Quite inappropriately for Valentine's Day, some pervert googled "barbide doll naked in a bow" and found my blog. Which is slightly irritating.
I would have wished that they searched for something more high-minded to find me. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, which suggests that it was a purely intellectual quest, motivated by any deep spiritual or scientific thesis.
What he found was this: " a perfectly clean post about two gay men celebrating Mother's Day in San Francisco, involving delicious food, particularly a mildly spiced étouffée, which was mentioned merely as "stew", because the culinary details were not Germane ".
In case you are interested, étouffée is described on Wikipedia as a shellfish or crawdaddy smothered dish, "made with a blonde or brown roux and sometime tomatoes are added".
SUCH LOVELY REAL-LIFE WOMEN
When someone looks for Barbie on Valentine's Day, there is something missing in his life. And conceivably his obsessions are off-target.
Rather than focusing on a biologically inaccurate and mal-dimensioned fluffhead, perhaps he should put on the old trench coat and ride the bus all day. Whether he's a studied old degenerate, or a young inexperienced one with hope and shy optimism still beating in his stifled little heart, he is bound to see any number of real women among his fellow travelers that can excite the eye and prompt the imagination.
It's what I would do if I weren't so bloody clean-minded.
Students, secretaries, nursey-wursies, successful bankers, stockbrokers, rising young venture capitalists, cops, business attorneys.......
And arms, ankles, delicate earlobes, slim fingers.......
Oh!
The other day a young lady was reading her college text-book on the bus. From my angle (standing, because gentlemen do that), I could admire her elegant hands fondling the page in anticipation of a flip, the furrowing of a brow as she pondered the multi-syllabic words strung together like an ant-caravan bearing nuggets of science, the hair that flopped deliciously on a broad clear brow, and even the defined line of a small nose above the upper edge of a finely sculpted lip.
The chin was hinted at, but not revealed; her head was bent over the volume, and as I was looking down (because she was sitting and I was standing), I could not see it.
Women engaged in thought, mentally preoccupied with serious matters, with that abstracted air of pensiveness......
They look sweet when they're like that.
Barbie doesn't look sweet. She looks like a Real Housewife.
Vicious, calculating, superficial.
Plastic.
The best étouffée in the city is down in the Tenderloin.
Brenda’s French Soul Food
652 Polk Street
San Francisco, CA 94102
415-345-8100
It ain't crawdaddy, but chicken. Evenso, excellent.
Their beans and rice, the gumbo, beignettes, shrimp 'n grits, and the oyster po' boy are all worth coming back for. Often far too crowded for a nice cozy dinner for two, and located in an area which is more than a little skeevy after dark, but still exceptionally deserving of your attention, when you and your boyfriend or girlfriend want a lovely meal together.
A first-date spot for two adventurous eaters, or some place to go after you've become comfortable with each other, for more standard souls.
Don't go there by yourself; you need to share.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Showing posts with label Fish. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fish. Show all posts
Friday, February 14, 2014
Friday, December 20, 2013
SMILE WHEN YOU EAT THAT
The other day my apartment mate and I were discussing the dishes that white people eat. On which, as you might suspect, I am an expert. What with being white and all. The person I share my apartment with is an old friend who is not white.
She understands Chinese food solely and entirely in Cantonese terms. Anything that is not from Lingnaam is, by definition, not really Chinese. Especially not that weird stuff sold to white people in Hunanese and Szechuanese restaurants.
In a way, she is right.
General Tso's Chicken (左宗棠雞 'jo jung tong kai', 左公雞 'jo gung kai') was invented in New York sometime in the seventies.
Sesame Chicken (芝麻雞丁 'ji maa kai ting') has an indistinct gloop sauce inspired, more or less, by sweet and sour pork and almond shrimp.
Both of which are typically American.
Kung Pao Beef (宮保牛肉 'gung pou ngau yiuk') is far more a fascinating immigrant adaptation of Szechuanese ideas than derived from any actual Szechuan recipe. And, without a healthy does of fagara pepper (花椒 'faa chiu'), it cannot be really called 'kung pao'. It's a great vehicle for garlic and ginger in a sweet dark sauce, though.
There are several other "Chinese" dishes widely served throughout the United States that would baffle and amuse immigrants from the Central Kingdom, and I do not even have to mention chop suey sandwiches or egg foo yong casserole to make that point.
Nevertheless, she is also wrong. Many of theghastliest most popular Chinese dishes in America were invented by her people, and a very Cantonese slapdash culinary cynicism is evident in the composition.
Sweet-tangy sauce, simply cooked main ingredient, crunchy substances added for excitement, and something salty. Cover all the bases and even the woolly tribals in the hills will like it. In very many cases, Hunanese and Szechuanese "cuisine" is cooked by Cantonese folks catering strictly to Anglos. Without them, American Szechuan and Hunan food would not exist.
Both of those terms on a signboard usually are admissions that perhaps they can't cook exceptionally well, and dare not pretend to serve decent Cantonese fare.
"Let some other group get the blame, I'm just trying to pay my rent."
It's good honest food, usually simple and well-made, but it just isn't anything many Cantonese would choose if there was a real Chinese restaurant in the neighborhood.
A restaurant in San Francisco Chinatown that is staggeringly popular with tourists serves only "Szechuan-Hunan" food, has far higher prices than anything nearby, offers nothing the locals would eat, and employs only Cantonese-speakers.
No, I shan't mention which one it is, because I like the cooks. They've got a sense of humour.
Which, indeed, they need to work there.
A sense of humour is an essential personality trait for Chinese restaurateurs.
That, and quick thinking.
CHINESE DINING IN THE HINTERLANDS
At some point in the life of every Chinese eatery in a remote part of the world (Mississippi or Oregon, for instance) a Cantonese family will come in, and once they realize that is NOT a real restaurant despite the brightly lit sign outside, their depression and despair will be utterly heartrending.
There is massive disconsolation.
"I thought that we were going to have food! Why are we here? What is the meaning of life? They serve kung pao! Oh woe, the universe is a cold and heartless place! I wanna go home!"
The smallest members of the party start looking like their puppy died.
They were SO much looking forward to a fun social event!
Pitiable indeed, but please do not worry.
The proprietors will quickly quiet everyone down, reassure them that no matter what they will get something good to eat, and yes they do have a variety of ingredients that can be prepared in several tasty ways that aren't listed on the menu.
All of them will be pleasantly surprised and leave full of good cheer, and the staff will feel more connected with their own people. Happy diners will come again, perhaps calling ahead to ask of any fresh fish can be had.
Eventually several families will go there regularly.
In a small way, a community is formed.
But the Kung Pao Beef, Sesame Chicken, and Sweet'n Sour Whatever-it-is stay on the menu. It's American food, it pays the rent, and it's helping all of them learn better English.
慢慢食。
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
She understands Chinese food solely and entirely in Cantonese terms. Anything that is not from Lingnaam is, by definition, not really Chinese. Especially not that weird stuff sold to white people in Hunanese and Szechuanese restaurants.
In a way, she is right.
General Tso's Chicken (左宗棠雞 'jo jung tong kai', 左公雞 'jo gung kai') was invented in New York sometime in the seventies.
Sesame Chicken (芝麻雞丁 'ji maa kai ting') has an indistinct gloop sauce inspired, more or less, by sweet and sour pork and almond shrimp.
Both of which are typically American.
Kung Pao Beef (宮保牛肉 'gung pou ngau yiuk') is far more a fascinating immigrant adaptation of Szechuanese ideas than derived from any actual Szechuan recipe. And, without a healthy does of fagara pepper (花椒 'faa chiu'), it cannot be really called 'kung pao'. It's a great vehicle for garlic and ginger in a sweet dark sauce, though.
There are several other "Chinese" dishes widely served throughout the United States that would baffle and amuse immigrants from the Central Kingdom, and I do not even have to mention chop suey sandwiches or egg foo yong casserole to make that point.
Nevertheless, she is also wrong. Many of the
Sweet-tangy sauce, simply cooked main ingredient, crunchy substances added for excitement, and something salty. Cover all the bases and even the woolly tribals in the hills will like it. In very many cases, Hunanese and Szechuanese "cuisine" is cooked by Cantonese folks catering strictly to Anglos. Without them, American Szechuan and Hunan food would not exist.
Both of those terms on a signboard usually are admissions that perhaps they can't cook exceptionally well, and dare not pretend to serve decent Cantonese fare.
"Let some other group get the blame, I'm just trying to pay my rent."
It's good honest food, usually simple and well-made, but it just isn't anything many Cantonese would choose if there was a real Chinese restaurant in the neighborhood.
A restaurant in San Francisco Chinatown that is staggeringly popular with tourists serves only "Szechuan-Hunan" food, has far higher prices than anything nearby, offers nothing the locals would eat, and employs only Cantonese-speakers.
No, I shan't mention which one it is, because I like the cooks. They've got a sense of humour.
Which, indeed, they need to work there.
A sense of humour is an essential personality trait for Chinese restaurateurs.
That, and quick thinking.
CHINESE DINING IN THE HINTERLANDS
At some point in the life of every Chinese eatery in a remote part of the world (Mississippi or Oregon, for instance) a Cantonese family will come in, and once they realize that is NOT a real restaurant despite the brightly lit sign outside, their depression and despair will be utterly heartrending.
There is massive disconsolation.
"I thought that we were going to have food! Why are we here? What is the meaning of life? They serve kung pao! Oh woe, the universe is a cold and heartless place! I wanna go home!"
The smallest members of the party start looking like their puppy died.
They were SO much looking forward to a fun social event!
Pitiable indeed, but please do not worry.
The proprietors will quickly quiet everyone down, reassure them that no matter what they will get something good to eat, and yes they do have a variety of ingredients that can be prepared in several tasty ways that aren't listed on the menu.
All of them will be pleasantly surprised and leave full of good cheer, and the staff will feel more connected with their own people. Happy diners will come again, perhaps calling ahead to ask of any fresh fish can be had.
Eventually several families will go there regularly.
In a small way, a community is formed.
But the Kung Pao Beef, Sesame Chicken, and Sweet'n Sour Whatever-it-is stay on the menu. It's American food, it pays the rent, and it's helping all of them learn better English.
慢慢食。
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
WOMEN AND FISH
Today's top posts surprise me. Normally that is impossible. Web searchers find my blog by looking for the most unusual things, and predictably a large number of them are somewhat perverted. A lot perverted. The internet exists for THREE things: food, kitten pictures, and smut.
And conspiracy theories. Four things.
Plus delivery pizza. Five.
Five things.
FOOD, KITTEN PICTURES, AND SMUT.
I am interested in food. I cannot stand kitten pictures.
And I refuse to answer questions about smut.
This blog has featured food a number of times. As well as many sneering comments about felines, most specifically Hello Kitty. And, being a religious man with severe Calvinist tendencies, all puritanical and shit, I keep all smut secret, along with other depraved affections that I will deny having.
I am utterly clean. A veritable danged saint.
If your mom asks, I sure love Jesus.
In a non-sexual kind of way.
Oh holy crap yes.
Sorry, I was repressing something there.
Anyway, today's top blog posts are two.
Piscine:
MACKEREL IS NOT HERRING
[http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2010/08/mackerel-is-not-herring.html]
In which I mention one of the last times my ex and I had dinner together as a couple, over three years ago. The relationship was already on the skids then, and though we've remained friends, fresh fish did not repair it.
