high fat high carb hotch-a-potches, all with cups of either hot strong milk-tea or coffee and milk-tea combined, your choice.

Oh, and some typical Cantonese dishes, mostly home style.
No kung pao, no general Tzo, no shrimp Rangoon.
Not an egg roll on the premises.
No sweet'n sour.


Tofu combined with fire-loin (火腩 'fo naam'; very nearly the same as 燒肉 'siu yiuk'), in almost any form, is both home cooking and conveniently fast restaurant chow.

The fired loin is roast pork with the crust all nice and crunchy, bought from a local siu-mei vendor (燒味店), the tofu is fried chunks available at any grocery. Just some assembly and saucing, and it's done.
And it's stupendous.


Here are two recipes that show how easy it is. Use both or either as guides, come up with your own variant.


火腩炆豆腐
FO NAAM MAN DAU FU

Half pound of fire belly pork (火腩), chunk-chopped.
One tub of firm tofu, sliced into two, flat-wise.
Ten cloves garlic, left whole.
One onion, chopped.
Three slices of ginger.
One TBS soy sauce.
One TBS Shaoxing rice wine (紹興酒).
One Tsp. oyster sauce (蠔油).
One Tsp. sugar.
A dash of sesame oil (麻油).
One Tsp. cornstarch dissolved in a tablespoon of water.

Lightly dust the tofu with cornstarch and a pinch of salt on all sides, fry in hot oil till golden brown. Remove, drain, and cut into large chunks.
Gild the ginger slices and whole garlic cloves. Reserve to a saucer.
Sauté the chopped onion, add the fire belly pork. When the edges turn golden add the soy sauce, Shaoxing rice wine, and a splash of water, plus the garlic and ginger. Simmer a few minutes, then put in the tofu, and stir the cornstarch solution in. Add a dash of sesame oil, serve.


[NOTES: For the Shaoxing rice wine (紹興酒 'siu hing jau') you may substitute sherry. The effect will be no different. For drinking, you may replace the sherry with Shaoxing. That, too, is good. Oyster sauce (蠔油 'ho yau') is essential, sesame oil ((麻油 'maa yau') adds fragrance.]


枝竹豆腐炆火腩
JI JUK DAU FU MAN FO NAAM

Half a pound of roast pork (火腩), chunk-chopped.
One or two sticks of dried tofu (枝竹).
One slab of firm tofu (half a tub).
Three slices ginger.
Half a head of garlic (6-8 cloves).
Three scallion, minced.
One Tbs soy sauce.
Half TBS oyster sauce.
Half Tsp. sugar.
One cup water.
One Tsp. cornstarch dissolved in a tablespoon of water.

Cook dried tofu stick in some water till soft, cut into suitable segments. Cut the firm tofu into eight chunks and fry in hot oil till golden, remove and drain.

Sauté ginger and garlic briefly. Add the sauces, sugar, and water, bring to a boil and put in the dried tofu pieces. Simmer for about three or four minutes, then add the roast pork and fried tofu and simmer just a little while longer to heat through and combine flavours. Add the cornstarch solution and the minced scallion, stir to combine, and decant to a plate.


The goal in either version is having enough moisture in the dish to glorify the rice. A very big squirt of Sriracha hot sauce (是拉差辣椒醬 'si-laa-chaa laat-chiu jeung') on the plate is, to my mind, the crowning final touch. Wah, chan hou sik! If you really want to over-indulge, you might also put half a dozen soaked dried oysters (蠔豉 'hou si') into the pot.
Or black mushrooms (冬菇 'dong gu').
Or both.


Tofu and roast pork could be one dish among many if dining together.
May I suggest having sautéed brassica green (炒油菜 'chaau yau choi') alongside, along with some watercress soup?




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THE SIMPLE LIFE

Dinner yesterday was marvelous. But it was also breakfast and lunch, because I had been too busy to go find food till long past five o'clock. Bitter melon and sliced roast duck simmered with thin noodles: 凉瓜燒鴨絲炆米 ('leung gwa siu ngaap si man mai'). Good eating!
I attacked it with hotsauce, and schrokked it down.
Perhaps I should have eaten far sooner.

The milk-tea was a lovely afterthought.