The people who find this article are all from England, and unfamiliar with the differences between two delicious creatures. Which is odd, considering that they are entirely surrounded by water.
Perhaps it's the brief mention of excel spreadsheets that they find fascinating. It probably isn't anything culinary.
And:
MANIFESTING FEMININE INDIVIDUALITY
[http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2013/12/manifesting-feminine-individuality.html]
This is actually one of my own favourite recent posts. It's more or less about how smoking a pipe is utterly ladylike and proper, despite what disapproving relatives and anti-smoking health-nazis in Berkeley might think. Something that I've always found appealing is the intelligent and strongminded woman who decides that yes she will smoke a pipe. Dammit.
I also mention some favourite women authors.
I am incredibly relieved that today's readers are not perverts. Nor are they paranoid conspiracy theorists with a thing for Hello Kitty. Hello Kitty, as all fish-eating women who smoke pipes undoubtedly realize, is the primrose path to ruin, the beginning of the mental end, and a symptom of sickness and spiritual rot. Unutterably nasty, saccharine, smarmy, and immature.
If she smoked a pipe, Hello Kitty's favourite tobacco would be fish-flavoured, with an undertone of strawberries.
Rancid rotten strawberries.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
And conspiracy theories. Four things.
Plus delivery pizza. Five.
Five things.
FOOD, KITTEN PICTURES, AND SMUT.
I am interested in food. I cannot stand kitten pictures.
And I refuse to answer questions about smut.
This blog has featured food a number of times. As well as many sneering comments about felines, most specifically Hello Kitty. And, being a religious man with severe Calvinist tendencies, all puritanical and shit, I keep all smut secret, along with other depraved affections that I will deny having.
I am utterly clean. A veritable danged saint.
If your mom asks, I sure love Jesus.
In a non-sexual kind of way.
Oh holy crap yes.
Sorry, I was repressing something there.
Anyway, today's top blog posts are two.
Piscine:
MACKEREL IS NOT HERRING
[http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2010/08/mackerel-is-not-herring.html]
In which I mention one of the last times my ex and I had dinner together as a couple, over three years ago. The relationship was already on the skids then, and though we've remained friends, fresh fish did not repair it.
The people who find this article are all from England, and unfamiliar with the differences between two delicious creatures. Which is odd, considering that they are entirely surrounded by water.
Perhaps it's the brief mention of excel spreadsheets that they find fascinating. It probably isn't anything culinary.
And:
MANIFESTING FEMININE INDIVIDUALITY
[http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2013/12/manifesting-feminine-individuality.html]
This is actually one of my own favourite recent posts. It's more or less about how smoking a pipe is utterly ladylike and proper, despite what disapproving relatives and anti-smoking health-nazis in Berkeley might think. Something that I've always found appealing is the intelligent and strongminded woman who decides that yes she will smoke a pipe. Dammit.
I also mention some favourite women authors.
I am incredibly relieved that today's readers are not perverts. Nor are they paranoid conspiracy theorists with a thing for Hello Kitty. Hello Kitty, as all fish-eating women who smoke pipes undoubtedly realize, is the primrose path to ruin, the beginning of the mental end, and a symptom of sickness and spiritual rot. Unutterably nasty, saccharine, smarmy, and immature.
If she smoked a pipe, Hello Kitty's favourite tobacco would be fish-flavoured, with an undertone of strawberries.
Rancid rotten strawberries.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, September 16, 2013
CULINARY DREAMING
It struck me the other day that fish-wise America is a nightmare. The vast majority of my fellow-Americans have scant clue about seafood, and are intimately familiar with only one piscine specialty: tuna salad.
Tuna salad is a splendid concoction. Truly the national dish.
Admit it, ninety nine percent of you secretly love it.
Why, some of you are feasting on it right now.
Mmmmm, mayo, celery, alleged tuna.
We are held together by mayo.
Oh sure, there are actually several other fishy dishes Americans know. Clam chowder, to name but one. That might be the only one that does not use mayo or a gooey greasy buttery substance that in some ways recalls mayo (dairy and flour).
But nearly everything else in the fin or bottomfeeder class is mayoed up the wazzoo.
Fishsticks. Crab. Lobster. Oysters. Walnut shrimp.
Batter them, nuke 'em in the fry-o-lator, and serve with mayo.
Or a dolled-up version of mayo.
Tartar sauce or aioli.
"Well, how's everything goin' here?"
In Texas, at Sodelak's Original Country Inn, located in the beautiful town of Snook, they serve chicken-fried bacon strips. With a bowl of cream gravy on the side, for dipping.
I really think it should have tartar sauce next to it.
Tartar sauce is, more-or-less, fancy mayo.
It makes everything a gourmet treat.
Bacon is the new fish stick.
Finger-food for all ages.
Just needs more salt.
PART OF A WELL-BALANCED BREAKFAST
[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfbTO0GlONU]
Snook: It's the ONLY reason to visit Texas.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuna salad is a splendid concoction. Truly the national dish.
Admit it, ninety nine percent of you secretly love it.
Why, some of you are feasting on it right now.
Mmmmm, mayo, celery, alleged tuna.
We are held together by mayo.
Oh sure, there are actually several other fishy dishes Americans know. Clam chowder, to name but one. That might be the only one that does not use mayo or a gooey greasy buttery substance that in some ways recalls mayo (dairy and flour).
But nearly everything else in the fin or bottomfeeder class is mayoed up the wazzoo.
Fishsticks. Crab. Lobster. Oysters. Walnut shrimp.
Batter them, nuke 'em in the fry-o-lator, and serve with mayo.
Or a dolled-up version of mayo.
Tartar sauce or aioli.
"Well, how's everything goin' here?"
In Texas, at Sodelak's Original Country Inn, located in the beautiful town of Snook, they serve chicken-fried bacon strips. With a bowl of cream gravy on the side, for dipping.
I really think it should have tartar sauce next to it.
Tartar sauce is, more-or-less, fancy mayo.
It makes everything a gourmet treat.
Bacon is the new fish stick.
Finger-food for all ages.
Just needs more salt.
PART OF A WELL-BALANCED BREAKFAST
[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfbTO0GlONU]
Snook: It's the ONLY reason to visit Texas.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, August 12, 2013
EAT THE SHARKS!
One recent visitor whom I do not wish to know personally, or even get anywhere near, found my blog by entering a phrase in his or her search bar that disturbs me.
The post they found was SHARK FIN SOUP IN SAN FRANCISCO - DELICIOUS DAWDLING WITH AN APEX PREDATOR.
What they we're looking for was "chinks and shark finning".
Apparently that word is still being used.
Other things that that person found:
Chink Shark Fin Soup Will Be Banned in CA - Topix
www.topix.com/forum/world/china/TLQVF7V653V6S3ALU
Aug 27, 2011 - Chink Shark Fin Soup Will Be Banned in CA. Posted in the China Forum.
Chef Ramsay exposing Chinese people's retarded fascination with ...
www.spurstalk.com › Index › More Talk › The Club
Jun 11, 2013 - 12 posts - 7 authors
In essence, eating shark fin is a status thing. So once again, the Chinks ruining the planet for themselves and their 2 inch dicks.
Stop consuming shark fin soup - Food in Mouth
www.foodinmouth.com/.../stop-consuming-shark-fin-soup-chinese.html
Aug 9, 2011 - Then you could show it to middle class chinks in commie-land (aka, China), that the cool Americans don't drink shark fin soup.
Page 1 of comments on Stop shark finning - YouTube
www.youtube.com/all_comments?v=eFQX04kERoI&page=1
This shark finning crap is nothing more than propaganda from mustache ..... i dont see enyone else doing this i only see japs or chinks so yeah STFU fag.
Shark Bait, Long line fishing – Gordon Ramsay | Pro Fishing Videos
www.profishingvideos.com/shark-bait-long-line-fishing-gordon-ramsay/
Mar 26, 2013 - 2. not all chinks eat shark fin soup they are mostly older generation chinks
Ummm.
When such blatant bigotry is coupled with sneering disapproval of other people's customs, the inevitable suspicion is that the driving idea is NOT saving the planet, or protecting the huggable fluffy animal symbol of the moment, but rather jumping on any convenient bandwagon to slag a particular ethnic group.
Using the word "chink" paints the writers as hopeless Neanderthals, and utterly devalues whatever point they were trying to make or cause they were espousing.
Consequently, this blogger will now resolve to have as much sharkfin soup as I possibly can during the remainder of my life.
Clearly sharkfin soup is better than any association with the anti-sharkfin crowd. Besides being utterly delicious.
Mmmm, yummy sharkfin!
Bitches.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The post they found was SHARK FIN SOUP IN SAN FRANCISCO - DELICIOUS DAWDLING WITH AN APEX PREDATOR.
What they we're looking for was "chinks and shark finning".
Apparently that word is still being used.
Other things that that person found:
Chink Shark Fin Soup Will Be Banned in CA - Topix
www.topix.com/forum/world/china/TLQVF7V653V6S3ALU
Aug 27, 2011 - Chink Shark Fin Soup Will Be Banned in CA. Posted in the China Forum.
Chef Ramsay exposing Chinese people's retarded fascination with ...
www.spurstalk.com › Index › More Talk › The Club
Jun 11, 2013 - 12 posts - 7 authors
In essence, eating shark fin is a status thing. So once again, the Chinks ruining the planet for themselves and their 2 inch dicks.
Stop consuming shark fin soup - Food in Mouth
www.foodinmouth.com/.../stop-consuming-shark-fin-soup-chinese.html
Aug 9, 2011 - Then you could show it to middle class chinks in commie-land (aka, China), that the cool Americans don't drink shark fin soup.
Page 1 of comments on Stop shark finning - YouTube
www.youtube.com/all_comments?v=eFQX04kERoI&page=1
This shark finning crap is nothing more than propaganda from mustache ..... i dont see enyone else doing this i only see japs or chinks so yeah STFU fag.
Shark Bait, Long line fishing – Gordon Ramsay | Pro Fishing Videos
www.profishingvideos.com/shark-bait-long-line-fishing-gordon-ramsay/
Mar 26, 2013 - 2. not all chinks eat shark fin soup they are mostly older generation chinks
Ummm.
When such blatant bigotry is coupled with sneering disapproval of other people's customs, the inevitable suspicion is that the driving idea is NOT saving the planet, or protecting the huggable fluffy animal symbol of the moment, but rather jumping on any convenient bandwagon to slag a particular ethnic group.
Using the word "chink" paints the writers as hopeless Neanderthals, and utterly devalues whatever point they were trying to make or cause they were espousing.
Consequently, this blogger will now resolve to have as much sharkfin soup as I possibly can during the remainder of my life.
Clearly sharkfin soup is better than any association with the anti-sharkfin crowd. Besides being utterly delicious.
Mmmm, yummy sharkfin!
Bitches.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, August 05, 2013
A RESTAURANT TO GO TO IN BRIGHTON
Chinese people, as is well-known, are seriously into seafood.
The English, as is also as well-known, are notoriously not known for their culinary abilities.
英國布賴頓市最好的海鮮餐廳!
Consequently the popularity among travelling Chinese of a seafood restaurant located in Brighton, England, staggers me. As it likewise does the very lovable manager, mr. Roberto Savvides. Which can be seen in the video embedded in this article: Why Chinese Flock To A Brighton Chippy.
"They like to order starters, main courses, desserts..... all at the same time."
Everything served at the same time spells out happy dining with other people. Plus sampling a bit of this and a bit of that. It is purely wonderful to have a table overloaded with seafood.
I'm not entirely sure I'd want the spotted dick and custard alongside the fries ("chips") and mussels, though. A boiled pudding with raisins inside, yellow gloop out. On the other hand, The Regency Restaurant also offers chocolate cake and treacle pudding.
Among many other things.
Their menu looks quite seductive.
Appetisers
• Fish soup £2.75
• Deep fried scampi £3.10
• Scotch smoked salmon £4.25
• Smoked mackerel £3.50
• Deep fried calamari £3.10
• King prawns grilled in garlic £4.50
• Whitebait £3.10
• Prawn cocktail £3.10
• Sardines £4.25
• Moules marinier £4.50
• Marinated anchovies £3.10
• 3 scallops in garlic butter £5.50
• 1/2 Doz. oysters £6.00
• Avocado pear with prawns £4.10
• Iced melon £3.10
• Taramosalata & pitta bread £3.10
Sea Fare
Locally caught fresh fish is our speciality, garnished and served with french fried potatoes.
• Fried fillet of cod £5.25
• Fried fillet of plaice £5.25
• Fried fillet of haddock £5.25
• Grilled whole plaice £6.95
• Deep fried scampi £6.25
• Deep fried calamari £6.25
• Grilled rainbow trout £8.25
• Deep fried seafood platter £6.75
• Grilled king prawns in garlic £8.75
• Grilled lemon sole £9.25
• Grilled halibut steak £10.50
• Grilled Dover sole £13.95
• Sardines £6.75
• Grilled seabass £12.50
• Whitebait £6.25
• Grilled fish medley £10.25
Shell Fish
• Moules mariniere £7.95
• 6 scallops in garlic £10.95
• Lobster salad £18.95
• Grilled lobster with garlic butter £19.95
• Hot lobster thermidor £20.95
• 1 Doz. oysters £12.00
• Whole crab salad £10.95
House Specials
• Grilled salmon in lemon & dill sauce £9.95
• Halibut steak mornay £11.95
• Trout amandin £9.95
• Fillet plaice meuniere £7.50
• Sirloin steak diane £10.95
• Sirloin steak au poivre £10.95
The Regency Restaurant also offers a wonderful selection of grills, roasts, poultry, pasta dishes, cold buffets, children's dishes, side vegetables, and vegetarian dishes. Prices range from £5.25 for Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, £5.75 for Vegetarian lasagna, Smoked salmon salad at £6.95, Sauteed mushrooms £1.50, Greek Salad £3.25, Garlic bread £1.30 and Fried onion rings £1.50.
Desserts
• Homemade apple pie £3.10
• Banana split £3.10
• Homemade tiramisu £3.10
• Cheesecake £3.10
• Chocolate gateaux £3.10
• Choice of ice-creams £1.95
• Banoffi pie £3.10
•Treacle pudding £3.10
• Rhubarb crumble £3.10
• Profiteroles £3.10
The next time I visit England I shall travel to Brighton. The Regency Restaurant, at 131 Kings Road, looks like the fish and chip shop that blows all other fish and chip shops out of the water. Especially the pathetic oil-sponge heartburn fry-holes in San Francisco, which offer mediocre fish, miserable fries, factory battered frozen shrimp, and loathsomely awful deepfried oysters.
I greatly look forward to having a splendid dinner in a clean and very charming place, filled with happy people and excellent food.
If I have a cellphone by then, pictures of an overloaded table may appear on this blog.
Or not.
"They love their shellfish - the lobsters, the mussels, the crabs; they like all that."
Of course they do.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The English, as is also as well-known, are notoriously not known for their culinary abilities.
英國布賴頓市最好的海鮮餐廳!
Consequently the popularity among travelling Chinese of a seafood restaurant located in Brighton, England, staggers me. As it likewise does the very lovable manager, mr. Roberto Savvides. Which can be seen in the video embedded in this article: Why Chinese Flock To A Brighton Chippy.
"They like to order starters, main courses, desserts..... all at the same time."
Everything served at the same time spells out happy dining with other people. Plus sampling a bit of this and a bit of that. It is purely wonderful to have a table overloaded with seafood.
I'm not entirely sure I'd want the spotted dick and custard alongside the fries ("chips") and mussels, though. A boiled pudding with raisins inside, yellow gloop out. On the other hand, The Regency Restaurant also offers chocolate cake and treacle pudding.
Among many other things.
Their menu looks quite seductive.
Appetisers
• Fish soup £2.75
• Deep fried scampi £3.10
• Scotch smoked salmon £4.25
• Smoked mackerel £3.50
• Deep fried calamari £3.10
• King prawns grilled in garlic £4.50
• Whitebait £3.10
• Prawn cocktail £3.10
• Sardines £4.25
• Moules marinier £4.50
• Marinated anchovies £3.10
• 3 scallops in garlic butter £5.50
• 1/2 Doz. oysters £6.00
• Avocado pear with prawns £4.10
• Iced melon £3.10
• Taramosalata & pitta bread £3.10
Sea Fare
Locally caught fresh fish is our speciality, garnished and served with french fried potatoes.
• Fried fillet of cod £5.25
• Fried fillet of plaice £5.25
• Fried fillet of haddock £5.25
• Grilled whole plaice £6.95
• Deep fried scampi £6.25
• Deep fried calamari £6.25
• Grilled rainbow trout £8.25
• Deep fried seafood platter £6.75
• Grilled king prawns in garlic £8.75
• Grilled lemon sole £9.25
• Grilled halibut steak £10.50
• Grilled Dover sole £13.95
• Sardines £6.75
• Grilled seabass £12.50
• Whitebait £6.25
• Grilled fish medley £10.25
Shell Fish
• Moules mariniere £7.95
• 6 scallops in garlic £10.95
• Lobster salad £18.95
• Grilled lobster with garlic butter £19.95
• Hot lobster thermidor £20.95
• 1 Doz. oysters £12.00
• Whole crab salad £10.95
House Specials
• Grilled salmon in lemon & dill sauce £9.95
• Halibut steak mornay £11.95
• Trout amandin £9.95
• Fillet plaice meuniere £7.50
• Sirloin steak diane £10.95
• Sirloin steak au poivre £10.95
The Regency Restaurant also offers a wonderful selection of grills, roasts, poultry, pasta dishes, cold buffets, children's dishes, side vegetables, and vegetarian dishes. Prices range from £5.25 for Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, £5.75 for Vegetarian lasagna, Smoked salmon salad at £6.95, Sauteed mushrooms £1.50, Greek Salad £3.25, Garlic bread £1.30 and Fried onion rings £1.50.
Desserts
• Homemade apple pie £3.10
• Banana split £3.10
• Homemade tiramisu £3.10
• Cheesecake £3.10
• Chocolate gateaux £3.10
• Choice of ice-creams £1.95
• Banoffi pie £3.10
•Treacle pudding £3.10
• Rhubarb crumble £3.10
• Profiteroles £3.10
The next time I visit England I shall travel to Brighton. The Regency Restaurant, at 131 Kings Road, looks like the fish and chip shop that blows all other fish and chip shops out of the water. Especially the pathetic oil-sponge heartburn fry-holes in San Francisco, which offer mediocre fish, miserable fries, factory battered frozen shrimp, and loathsomely awful deepfried oysters.
I greatly look forward to having a splendid dinner in a clean and very charming place, filled with happy people and excellent food.
If I have a cellphone by then, pictures of an overloaded table may appear on this blog.
Or not.
"They love their shellfish - the lobsters, the mussels, the crabs; they like all that."
Of course they do.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
SINGLE MEN AND FISH CURRY
As a single man I get to do whatever I want. There are both negatives and positives about that. The negatives include a lack of interaction, a complete absence of naughty business, and a rather cold bed late at night.
The positives, remarkably, are also about things which just aren't there; no Hello Kitty crap, no copies of Vogue or Real Estate Times cluttering up the pillows, and no exclamations of "good lord how can you eat THAT at six in the morning!".
A single man can fix himself stuff for breakfast which women will not touch. Such as a tasty plate of fish curry over rice, with some Indian pickle, and toasted cashews thrown on top for a textural effect.
It was delicious.
I used the last of the tilapia, with a fried-onion paste that included coriander, ginger, turmeric, and cayenne. By adding chopped peeled tomatoes the acid balance was rectified, and coconut milk made it liquid. The fish was poached therein. Yes, there were other things in there. One must always diddle with the food. It would have been nice if I also had fresh lemon grass, but that wasn't essential.
Chopped jalapeños to garnish.
Dab of sambal on the side.
The rice took longer to cook than the curry.
It was far better than fried eggs and bacon.
Everyone deserves fish curry for breakfast.
A cup of strong coffee afterwards, and calm contemplation of the day ahead. Sweet jayzis that was good. I'm sitting here with a big happy smile all over my face. Hello Kitty is at the other end of the table, looking speculatively at my empty plate. I bet she's jealous. No one gives her fish curry in the morning.
Heh.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The positives, remarkably, are also about things which just aren't there; no Hello Kitty crap, no copies of Vogue or Real Estate Times cluttering up the pillows, and no exclamations of "good lord how can you eat THAT at six in the morning!".
A single man can fix himself stuff for breakfast which women will not touch. Such as a tasty plate of fish curry over rice, with some Indian pickle, and toasted cashews thrown on top for a textural effect.
It was delicious.
I used the last of the tilapia, with a fried-onion paste that included coriander, ginger, turmeric, and cayenne. By adding chopped peeled tomatoes the acid balance was rectified, and coconut milk made it liquid. The fish was poached therein. Yes, there were other things in there. One must always diddle with the food. It would have been nice if I also had fresh lemon grass, but that wasn't essential.
Chopped jalapeños to garnish.
Dab of sambal on the side.
The rice took longer to cook than the curry.
It was far better than fried eggs and bacon.
Everyone deserves fish curry for breakfast.
A cup of strong coffee afterwards, and calm contemplation of the day ahead. Sweet jayzis that was good. I'm sitting here with a big happy smile all over my face. Hello Kitty is at the other end of the table, looking speculatively at my empty plate. I bet she's jealous. No one gives her fish curry in the morning.
Heh.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, June 07, 2013
SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT MORE MARLBOROS
The top two thirds are leaves, the trunks are below that. Big rigid clusters stick right up out of the mass, the others droop over. There is shade under the trees, and in the darkness there, huts can be seen. A cloud of smoke billows amid the wooden stripes, cooking fire backlit by the dawn light.
Languages and dialects morph as you go upriver. And water is the easiest way to get here. But you know that it would be madness to stop.
Something is wrong, there is too much silence.
There are parts here where the PC has gone over to the side of the loggers, and some villages bear permanent witness to that transformation.
Clean upstanding Christian boys from the Cag valley become different here. When they finally go back north again, their wives and sweethearts help them dream.
The colours are intense. Yellows, orange, green in a hundred dark shades, brown, and black.
Grey where the smoke rises above the trees.
Remarkably, there is no red.
There should be.