I did not used to be so casual about food. Both while growing up at home, and during my long affair with Savage Kitten, food was something to which I anxiously looked forward. Social events that involve food inevitably induce an appetite. Shared food is sacramental.

Singular food is far less so.



All the other tables had pluralities of people. It wasn't until I was nearly finished that an elderly woman came in and sat to eat alone by herself.
I could not see what she ordered, but she lifted the rice to her mouth with what seemed like a lack of any great enthusiasm.


Perhaps she should try distracting herself from food earlier in the day. Trust me, that works wonders on building an appetite. The time it took for the kitchen to huts together my bitter melon and duck with noodles seemed like an eternity, the world instantly and miraculously became bright and cheerful again once it arrived, all hot and fragrant.
I almost snatched the plate out of the waitresses hands.
An energetic squeeze of hot sauce, and voilà.
Don't bother me, I'm eating.



AND MILK TEA, OF COURSE

[Per Wikipedia, 嘁香港嘅淡奶牌子有唔少選擇，包括三花牌、子母牌、黑白牌、百佳牌等，而「三花淡奶」又簡稱花奶，係部分香港人對淡奶嘅含糊稱呼。而三花牌係雀巢公司出品。]


One nice thing about that particular chachanteng (糖潮港式茶餐廳) is that they understand the need for saucers underneath teacups. Hong Kong milk-tea (港式奶茶) tastes so much better properly served.
Not everybody grasps the importance of the saucer.

Where do you put your spoon after stirring to dissolve the evaporada (淡奶 'taam naai'), if there is no saucer (小碟 'siu dip')?

杯之下一個茶杯碟, 眞係非常最重要嘅！

It's a serious issue.




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THE GONGSI SAAM-MAN-JI

For some reason, women worry about me eating. I cannot figure this out. Maybe they believe adult men should look fat.
Or paunchy. And I do not fit the bill.
Being a rather scrawny old boy.
I will admit that I'm much more casual about food than when I was in a relationship. Food, you must understand, is something fun to do when you are with someone. If not, you simply snack as needed (or many hours later), while drinking a hot beverage and watching people.

Recently I had a club sandwich. Which distressed BOTH of the women where I ate. They would never have guessed that I was the customer who ordered such a thing. It was eccentric, and confused them.
But, in all honesty, a club sandwich is fun. Toasted white bread. Fried egg. Avocado. Crisp lettuce. Tomato. Cheese. Bacon. Carefully constructed, then cut into four triangles held together by toothpicks, and arranged to form a box-like containment, wherein a handful of fries.

A delicious and nutritious work of art.
Verily, a masterpiece.


公司三文治
GONG SI SAAM MAN JI

Contrasting textures, savoury and warm. A view of Washington Street, as well as down the alleyway with the banner advertising Waisihongsan Yansam (威斯康辛人蔘). It is fascinating to watch people pass by, often looking baffled or lugging stuff, as well as parents accompanied by their children traversing the alley. The baffled people are usually tourists. They tend to avoid the alleyway, even though as alleyways go it is a very NICE alleyway. There is an herbal doctor, a printing company, a long-established herbs and dry-goods store, seller of cd's and tapes, old-fashioned jade shop, gundam and action figure shop, and only three mahjong parlours. At the far end it is cornered by a medical herbs shop. An active and commercially still vibrant part of the neighborhood, though slightly grungy.
But not particularly tourist-inviting, more our kind of place.
I often wander through smoking my pipe.


It was the second time I've had a gongsi saammanji there within a month. The first time the person taking my order didn't bat an eye-lid, but she did ask me to confirm that that in fact was what I really wanted. There were two other people working there the second time around, who are more used to me requesting either a porkflossed bun or something sweeter than that, OR going into the dining area and having an actual hot cooked meal.
But sometimes you simply want something lunchy.
It's a tea restaurant. That isn't unusual.
And food is boring at mid-day.
Teatime is perfect.