What expensive American equipment does is miraculous. Neat lines like zippers, or the perforations along which you might tear the scene apart.
It all looks frightfully clean.
In silence we head further up the stream. Praise be, we make scant sound, and hear even less. A few miles further on the heat drives thoughts from our minds and the temple pillars of the forest beckon with cool black shade.
But do not stop. Not now. This isn't a good place. Still too moist.
There's a whup whup whup from a long way away.
We'll know when we get to regular plantings of coconut palms. Distant fires are friendlier there. They might even have tinned fish.
There's crud on my face.
First shave in five days.
No more aspirin.
1985.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Languages and dialects morph as you go upriver. And water is the easiest way to get here. But you know that it would be madness to stop.
Something is wrong, there is too much silence.
There are parts here where the PC has gone over to the side of the loggers, and some villages bear permanent witness to that transformation.
Clean upstanding Christian boys from the Cag valley become different here. When they finally go back north again, their wives and sweethearts help them dream.
The colours are intense. Yellows, orange, green in a hundred dark shades, brown, and black.
Grey where the smoke rises above the trees.
Remarkably, there is no red.
There should be.
What expensive American equipment does is miraculous. Neat lines like zippers, or the perforations along which you might tear the scene apart.
It all looks frightfully clean.
In silence we head further up the stream. Praise be, we make scant sound, and hear even less. A few miles further on the heat drives thoughts from our minds and the temple pillars of the forest beckon with cool black shade.
But do not stop. Not now. This isn't a good place. Still too moist.
There's a whup whup whup from a long way away.
We'll know when we get to regular plantings of coconut palms. Distant fires are friendlier there. They might even have tinned fish.
There's crud on my face.
First shave in five days.
No more aspirin.
1985.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, May 31, 2013
THOUGHTS INSPIRED BY STEAMED FISH
When eating in Chinatown one gets to watch other diners. Which is part of the entertainment, but please don't stare.
Families are always fun to watch, especially now that children can play video games on cell-phones after they've sated their bestial passions. You might think that withdrawing so spectacularly and selfishly from the social hubbub of a shared meal would be frowned upon -- and indeed it is -- but this often keeps them quiet, and allows their parents to have a pleasant private conversation and thoroughly enjoy each other's company.
While entirely in public.
Just watching that table over at the far end of the room, I can tell that the sons will grow up to be anti-social engineering students and devious loners, whereas the little girl may end up as a brainsurgeon or a pilot. How very fortunate for her that when she marries, she becomes someone else's kin! She'll have a splendid excuse for never associating with her bratty brothers again.
There are different dynamics that inform the gustatory attitudes for males and females in the Cantonese world. Because of the idea that one should eat with others, males take it for granted that there will be someone with whom to eat, females assume that they will have to make a pretense of eating, while nevertheless playing second fiddle around the table. And while some women relish the prospect -- oh good, there is food, and I can have some, and talk a little bit, too -- many think of meals as obligatory, rather than primarily a source of joy. Except when they get to eat by themselves, in which case it's a delicious expression of stubbornness and pleasure, and they can eat whatever they want.
Boys, on the other hand, tend toward a casual assumption that their dining is a significant and praiseworthy social act, even a generous sharing of their time. The most likeable ones can always find friends with whom to go out and feast -- even if it's just shared stirfry and a tiny steamed fish at the only Cantonese restaurant in some Kansas college town -- and will gladly include other people (while unconsciously excluding some), as long as they all get to sit around the table making a communal racket.
Single women dining may regret the solitude -- though that isn't necessarily a given -- but they will be determined to enjoy the food. It's theirs, dammit, and it's yummy!
The solitary man often has an expression on his face that says he didn't play his cards right, life isn't supposed to be like this, where is everybody?
She enjoys every bite, even though there's far too much; he can't finish it all, he doesn't really have an appetite.
Oh heck, there's any number of operational themes to Cantonese people engaged in consuming food; not a single idea dominates, and many elements are utterly at war with each other. Suffice to say that eating occupies a much larger place in their social realm, and demands far more of their emotional investment, than it does for severe white protestants and people from places where the food is almost uniformly ghastly.
Pretty much everyone from the Ireland east to Siberia.
With some exceptions, of course.
Imagine, if you will, a Cantonese couple sharing a steamed fish, in a noisy crowded restaurant. She's thinking "that fish at the other table is much BIGGER!" While he thinks "this is MY fish..., oh wait no, ours.......... "
If they end up struggling for the bill (assuming that she's a liberated woman and insists on paying), she'll be thinking "next time we get the biggest dang fish they have here!" And he'll wrestle with the thought of ordering TWO fish, one of which he can take home and have for breakfast.
Of course, she might be wrestling with the same thought. Women are complex that way.
If a man really loves a woman, he'll let her have most of the fish, and almost all of the scallion and ginger crab, as well as the oysters with black bean and green pepper, while he makes a pretense of eating just so she doesn't feel guilty or self-conscious. And if she really loves him, she'll insist that he have this piece, and that, in between happily stuffing her face, while totally ignoring the other customers.
Especially that sour bunch of Mandarin speakers at the other table.
I still can't understand why those Northerners even came in. Only three of the seven ate anything. And two of them ordered food that couldn't be shared (wonton noodle soup, fried stick-noodle with beef).
Well, it COULD have been shared.
But it wasn't.
I had what I often order when I'm dining by myself.
Fish collops and bitter-melon over rice.
Plus far too much hot tea.
I really like crunchy vegetables.
But I also like fish.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Families are always fun to watch, especially now that children can play video games on cell-phones after they've sated their bestial passions. You might think that withdrawing so spectacularly and selfishly from the social hubbub of a shared meal would be frowned upon -- and indeed it is -- but this often keeps them quiet, and allows their parents to have a pleasant private conversation and thoroughly enjoy each other's company.
While entirely in public.
Just watching that table over at the far end of the room, I can tell that the sons will grow up to be anti-social engineering students and devious loners, whereas the little girl may end up as a brainsurgeon or a pilot. How very fortunate for her that when she marries, she becomes someone else's kin! She'll have a splendid excuse for never associating with her bratty brothers again.
There are different dynamics that inform the gustatory attitudes for males and females in the Cantonese world. Because of the idea that one should eat with others, males take it for granted that there will be someone with whom to eat, females assume that they will have to make a pretense of eating, while nevertheless playing second fiddle around the table. And while some women relish the prospect -- oh good, there is food, and I can have some, and talk a little bit, too -- many think of meals as obligatory, rather than primarily a source of joy. Except when they get to eat by themselves, in which case it's a delicious expression of stubbornness and pleasure, and they can eat whatever they want.
Boys, on the other hand, tend toward a casual assumption that their dining is a significant and praiseworthy social act, even a generous sharing of their time. The most likeable ones can always find friends with whom to go out and feast -- even if it's just shared stirfry and a tiny steamed fish at the only Cantonese restaurant in some Kansas college town -- and will gladly include other people (while unconsciously excluding some), as long as they all get to sit around the table making a communal racket.
Single women dining may regret the solitude -- though that isn't necessarily a given -- but they will be determined to enjoy the food. It's theirs, dammit, and it's yummy!
The solitary man often has an expression on his face that says he didn't play his cards right, life isn't supposed to be like this, where is everybody?
She enjoys every bite, even though there's far too much; he can't finish it all, he doesn't really have an appetite.
Oh heck, there's any number of operational themes to Cantonese people engaged in consuming food; not a single idea dominates, and many elements are utterly at war with each other. Suffice to say that eating occupies a much larger place in their social realm, and demands far more of their emotional investment, than it does for severe white protestants and people from places where the food is almost uniformly ghastly.
Pretty much everyone from the Ireland east to Siberia.
With some exceptions, of course.
Imagine, if you will, a Cantonese couple sharing a steamed fish, in a noisy crowded restaurant. She's thinking "that fish at the other table is much BIGGER!" While he thinks "this is MY fish..., oh wait no, ours.......... "
If they end up struggling for the bill (assuming that she's a liberated woman and insists on paying), she'll be thinking "next time we get the biggest dang fish they have here!" And he'll wrestle with the thought of ordering TWO fish, one of which he can take home and have for breakfast.
Of course, she might be wrestling with the same thought. Women are complex that way.
If a man really loves a woman, he'll let her have most of the fish, and almost all of the scallion and ginger crab, as well as the oysters with black bean and green pepper, while he makes a pretense of eating just so she doesn't feel guilty or self-conscious. And if she really loves him, she'll insist that he have this piece, and that, in between happily stuffing her face, while totally ignoring the other customers.
Especially that sour bunch of Mandarin speakers at the other table.
I still can't understand why those Northerners even came in. Only three of the seven ate anything. And two of them ordered food that couldn't be shared (wonton noodle soup, fried stick-noodle with beef).
Well, it COULD have been shared.
But it wasn't.
I had what I often order when I'm dining by myself.
Fish collops and bitter-melon over rice.
Plus far too much hot tea.
I really like crunchy vegetables.
But I also like fish.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, May 26, 2013
FILL YOUR FACE WITH FOOD!
One of the most attractive personality traits a person can have is culinary curiosity, a willingness to explore and experiment. What does it taste like? Is it interesting? What on earth IS it? Sadly, such inquisitiveness is not common. If you mention fishballs, bitter melon, and dried oysters, for instance, to most people, their little faces will scrunch up in childlike anguish or totally blank moo expressions. They have never heard of it, it sounds NASTY, and they refuse to even think of trying it!
"Do you have burgers?", they will ask.
Or, if they've got issues, "do you have veggie burgers?"
[Opus the Penguin in Bloom County might request a herring burger instead. Extra mayo. Considering that he is a waterfowl, this is natural. And herring is godlike.]
Some of my best friends are indeed vegetarian, but their issues are primarily kashrus-related, and involve avoiding treif as well as the unnecessary cruelty to farm-animals for which agri-business is known.
And given that notably the European food industry does not seem to grasp the difference between pork, lamb, beef, or horsemeat, a certain amount of caution is not unjustified.
Anybody with kashrus or halal concerns is probably better off heading into vegetarian territory anyway, and the same goes for existential penguins.
Which, in Chinatown, may be difficult. Even those restaurants which serve vegetarian dishes will usually have vast scads of pork on the premises.
The pig, to the Chinese, is a marvelous beast.
Like ancient Celts, Cantonese people consider hogs magical.
A very fundament of civilized life.
[Little etymological note: the Chinese character for family (家) shows a pig (豕、豖) under a roof (宀). As graphemes go, it is extremely telling .]
By Chinatown standards, a restaurant that doesn't serve meat ('pig') is not really a restaurant. It's probably a place for white folks and Buddhists.
Or even white Buddhists.
What an extremely silly combination!
LET'S EAT!
The very idea of going out to sup with other people suggests variety. Chicken, duck, meat, seafood, and at the very least a textural dish comprised (mostly) of vegetable matter to round out the taste spectrum and complete the mouth-feel range.Definitely a starch of some sort, and perhaps also a soup and something deepfried.
And food must be shared; what's the point of everyone hogging their own plate and not at least tasting something else?
It has been a long time since I went out to eat with others. The last time was with folks from the office (which closed in November), and we had burgers.
Some people had vegan burgers.
No herring.
It's hard to get everyone on the same page as regards eating together, let alone the same plate. perhaps the best that can be hoped for is just one other person. Someone with a quirky willingness to try something new.
If I knew of a place with squid burgers, I'd definitely want to find someone else to invite along. That way we could also order a plate of salad in case the "meat" was not what we expected.
Or head over to Chinatown for some real food.
Just thinking at random, there's quite a lot of it.
And it can be happily shared.
See anything you like?
咖喱魚蛋、涼瓜豬肉、燒豬肉河粉湯、南乳豬手、椒鹽炸雞翼、叉燒、姜葱腰花、蠔油生菜、燒乳鴿、蝦醬芥蘭、咸菜炆豬肉、蒸海參扣、蒸滑雞、燒鴨、蝦球帶子粥、梅菜扣肉、咸魚肉餅、雪菜肉、排骨蒸飯、蔥花炸蠔、雲吞湯麵、炒肉絲、蒸五花腩、燒鵝、蒸水蛋、蒸魚、咖喱魷魚、薑蔥龍蝦、滷水鴨、豉油雞。
Heh.
I don't think they have squid burgers, though. That's strictly a white thing.
Much like vegan food.
慢慢食,吓。
NOTE: The Chinese term for fishball is 魚蛋 (yü daan), bitter melon is 苦瓜 (fu gwaa) or 涼瓜 (leung gwaa), dried oysters are 蠔豉 (ho si). The hamburger becomes 漢堡包 or 漢堡飽 (hon bou bau), that being a 'Han fortress bun'.
Kosher is 符合猶太教教規的食物 (fu hap yau taai gaau gaau kwai dik sik mat), "according with Judaic customs edibles". Halal is 符合清真教教規的食物 (fu hap ching jan gaau gaau kwai dik sik mat), "according with Islamic religious regulation edibles".
Respectively 猶太潔食 (yau taai git sik) and 清真食 (ching jan sik) for short.
Veganism, besides being quite ridiculous, is 純素食主義 (suen sou sik chu yi), "purely vegivorous ideology".
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
"Do you have burgers?", they will ask.
Or, if they've got issues, "do you have veggie burgers?"
[Opus the Penguin in Bloom County might request a herring burger instead. Extra mayo. Considering that he is a waterfowl, this is natural. And herring is godlike.]
Some of my best friends are indeed vegetarian, but their issues are primarily kashrus-related, and involve avoiding treif as well as the unnecessary cruelty to farm-animals for which agri-business is known.
And given that notably the European food industry does not seem to grasp the difference between pork, lamb, beef, or horsemeat, a certain amount of caution is not unjustified.
Anybody with kashrus or halal concerns is probably better off heading into vegetarian territory anyway, and the same goes for existential penguins.
Which, in Chinatown, may be difficult. Even those restaurants which serve vegetarian dishes will usually have vast scads of pork on the premises.
The pig, to the Chinese, is a marvelous beast.
Like ancient Celts, Cantonese people consider hogs magical.
A very fundament of civilized life.
[Little etymological note: the Chinese character for family (家) shows a pig (豕、豖) under a roof (宀). As graphemes go, it is extremely telling .]
By Chinatown standards, a restaurant that doesn't serve meat ('pig') is not really a restaurant. It's probably a place for white folks and Buddhists.
Or even white Buddhists.
What an extremely silly combination!
LET'S EAT!
The very idea of going out to sup with other people suggests variety. Chicken, duck, meat, seafood, and at the very least a textural dish comprised (mostly) of vegetable matter to round out the taste spectrum and complete the mouth-feel range.Definitely a starch of some sort, and perhaps also a soup and something deepfried.
And food must be shared; what's the point of everyone hogging their own plate and not at least tasting something else?
It has been a long time since I went out to eat with others. The last time was with folks from the office (which closed in November), and we had burgers.
Some people had vegan burgers.
No herring.
It's hard to get everyone on the same page as regards eating together, let alone the same plate. perhaps the best that can be hoped for is just one other person. Someone with a quirky willingness to try something new.
If I knew of a place with squid burgers, I'd definitely want to find someone else to invite along. That way we could also order a plate of salad in case the "meat" was not what we expected.
Or head over to Chinatown for some real food.
Just thinking at random, there's quite a lot of it.
And it can be happily shared.
See anything you like?
咖喱魚蛋、涼瓜豬肉、燒豬肉河粉湯、南乳豬手、椒鹽炸雞翼、叉燒、姜葱腰花、蠔油生菜、燒乳鴿、蝦醬芥蘭、咸菜炆豬肉、蒸海參扣、蒸滑雞、燒鴨、蝦球帶子粥、梅菜扣肉、咸魚肉餅、雪菜肉、排骨蒸飯、蔥花炸蠔、雲吞湯麵、炒肉絲、蒸五花腩、燒鵝、蒸水蛋、蒸魚、咖喱魷魚、薑蔥龍蝦、滷水鴨、豉油雞。
Heh.
I don't think they have squid burgers, though. That's strictly a white thing.
Much like vegan food.
慢慢食,吓。
NOTE: The Chinese term for fishball is 魚蛋 (yü daan), bitter melon is 苦瓜 (fu gwaa) or 涼瓜 (leung gwaa), dried oysters are 蠔豉 (ho si). The hamburger becomes 漢堡包 or 漢堡飽 (hon bou bau), that being a 'Han fortress bun'.
Kosher is 符合猶太教教規的食物 (fu hap yau taai gaau gaau kwai dik sik mat), "according with Judaic customs edibles". Halal is 符合清真教教規的食物 (fu hap ching jan gaau gaau kwai dik sik mat), "according with Islamic religious regulation edibles".
Respectively 猶太潔食 (yau taai git sik) and 清真食 (ching jan sik) for short.
Veganism, besides being quite ridiculous, is 純素食主義 (suen sou sik chu yi), "purely vegivorous ideology".
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, May 20, 2013
THIS IS THE PLACE
Once a week, for the past twenty years, I have been at the intersection of Pacific and Hyde Streets after two-thirty in the morning. It is the perfect place to have that last cigarillo of the night before going home to sleep.
To my mind it is one of the most beautiful spots in the city.
Especially after dark.
Hyde Street for one block south presents a lovely bistro-lined cave-tunnel between leafy trees, with a number of little eateries worth visiting -- Hyde Street Seafood House & Raw Bar, for instance: fresh oysters, clams, mussels, and fish en papillote -- ending at Jackson Street, where on one corner Sun Kwong (新光) Chinese Restaurant and Food To-go holds sway, diagonally opposite the bend in the cablecar line where U-Lee (有利飯店) has been serving contented customers for decades. Both eateries are good. Small, nothing fancy, but offering decent food well made, in an environment that will make you happy. Nice places, nice people.
I recommend both restaurants and hope that they endure.
They've been there a very long time already.
In this city, that means something.
In the evening, Hyde from Washington to Broadway, then up to Union, is shady, leafy, intimate. A beautiful place to wander around and make plans for fine dining. Zarzuela (tapas y paellas) at the corner of Union marks the end of the dinner-dream walk. The tourists riding the cablecar seldom get off here, as they are intent on 'going somewhere'. That being either the wharf or the turnaround at Powell and Market.
Hyde Street is not 'somewhere'.
It just is.
The locals know it, and if they do not live right nearby will take the effort to come. Food is a draw, strong coffee or a glass of wine too, but the magnet is mostly the pleasant calm leafiness of the neighborhood. Nob and Russian Hill are less pretentious here, slightly more out of the way despite being crossed by many transit lines, and the rest of San Francisco seems far distant. It isn't North Beach, where the loud Eurotrashers party all night, nor Polk or Union Street, filled with throngs of hormonally challenged twenty-somethings preening and rutting till closing time.
Merely a quiet tree-lined passageway among the dwellings.
Hyde and Pacific enrobed in drifting fog in Autumn, or drenched by late-night downpours during the rainy season, is otherworldly and peaceful.
You cannot be impatient at three o'clock in the morning, you took your own sweet time to get here, there is nothing else to do but drink it in.
And light up another cigarillo.
Golden light.
Silver air.
Smoke.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
To my mind it is one of the most beautiful spots in the city.
Especially after dark.
Hyde Street for one block south presents a lovely bistro-lined cave-tunnel between leafy trees, with a number of little eateries worth visiting -- Hyde Street Seafood House & Raw Bar, for instance: fresh oysters, clams, mussels, and fish en papillote -- ending at Jackson Street, where on one corner Sun Kwong (新光) Chinese Restaurant and Food To-go holds sway, diagonally opposite the bend in the cablecar line where U-Lee (有利飯店) has been serving contented customers for decades. Both eateries are good. Small, nothing fancy, but offering decent food well made, in an environment that will make you happy. Nice places, nice people.
I recommend both restaurants and hope that they endure.
They've been there a very long time already.
In this city, that means something.
In the evening, Hyde from Washington to Broadway, then up to Union, is shady, leafy, intimate. A beautiful place to wander around and make plans for fine dining. Zarzuela (tapas y paellas) at the corner of Union marks the end of the dinner-dream walk. The tourists riding the cablecar seldom get off here, as they are intent on 'going somewhere'. That being either the wharf or the turnaround at Powell and Market.
Hyde Street is not 'somewhere'.
It just is.
The locals know it, and if they do not live right nearby will take the effort to come. Food is a draw, strong coffee or a glass of wine too, but the magnet is mostly the pleasant calm leafiness of the neighborhood. Nob and Russian Hill are less pretentious here, slightly more out of the way despite being crossed by many transit lines, and the rest of San Francisco seems far distant. It isn't North Beach, where the loud Eurotrashers party all night, nor Polk or Union Street, filled with throngs of hormonally challenged twenty-somethings preening and rutting till closing time.
Merely a quiet tree-lined passageway among the dwellings.
Hyde and Pacific enrobed in drifting fog in Autumn, or drenched by late-night downpours during the rainy season, is otherworldly and peaceful.
You cannot be impatient at three o'clock in the morning, you took your own sweet time to get here, there is nothing else to do but drink it in.
And light up another cigarillo.
Golden light.
Silver air.
Smoke.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
SALTY, SCALY, AND ALTOGETHER FINE!
My apartment-mate is a long-suffering woman. Not only did she agree to continue living with me (and thus continue sharing the rent) after we broke up three years ago, but twice, TWICE! since then she has been exposed to my dried fish.
Now, you might think that continuing to live together would be inconvenient, uncomfortable even. But if people can remain friends, it isn't strange. And she's always had her own room, so ...
Besides, there are also all of the stuffed animals to consider.
We could NEVER break up a dysfunctional family.
At least, I couldn't. She channels for them.
They'd be mute without her around.
I like the racket.
Yes, we time our visits to the shower just right to accord with our current standards of propriety. That is far less hazardous than it seems, as I will be in my room grumblingly waking-up with my first cup of black sludge while she finishes her breakfast and bounces around getting all clean and stuff.
Consequently I haven't seen female nudity in years.
I've never quite understood people who eat at sunrise -- that time of day is best suited to a smoke, quiet contemplation, and removing lint from one's navel -- but without all the morning people there might be nothing for lunch. All those eager beavers make the tasty sawdust sandwiches which we of slower metabolism crave sometime around three in the afternoon. They serve a necessary function; someone has to unlock the donut shop.