[Tea restaurant: 茶餐廳 'cha chaan teng'. A place where Hong kong style Western foods, plus snackies and quick meals are served. There are a few of them in Chinatown, and they're all favourite places of mine for very different reasons; not only because of their particular foods, but they're also unique people-watching environments. They're called 'tea restaurants' because they all serve a notorious quick burst of 'wake-me-up', that being hot and strong black tea made creamy with evap or condensed milk.
Naai-cha (奶茶) is a very good beverage. Your synapses will thank you. Porkflossed bun: 肉鬆飽 'yiuk sung bao'; a sweet bread roll with a rich layer of crispy pork fuzz baked on top. Similar to the scallion and pork floss roll (葱香肉鬆卷 'heung chung yiuk sung kuen'), which is also mighty good.]


The club sandwich is in most people's estimation strictly a lunch item. But lunch is vastly overrated; no main meal of the day should follow breakfast so closely. That's very American and quite unhealthy.
Even if one does not eat breakfast.
Which I never do.


The ladies who work there can understand a snackipoo after four or five in the afternoon -- many people either delay dinner for a few hours, or revive their spirits with something before going home -- but a club sandwich just does not strike them as a suitable evening repast.
It's cannot possibly be filling enough!
And where's the rice?!?

You know, grown men can take care of themselves.
A little practice makes perfect.

Oddly, I feel like having a gongsi saammanji right now.
How sad, the tea restaurants are presently closed.
It might have to be a fried egg again.
With a little hot sausage.
And noodles.



Probably best to have one or two almond biscuits with crumbly cheddar, followed by a scoop of cardamom ice-cream.
I've already got some milk tea.
A calcium-rich repast.
Healthy.




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PARADISE IN THE MIDDLE OF MONGKOK

They're famous for their hot po lo bau with a pat of butter. As well as milk-tea, and yuen yeung. It's in Kowloon, equidistant between the Prince Edward Station and Mongkok East, just a short walk from either. You know where Lai Chi Kok splits off from Nathan Road? Go east, cross Sai Yeung Choi Street, and in the middle on the left hand side.
Be prepared for a madhouse.
It's very popular.



金華冰廳 KAM WAH BAKERY CAFE
香港, 太子弼街47號地下

47 Bute Street, ground floor,
Prince Edward (Mongkok), Kowloon, Hong Kong.


Bute Street (弼街 'bat kai') is named after the southern Scottish peerage of the same name, which is principally located on Bute Island in the Firth of Clyde. As with many Hong Kong street names, there is no rational connection with the appellation and the area. Nor with the transcription into Chinese; 弼 means to assist or aide.

真係超好味!
TRULY SUPER TASTY

The list of items which you really must have is, of course, topped with the toasted po lo bau (菠蘿油: 加一塊凍牛油 'po lo yau: gaa yat faai tung ngau yau'), but not far behind are the little chicken pies (雞批 'gai pai') and the egg arts (酥皮蛋撻 'sou pei daan taat'). You can also have a quick lunch there. Try the saté sauce beef (沙嗲牛肉 'sa de ngau yiuk'), which can be served on regular noodles, macaroni, or rice stick (可配公仔麵, 通粉或米粉 'ho pui gong jai min, tong fan, waak mai fan').

The meat shred and pickled brassica (雪菜肉絲 'suet choi yiuk si') is best with boiled rice noodle (米 'mai').

Their po lo bau is unusual, in that the object represents an earlier stage of development, not changed in over forty years. A thin friable layer of sugary sweet dough above the standard puffy body, firmly melded on and in. Packed with a thick and generous wedge of chilled creamery butter to melt after toasting, it can also be had with a slice of luncheon meat added, or even the saté sauce beef.

In general, a toasted po lo bau with butter and meat or jam is rightly considered one of Hong Kong's most dangerous snacks, a calorie and cholesterol overload.
Well worth eating, with milk tea to drink. Yummy.

Naturally, if it's a warm day, you should have your milk-tea with ice (凍奶茶 'tung nai chaa').