In the evening she'll retire to her own room while I am still full of beans. Once I hear her snoring, I start dreaming of an ideal world. One in which I could light-up a late-night pipe or cigar, while pontificating to an eager audience of one concerning philosophy, literature, cooking with chilies, and odd linguistic stuff. Or engage in something else; we need not go into that. Suffice to say that I am wide-awake at night, and likely to bore another person senseless, were there actually such.
鹹魚
That's one of the reasons I no longer go to the cigar bar during the week. Too many senseless people. The Saturday crowd is far more sane, and much more flexible.
That being primarily three people: a charming couple who both drink rye whisky and have his and hers cigar cases -- she prefers a slightly smaller ring gage than her husband, and he has a fondness for dark leaf -- as well as the bartender who smokes box press coronas while listening to Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash. Or is it David Allen Coe or Merle Haggard?
We all sit in appreciative silence while the music plays.
Unlike morning people, we're into art.
The first dried fish was a flounder, which was used for making soup stock.
The second fish is a (misc. item, weighable) dried croaker.
Good for steaming as an additional flavouring.
Think of it as Chinese cheese.
The critters like it.
Each time I've bought a fish, I waved it at her.
I do not know what point I'm proving.
But it's got to mean something.
Dried fish, man, dried fish!
Possibly a dude thing.
I've also boldly waved it at the bar, as I went over right after purchasing it at Bug Grass City on Stockton. There was an appreciative audience there.
They're more sensible and broadminded than the weekday crowd.
Dried fish means good things! Everyone knows that!
It's a blessing.
There's nothing nasty at all about dried fish.
Unless you want there to be.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Now, you might think that continuing to live together would be inconvenient, uncomfortable even. But if people can remain friends, it isn't strange. And she's always had her own room, so ...
Besides, there are also all of the stuffed animals to consider.
We could NEVER break up a dysfunctional family.
At least, I couldn't. She channels for them.
They'd be mute without her around.
I like the racket.
Yes, we time our visits to the shower just right to accord with our current standards of propriety. That is far less hazardous than it seems, as I will be in my room grumblingly waking-up with my first cup of black sludge while she finishes her breakfast and bounces around getting all clean and stuff.
Consequently I haven't seen female nudity in years.
I've never quite understood people who eat at sunrise -- that time of day is best suited to a smoke, quiet contemplation, and removing lint from one's navel -- but without all the morning people there might be nothing for lunch. All those eager beavers make the tasty sawdust sandwiches which we of slower metabolism crave sometime around three in the afternoon. They serve a necessary function; someone has to unlock the donut shop.
In the evening she'll retire to her own room while I am still full of beans. Once I hear her snoring, I start dreaming of an ideal world. One in which I could light-up a late-night pipe or cigar, while pontificating to an eager audience of one concerning philosophy, literature, cooking with chilies, and odd linguistic stuff. Or engage in something else; we need not go into that. Suffice to say that I am wide-awake at night, and likely to bore another person senseless, were there actually such.
鹹魚
That's one of the reasons I no longer go to the cigar bar during the week. Too many senseless people. The Saturday crowd is far more sane, and much more flexible.
That being primarily three people: a charming couple who both drink rye whisky and have his and hers cigar cases -- she prefers a slightly smaller ring gage than her husband, and he has a fondness for dark leaf -- as well as the bartender who smokes box press coronas while listening to Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash. Or is it David Allen Coe or Merle Haggard?
We all sit in appreciative silence while the music plays.
Unlike morning people, we're into art.
The first dried fish was a flounder, which was used for making soup stock.
The second fish is a (misc. item, weighable) dried croaker.
Good for steaming as an additional flavouring.
Think of it as Chinese cheese.
The critters like it.
Each time I've bought a fish, I waved it at her.
I do not know what point I'm proving.
But it's got to mean something.
Dried fish, man, dried fish!
Possibly a dude thing.
I've also boldly waved it at the bar, as I went over right after purchasing it at Bug Grass City on Stockton. There was an appreciative audience there.
They're more sensible and broadminded than the weekday crowd.
Dried fish means good things! Everyone knows that!
It's a blessing.
There's nothing nasty at all about dried fish.
Unless you want there to be.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, March 24, 2013
A RATHER DECENT FISH
I'm a pretty decent cook, which is something that I'm proud of. If you've read this blog a while you will realize that food is one of my "things".
But it wasn't always that way.
I started cooking when my mother was hospitalized, and continued doing so when she was bed-bound. Some of those early dinners were, on the whole, more educational than edible. Despite avidly reading the Larouse Gastronomique, there was less technique than absurdity in my kitchen efforts.
Most of it could be eaten. More so as time went on.
When I came back to the United States I lived with my grandmother in Berkeley, where she had been since she was discharged from the Navy. Her cooking was somewhat, errrrrrmmm, single person in orientation. Perforce I cooked whenever I could. At that time I knew what many foods and ingredients were by sight and by their Dutch or Indonesian names, but had virtually no clue what they were called in English.
Immaterial in any case, as American supermarkets at that time catered strictly to people with no taste and no culinary culture to speak of.
Plain bland blah. Kibble, vitachunks, and mere stuffing.
That was many years ago.
For a long time now I have lived in San Francisco, where food is as diverse as the people who inhabit this city. If I want, I can find fresh fish, live and outraged, splashing about in tanks a mere eight blocks from my apartment.
As well as crustaceans, shellfish, poultry, and delicious fatty cuts of meat. Plus real vegetables.
I hear that out in the suburbs such things are still impossible.
And I believe it; I've seen what they eat there.
They live sad miserable lives.
These past few years I have hardly cooked at all, due to a lack of anyone to cook for or with. I'm fortunate that I know of several good places to eat, which are not far to walk, and remarkably close to the stores where I used to buy fresh fish and vegetables. Some of those restaurants also do some stellar seafood, as well as superb steamed shellfish, or salt and pepper crabs. One need never be without something delicious in this city.
Unfortunately, a steamed fish is usually too large for just one person.
And it seems rather a bother to take left-overs home.
I have not had steamed fish in a long time.
Yes, I could make it in my own kitchen, with a fish of suitable smallness.
But I just don't feel like cooking for myself much anymore.
It isn't very inspiring, unfortunately.
Some day, when circumstances again call for it, I will prepare a feast.
It will include a nicely steamed fish.
Or two such.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
But it wasn't always that way.
I started cooking when my mother was hospitalized, and continued doing so when she was bed-bound. Some of those early dinners were, on the whole, more educational than edible. Despite avidly reading the Larouse Gastronomique, there was less technique than absurdity in my kitchen efforts.
Most of it could be eaten. More so as time went on.
When I came back to the United States I lived with my grandmother in Berkeley, where she had been since she was discharged from the Navy. Her cooking was somewhat, errrrrrmmm, single person in orientation. Perforce I cooked whenever I could. At that time I knew what many foods and ingredients were by sight and by their Dutch or Indonesian names, but had virtually no clue what they were called in English.
Immaterial in any case, as American supermarkets at that time catered strictly to people with no taste and no culinary culture to speak of.
Plain bland blah. Kibble, vitachunks, and mere stuffing.
That was many years ago.
For a long time now I have lived in San Francisco, where food is as diverse as the people who inhabit this city. If I want, I can find fresh fish, live and outraged, splashing about in tanks a mere eight blocks from my apartment.
As well as crustaceans, shellfish, poultry, and delicious fatty cuts of meat. Plus real vegetables.
I hear that out in the suburbs such things are still impossible.
And I believe it; I've seen what they eat there.
They live sad miserable lives.
These past few years I have hardly cooked at all, due to a lack of anyone to cook for or with. I'm fortunate that I know of several good places to eat, which are not far to walk, and remarkably close to the stores where I used to buy fresh fish and vegetables. Some of those restaurants also do some stellar seafood, as well as superb steamed shellfish, or salt and pepper crabs. One need never be without something delicious in this city.
Unfortunately, a steamed fish is usually too large for just one person.
And it seems rather a bother to take left-overs home.
I have not had steamed fish in a long time.
Yes, I could make it in my own kitchen, with a fish of suitable smallness.
But I just don't feel like cooking for myself much anymore.
It isn't very inspiring, unfortunately.
Some day, when circumstances again call for it, I will prepare a feast.
It will include a nicely steamed fish.
Or two such.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, December 31, 2012
POSSIBLY THE WORST FOOD IN CHINATOWN
Shan't say which restaurant, as you are not likely to ever go there unless you are originally from Hong Kong, in which case you already know better. But it was not a good experience. Fish collops and eggplant in a clay pot, the best part being the five or six bellpepper slivers thrown on top for colour.
I've had better rice, too.
But the milk-tea was excellent.
And the service was absolutely stellar.
The last time I went there the service was stressed out and absurdly haphazard, and the food was right on the cusp of mediocre. But on the wrong end thereof, where the howling pit of bad buggery awful stares up at the diner gnashing its teeth.
I am strangely fond of establishments that try so apathetically.
And in the case of this particular place I have never yet had a good meal.
It just isn't in the cards.
Eating there is like being on a date with a lovely young lady whose spongy brain is entirely occupied by handbags, fashion accessories, how to be fabulous, and Hello Kitty. It looks good, but you do not wish to invite it in for coffee unless you are Hugh Heffner. You would much rather run away screaming at the end of the date, or go to the bathroom and never come back.
I left a very good tip.
As I said, the service was excellent.
On the other hand, I've noticed a restaurant nearby with high ceilings and chandeliers that I would really like to try some day. But I rather suspect that they do not have much that is suited to the single diner.
So it will have to wait.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I've had better rice, too.
But the milk-tea was excellent.
And the service was absolutely stellar.
The last time I went there the service was stressed out and absurdly haphazard, and the food was right on the cusp of mediocre. But on the wrong end thereof, where the howling pit of bad buggery awful stares up at the diner gnashing its teeth.
I am strangely fond of establishments that try so apathetically.
And in the case of this particular place I have never yet had a good meal.
It just isn't in the cards.
Eating there is like being on a date with a lovely young lady whose spongy brain is entirely occupied by handbags, fashion accessories, how to be fabulous, and Hello Kitty. It looks good, but you do not wish to invite it in for coffee unless you are Hugh Heffner. You would much rather run away screaming at the end of the date, or go to the bathroom and never come back.
I left a very good tip.
As I said, the service was excellent.
On the other hand, I've noticed a restaurant nearby with high ceilings and chandeliers that I would really like to try some day. But I rather suspect that they do not have much that is suited to the single diner.
So it will have to wait.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
THE DELICIOUS WHALE
Everything I've read tells me that whale meat is fine-textured, lean, and exceedingly good to eat. Especially the tongue, and premium cuts near the tail (oniku).
Understandably, the Japanese and the Norwegians also think so.
As well as several tribes in the Pacific Northwest.
The Dutch and the Australians object strongly to the concept of eating whale, but as neither of their countries are known for fine dining, their opinions must be discounted.
I've delved into Netherlandish culinaria elsewhere here (just type "Dutch food" into the search field on this blog if you're interested), and the Australians are notorious Vegemite aficionados.
They even add that ghastly spread to their spaghetti sandwiches.
'Nuff said.
Normally, a fine cut of whale can be cooked by slicing it into thin steaks, sautéing it briefly in butter or olive oil, then serving it with a jus.
You could also marinate it Greek style (lemon juice, olive oil, thyme), and grill it festively on the backyard barbecue. Tzatziki, olives, and sliced tomatoes from your own vines would be perfect, and, as it is a red meat, a nice glass of Burgundy.
Mink whale, by the way, is NOT endangered. Not by any rational standard.
And it is high time we stop relying on the Texans and Argentinians for our animal protein. Or the New Zealanders, for sheep slaughtered after Hobbit perversions.
Hrefnusteik!
Nice thick tournedos of hval meat, perhaps wrapped in bacon, or served with a creamy caper-mustard sauce. And some potatoes and a salad on the side. Or even with French fries and a warmed saucière of Béarnaise.
While whale barbecued Mexican-style has its own appeal, and various tasty stir-fries also suggest themselves, I am extremely keen to try it in curry.
CHETTINAD VHĒL
Two pounds Whale.
Four onions.
One thumblength ginger.
Four or five garlic cloves.
One TBS. ground coriander.
One TBS. cayenne.
Half Tsp. turmeric.
Half Tsp. mustard seeds (black).
Half Tsp. cumin seeds (jeerakam).
Half Tsp. fennel seeds (perinjeerakam).
Half Tsp. cinnamon powder.
Half Tsp. salt.
Four or five green cardamom pods, three or four whole cloves, a dozen whole peppercorns, and a bay leaf or two.
Two TBS. tamarind juice. Half a dozen Roma tomatoes, or two beefsteak tomatoes.
Four or five fresh green chilies, finely minced.
Cut the whale meat into chunks, dry-roast the spices as appropriate. Grind two of the onions with the ginger, garlic, and all spices plus the salt, EXCEPT the bay leaves, cardamon pods, and mustard seeds, to a paste. Stir the tamarind water into this, and rub it all over the meat. Let the whale sit in the refrigerator for an hour or so to absorb flavours and tenderize.
Chop the tomatoes.
In a roomy pan or chetty fry the mustard seeds briefly in ghee or oil, add the remaining onion, cardamom pods, and the minced green chili, and sauté till nicely golden. Add the chopped tomatoes, cook till soft.
Then add the meat and its marinating paste, and cook till the moisture has dissipated and the oil separated. This, by the way, is the key to developing a good flavour, hence the need for a roomy pan or chetty - you do not want to crowd the chunks of meat.
Add water to cover, plus bay leaves, and simmer on low for about an hour. You may substitute coconut milk for some of the water. Stir it occasionally, and when the meat seems tender enough, remove from the heat. You may fish out the cardamom pods and bay leaves it this point.
Garnish liberally with cilantro, and serve with chapatis or steamed rice, as well as fresh chilies and lime wedges on the side.
Good for a holiday party of six to eight people, with other lovely side dishes.
If you cannot get whale, you can substitute an equivalent amount of goat.
But it won't be as festive an occasion.
Shubha bhojana!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Understandably, the Japanese and the Norwegians also think so.
As well as several tribes in the Pacific Northwest.
The Dutch and the Australians object strongly to the concept of eating whale, but as neither of their countries are known for fine dining, their opinions must be discounted.
I've delved into Netherlandish culinaria elsewhere here (just type "Dutch food" into the search field on this blog if you're interested), and the Australians are notorious Vegemite aficionados.
They even add that ghastly spread to their spaghetti sandwiches.
'Nuff said.
Normally, a fine cut of whale can be cooked by slicing it into thin steaks, sautéing it briefly in butter or olive oil, then serving it with a jus.
You could also marinate it Greek style (lemon juice, olive oil, thyme), and grill it festively on the backyard barbecue. Tzatziki, olives, and sliced tomatoes from your own vines would be perfect, and, as it is a red meat, a nice glass of Burgundy.
Mink whale, by the way, is NOT endangered. Not by any rational standard.
And it is high time we stop relying on the Texans and Argentinians for our animal protein. Or the New Zealanders, for sheep slaughtered after Hobbit perversions.
Hrefnusteik!
Nice thick tournedos of hval meat, perhaps wrapped in bacon, or served with a creamy caper-mustard sauce. And some potatoes and a salad on the side. Or even with French fries and a warmed saucière of Béarnaise.
While whale barbecued Mexican-style has its own appeal, and various tasty stir-fries also suggest themselves, I am extremely keen to try it in curry.
CHETTINAD VHĒL
Two pounds Whale.
Four onions.
One thumblength ginger.
Four or five garlic cloves.
One TBS. ground coriander.
One TBS. cayenne.
Half Tsp. turmeric.
Half Tsp. mustard seeds (black).
Half Tsp. cumin seeds (jeerakam).
Half Tsp. fennel seeds (perinjeerakam).
Half Tsp. cinnamon powder.
Half Tsp. salt.
Four or five green cardamom pods, three or four whole cloves, a dozen whole peppercorns, and a bay leaf or two.
Two TBS. tamarind juice. Half a dozen Roma tomatoes, or two beefsteak tomatoes.
Four or five fresh green chilies, finely minced.
Cut the whale meat into chunks, dry-roast the spices as appropriate. Grind two of the onions with the ginger, garlic, and all spices plus the salt, EXCEPT the bay leaves, cardamon pods, and mustard seeds, to a paste. Stir the tamarind water into this, and rub it all over the meat. Let the whale sit in the refrigerator for an hour or so to absorb flavours and tenderize.
Chop the tomatoes.
In a roomy pan or chetty fry the mustard seeds briefly in ghee or oil, add the remaining onion, cardamom pods, and the minced green chili, and sauté till nicely golden. Add the chopped tomatoes, cook till soft.
Then add the meat and its marinating paste, and cook till the moisture has dissipated and the oil separated. This, by the way, is the key to developing a good flavour, hence the need for a roomy pan or chetty - you do not want to crowd the chunks of meat.
Add water to cover, plus bay leaves, and simmer on low for about an hour. You may substitute coconut milk for some of the water. Stir it occasionally, and when the meat seems tender enough, remove from the heat. You may fish out the cardamom pods and bay leaves it this point.
Garnish liberally with cilantro, and serve with chapatis or steamed rice, as well as fresh chilies and lime wedges on the side.
Good for a holiday party of six to eight people, with other lovely side dishes.
If you cannot get whale, you can substitute an equivalent amount of goat.
But it won't be as festive an occasion.
Shubha bhojana!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
SUCH A LOVELY FISH!
From where I sat I couldn’t see their faces, but I know from how the little girl addressed them that one was her father, the other was an uncle. But probably not blood-kin, as there was too much real friendship between the men. The one who was the child’s father was clearly the host. Both men were far too busy to pay the little girl much attention.
She didn’t seem to mind. She obviously enjoyed being in the company of two gentlemen, individuals of wit and humour.
And there was food. Delicious fresh food.
"Please, you must have some more. Oh do try this, the garlic eel is exceptional! Miss, we need more tea!"
Both adults were having a fine time, and so was the little girl. Earlier she had shown her good breeding by allowing her father’s friend first snatch-and-grab at the dishes, but now that the men had both slowed down, and were busier talking than wielding their chopsticks, she was taking full advantage of the situation. Almost unnoticably the lazy susan in the centre of the table started to turn. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly…… At last the lovely steamed fish was right in front of her. She looked at the two men. They were deep in conversation. She looked at the fish. Then again at the two men. Back again at the tempting, glistening fish.
Then she deftly stripped the firm remaining flesh from the area near the tail with her chopsticks and transferred it to her own rice bowl. Snatched some of the shredded ginger and scallion, and checked whether the men had noticed. They hadn’t. Using the serving spoon she poured a splash of the cooking juices over her food.
Looked at the other two again.
Oh good, they’re far to busy yakking.
She ate thoughtfully and attentively, savouring the taste of the fish, her lips pursed in concentration as she mooshed it apart in her mouth. Mmmmmmmmmmm.
When she had finished, her dad and the uncle were still gossiping like old hens, totally oblivious to everything else.
Now she increased her boldness exponentially.
With the serving spoon she lifted the head of the fish, and gouged out the cheek with her chopsticks, quickly popping it into her own mouth.
Yes, delicious!
The cheeks and flesh near the tail are the sweetest and most flavourful parts of the fish, and traditionally yielded to guests and older people. As any little girl would properly do.
But if both of them are preoccupied, well, why let these go to waste?
Besides, the uncle had already eaten far too much of the eel.
He’d had his chance, so it was someone else's turn.
When the waitress came to clear the table, both adults were happy as clams, still animatedly in conversation.
There wasn’t enough left of the fish to even think of boxing up.
The little girl was smiling, and looked radiant.
Really, a very nice kid.
I hope that when uncle requites the hospitality, he takes them out for lobster.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
She didn’t seem to mind. She obviously enjoyed being in the company of two gentlemen, individuals of wit and humour.
And there was food. Delicious fresh food.
"Please, you must have some more. Oh do try this, the garlic eel is exceptional! Miss, we need more tea!"
Both adults were having a fine time, and so was the little girl. Earlier she had shown her good breeding by allowing her father’s friend first snatch-and-grab at the dishes, but now that the men had both slowed down, and were busier talking than wielding their chopsticks, she was taking full advantage of the situation. Almost unnoticably the lazy susan in the centre of the table started to turn. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly…… At last the lovely steamed fish was right in front of her. She looked at the two men. They were deep in conversation. She looked at the fish. Then again at the two men. Back again at the tempting, glistening fish.
Then she deftly stripped the firm remaining flesh from the area near the tail with her chopsticks and transferred it to her own rice bowl. Snatched some of the shredded ginger and scallion, and checked whether the men had noticed. They hadn’t. Using the serving spoon she poured a splash of the cooking juices over her food.
Looked at the other two again.
Oh good, they’re far to busy yakking.
She ate thoughtfully and attentively, savouring the taste of the fish, her lips pursed in concentration as she mooshed it apart in her mouth. Mmmmmmmmmmm.
When she had finished, her dad and the uncle were still gossiping like old hens, totally oblivious to everything else.
Now she increased her boldness exponentially.
With the serving spoon she lifted the head of the fish, and gouged out the cheek with her chopsticks, quickly popping it into her own mouth.
Yes, delicious!
The cheeks and flesh near the tail are the sweetest and most flavourful parts of the fish, and traditionally yielded to guests and older people. As any little girl would properly do.
But if both of them are preoccupied, well, why let these go to waste?
Besides, the uncle had already eaten far too much of the eel.
He’d had his chance, so it was someone else's turn.
When the waitress came to clear the table, both adults were happy as clams, still animatedly in conversation.
There wasn’t enough left of the fish to even think of boxing up.
The little girl was smiling, and looked radiant.
Really, a very nice kid.
I hope that when uncle requites the hospitality, he takes them out for lobster.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, June 06, 2012
GREEN ROBE ISLAND
One of the areas of Hong Kong which combines a beautiful name with an utterly commonplace appearance is Tsing Yi Tao (青衣島), east of Kowloon. Green Robe Island - does that appellation not suggest verdant hills flowing down to the water's edge, a veritable paradise of nature and solitude?
The name actually refers to a type of fish (green wrasse in English). They can be stir-fried with Chinese mustard greens or bitter gourd. Not particularly good eating, but not at all bad in saucy dishes.
The original name of the island was 'Spring Flower Rain' (春花落).