EXPLICATA

Hot po lo bau with a pat of butter: The short form is 'po lo yau' (菠蘿油), meaning 'pineapple oil'. Butter is called 'cow grease' (牛油 'ngau yau'). Pineapple bun: 'po lo bau' (菠蘿包); a sweet bun with a top layer of cookie dough which expands at a different rate than the rest, yielding a crackle-crusted confection which presents a pleasant textural dissonance. Milk-tea: 'naai chaa' (奶茶), the national drink of Hong Kong, whether scalding hot or poured over ice; strong tea strained through a cloth filter, which gives it a velvety mouthfeel, accentuated with sweetened condensed milk (煉奶 'lin naai'). It was invented at so-called 'tea restaurants' (茶餐廳 'cha chanteng'), which are places where the food is fast, the furniture is rickety, and the ambiance twixt home-town hang-out and fondly remembered cheap date. Yuen yeung: Mandarin ducks (鴛鴦), also the term for a mixture of bitter coffee and sweet milk-tea, which is popular hot or cold.

Both beverages can also be served with the glass standing in an ice bath: 冰鎮奶茶 or 冰鎮鴛鴦 ('bing jan naai chaa', 'bing jan yuen yeung'), which cools the drink down without diluting it.
This is not common everywhere.

We shall not speak of Boba Tea (波霸奶茶 'bo baa naai chaa') or Pearl Tea (珍珠奶茶 'jan jyu naai chaa'); these are very silly things.

Mongkok: Prosperous Corner (旺角 'wong gok'), formerly 望角 ('mong gok'; gazy corner, ferns corner) a once-swampy area now densely built-up, filled with residents, businesses, and shops. Prince Edward Station: Tai ji jaam (太子站), the Mass Transit Railway (MTR) station nearest Nathan Road (彌敦道 'nei duen dou').
MTR: Gong Tit (港鐵 "harbour iron"), abbreviation of 香港鐵路 ('heung gong tit lou' "fragrant harbour iron road", Hong Kong Railway). Mongkok East: MTR Station by the Diocesan Boys School (拔萃男書院 'bat seui naam syu yuen'), and the Grand Century Place mall (新世紀廣場 'san sai gei gwong cheung'; MOKO) if you're interested in fabulous shopping, just south of Prince Edward Road (太子道 'taai ji dou') and Flower Market Street (花墟道 'faa heui dou'). For Kam Wah Bing Teng (金華冰廳) head south along Nathan Road if you got off at Prince Edward, go west if you took the Mongkok East Station.

Lai Chi Kok Road: 荔枝角道, a diagonal street named after a village, Lychee Corner (荔枝角村) in Sam Shui Po District (深水埗區). Sai Yeung Choi Street: 西洋菜街 literally, 'Western Ocean Vegetable Street', which refers to watercress (西洋菜 'sai yeung choi') once grown in this area as a commercial crop.

Bute: 比特島 ('bei tak dou'), also 弼島 ('bat dou'); a semi-barren island in Western Europe (西歐 'sai au') with a population of six and a half thousand souls, and a climate which is not salubrious.
Firth of Clyde: 克萊德灣 ('hak loi tak waan') the vast inlet on the south-west corner of Scotland (蘇格蘭 'sou gaak laan'), which is an area of historical significance; the Scots (一個凱爾特的支派) landed here when they invaded from Ireland.

Pickled brassica: snow vegetable (雪菜 'suet choi'), also called plum vegetable (梅菜 'mui choi') is a salt-packed wet winter mustard cabbage frequently paired with fatty pork and used in soups for flavour and colour. The dried version is 梅干菜 ('mui gon choi'). Rice noodle: pasta made from rice flour. Distinguish 米粉 ('mai fan'), which are regular rice noodles; 沙河粉 ('saa ho fan'), also simply called 河粉 ('ho fan'), which are broader and softer; and 米線 ('mai sin'), a Yunnanese specialty that require as much cooking time as Italian Pasta (意粉 'yi fan'). Jam: gwo jeung (果醬); fruit compote.


For an explanation of the tea restaurant paradigm, see: Cha Chanteng. There's a sample menu in that post which might fascinate you.



What, you may ask, brought all this to the front? Well, ask yourself, where would you rather be? Someplace reasonably warm, about to enfold a cold beverage (iced milk-tea: 凍奶茶), or in a frigid and soggy part of Northern California?

At this time of year I am not fond of rain. My feet feel chilled. Hong Kong sounds like a very lovely place to be right now, unlike the islands in the Clyde, such as Bute (弼島), which are part of North-Western Europe.
And Scottish food, let me remind you, is not pretty.



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