Generations ago the islanders made their living by farming and fishing, today the island is an important industrial hub and satellite community for Hong Kong.
Other than having been briefly a mecca for local nudists, the most exciting aspect of the island consists of the Tsing Yi Bridge (青衣大橋) and several modern container terminals.
I won't claim that the bridge is a marvel of modern engineering, but it is rather elegant.
A container port is never elegant.
The urban areas of Tsing Yi are by no means lovely. Very modern highrise apartment buildings and housing estates, with centralized shopping areas catering to the surrounding developments. Given the large number of people who live here, it isn't surprising that within the commercial complexes you can find some good eats.
They're easy to get to, as the buses from Kowloon go down the major streets, and the MTR also serves the island.
Air-conditioning is a way of life.
THREE RECOMMENDATIONS
稻香超級漁港 DOU HEUNG CHIU KAP YU GONG
稻香 (Tao Heung Dimsum & Seafood)
Maritime Square, 33 Tsing King Road.
Ground floor, unit G04.
[青衣, 青敬路 33號, 青衣城, 地下 G04 舖]
North-east corner of Tsing Yi Island.
Remarkably good dim sum. They use top notch shrimp for the har gau (蝦餃) and shrimp spring rolls (蝦春卷), and their beef meat balls (牛肉丸) are nice and juicy. Their various rolled sheet noodles (腸粉) are absolutely gorgeous.
If your eating habits include unhealthy stuff, above all try the char siu stuffed pineapple buns (菠蘿叉燒包). As you should know, pineapple buns (菠蘿包) contain no fruit - the name refers to the cracked appearance of the outer surface - and are considered one of the most dangerous snackfoods in Hong Kong, due to high calorie count and high fat content. Adding charsiu (叉燒) as a filling ups the ante considerably, besides making them addictive.
Soup dumplings (湯餃) in sharkfin and abalone broth are a must-try.
Also order the fabulous squab (紅燒乳鴿).
The prices are comparable to fancier dimsummeries in San Francisco, unfortunately the quality is far, far better.
長發大酒樓 CHEUNG FAT TAAI JAU LOU
(Cheung Fat Restaurant)
Cheung Fat Shopping Centre, Cheung Fat Estate,
Fifth floor, unit 501.
[青衣, 長發邨, 長發商場 5樓, 501 號舖]
North shore, near the water.
Nothing really stands out here, but it's a variety of good food at reasonable prices.
Decent dim sum early in the day, dining later.
一粥麵 YAT JUK MIN
(Super Super Congee & Noodles)
Cheung Fat Shopping Centre, Cheung Fat Estate,
Ground floor, unit 319.
[青衣, 長發邨, 長發商場 319 號舖]
North shore, near the water.
Hong Kong style convenience food. Rice porridge, noodle dishes, and sheet noodle.
You might like the 'salty lean-pork pig-blood cubes rice porridge' (鹹瘦肉豬紅粥 haahm sau yiuk chu hong juk). One common problem with many versions of congee that use lean pork is that the meat is cooked till less than appetizing - it's a textural thing. That at times is also a problem here.
But you cannot find pig's blood so easily in San Francisco, and by and large this chain does a decent job.
Have it with a cup of milk-tea (奶茶 nai cha) for a totally HK experience.
There are hundreds of other restaurants located in the shopping centres of the various housing estates, everything from HK style street food, snacks, bakeries, to Sushi, Thai, American fast-food, and high-end dining. The scope for experimentation and casual noshing is quite impressive, all conveniently close together.
Did I mention air-conditioning already?
Air-con, air-con, air-con.
If you're in HK on business, you should also know that there are various good hotels on Tsing Yi Island, many in the area of Tsing Yi Road south of the bridge. Most are mere minutes from the Tsing Yi MTR station.
Tsim Sha Tsui is within easy transport reach, HK Central district is less than half an hour away by train, the airport approximately fifty minutes.
So it's as good a place to base yourself while there as any.
Of course, there's always Mongkok, if you want something a bit more 'earthy'.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The name actually refers to a type of fish (green wrasse in English). They can be stir-fried with Chinese mustard greens or bitter gourd. Not particularly good eating, but not at all bad in saucy dishes.
The original name of the island was 'Spring Flower Rain' (春花落).
Generations ago the islanders made their living by farming and fishing, today the island is an important industrial hub and satellite community for Hong Kong.
Other than having been briefly a mecca for local nudists, the most exciting aspect of the island consists of the Tsing Yi Bridge (青衣大橋) and several modern container terminals.
I won't claim that the bridge is a marvel of modern engineering, but it is rather elegant.
A container port is never elegant.
The urban areas of Tsing Yi are by no means lovely. Very modern highrise apartment buildings and housing estates, with centralized shopping areas catering to the surrounding developments. Given the large number of people who live here, it isn't surprising that within the commercial complexes you can find some good eats.
They're easy to get to, as the buses from Kowloon go down the major streets, and the MTR also serves the island.
Air-conditioning is a way of life.
THREE RECOMMENDATIONS
稻香超級漁港 DOU HEUNG CHIU KAP YU GONG
稻香 (Tao Heung Dimsum & Seafood)
Maritime Square, 33 Tsing King Road.
Ground floor, unit G04.
[青衣, 青敬路 33號, 青衣城, 地下 G04 舖]
North-east corner of Tsing Yi Island.
Remarkably good dim sum. They use top notch shrimp for the har gau (蝦餃) and shrimp spring rolls (蝦春卷), and their beef meat balls (牛肉丸) are nice and juicy. Their various rolled sheet noodles (腸粉) are absolutely gorgeous.
If your eating habits include unhealthy stuff, above all try the char siu stuffed pineapple buns (菠蘿叉燒包). As you should know, pineapple buns (菠蘿包) contain no fruit - the name refers to the cracked appearance of the outer surface - and are considered one of the most dangerous snackfoods in Hong Kong, due to high calorie count and high fat content. Adding charsiu (叉燒) as a filling ups the ante considerably, besides making them addictive.
Soup dumplings (湯餃) in sharkfin and abalone broth are a must-try.
Also order the fabulous squab (紅燒乳鴿).
The prices are comparable to fancier dimsummeries in San Francisco, unfortunately the quality is far, far better.
長發大酒樓 CHEUNG FAT TAAI JAU LOU
(Cheung Fat Restaurant)
Cheung Fat Shopping Centre, Cheung Fat Estate,
Fifth floor, unit 501.
[青衣, 長發邨, 長發商場 5樓, 501 號舖]
North shore, near the water.
Nothing really stands out here, but it's a variety of good food at reasonable prices.
Decent dim sum early in the day, dining later.
一粥麵 YAT JUK MIN
(Super Super Congee & Noodles)
Cheung Fat Shopping Centre, Cheung Fat Estate,
Ground floor, unit 319.
[青衣, 長發邨, 長發商場 319 號舖]
North shore, near the water.
Hong Kong style convenience food. Rice porridge, noodle dishes, and sheet noodle.
You might like the 'salty lean-pork pig-blood cubes rice porridge' (鹹瘦肉豬紅粥 haahm sau yiuk chu hong juk). One common problem with many versions of congee that use lean pork is that the meat is cooked till less than appetizing - it's a textural thing. That at times is also a problem here.
But you cannot find pig's blood so easily in San Francisco, and by and large this chain does a decent job.
Have it with a cup of milk-tea (奶茶 nai cha) for a totally HK experience.
There are hundreds of other restaurants located in the shopping centres of the various housing estates, everything from HK style street food, snacks, bakeries, to Sushi, Thai, American fast-food, and high-end dining. The scope for experimentation and casual noshing is quite impressive, all conveniently close together.
Did I mention air-conditioning already?
Air-con, air-con, air-con.
If you're in HK on business, you should also know that there are various good hotels on Tsing Yi Island, many in the area of Tsing Yi Road south of the bridge. Most are mere minutes from the Tsing Yi MTR station.
Tsim Sha Tsui is within easy transport reach, HK Central district is less than half an hour away by train, the airport approximately fifty minutes.
So it's as good a place to base yourself while there as any.
Of course, there's always Mongkok, if you want something a bit more 'earthy'.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
ON THE WATER'S EDGE
The piers were never used anymore, and could not be sold or ‘redeveloped’ either. After independence laws had been passed that limited non-native ('peranakan') ownership and property transfers, and everything that was still legal required voluntary contributions to someone’s retirement fund. In order to maintain the claim of possession, there were caretakers living among the warehouses. Once these had been the poor relatives of the various owners, nowadays most of the occupants were lesser-status male college graduates from the extended family waiting for the chance to emigrate.
The water was too shallow for large ships, too deep for a stilt-village, and the old sailing schooners that used to ply the inter-island trade no longer visited – there was no local swallows nest anymore, and nobody gathered trepang. The natives in the hills had been chased further inland, and consequently not enough resin was harvested to make it worthwhile.
The new jetty, which jutted far out into the sea, berthed freighters shipping rubber or plastic goods and rice from the factories in town, as well as the occasional tanker from further down the coast. You could see the vessels moored out in the straights awaiting their turn. It was a constantly changing view.
A bit further down, where the shore gradually sloped into the breakers, the Sama had built a settlement of clutter, sheds, pontoons, and moored boats. The tide took care of the refuse, but it still stank. People said it was because of what the Japanese had done there over forty years ago.
RESIDENCE AT PUNDO LANANG
It was better on these piers than elsewhere in the city, especially after nightfall, when breezes carried moisture in from the sea. On some days a sudden torrential downpour in mid-afternoon would have dumped much water on the wharf, and the coolness stayed longer, sometimes till sunset.
At night time, in between the warehouses, braziers would be lit, coffee and simple meals prepared. The caretakers lived fairly Spartan lives, they hardly spent the family stipend, and seldom even opened the tins of meat from overseas. Fresh fish bought from the Sama might be grilled – it was good with chilies and bottled condiments. So were the local vegetables, mostly eggplant and amaranthus (daun bayem). Other than occasional forays to the toko they rarely ventured out of the precinct.
The quietness had grown on them, and some who had spent years there had become reclusive.
It was silent. It was… very peaceful.
When there was a breeze, and often this was only after dark, it felt velvety among the sheds and warehouses, and you could hear the rustling of the leaves of a great many potted plants, or the trees at the intersection of the beach road and the cargo path. Seldom strong enough to ruffle hair, but nevertheless a happy-making circumstance. Much nicer were the downpours that happened two or three times a week, suddenly drenching everything with sheets of water for ten or twenty minutes. Once the rain stopped, it took only a few minutes for all the water to evaporate, especially on the beach road and at the new all-concrete jetty, and the blast of heat from the hard surfaces would resume with greater ferocity. But at Pundo Lanang, the moisture did not depart as fast, stray coolness could be felt between the buildings and under the eaves.
Mosquito nets were absolutely essential, because of pockets of unseen standing water, and the lack of air-conditioning. The smoke from cooking fires kept some of the bugs away, as did the trays of smoldering leaves from a local plant that was spicy-sharp and vanilla-like but not sweet (daun apa?), with which the curtains around the bed would be censed ten or twenty minutes before sleep. Sandal wood incense (tjandana) had the same effect.
Cigarettes worked best of all, it was said. But that could have simply been an excuse.
Oil lamps also gave that result. Or maybe they just stank profusely.
Sometimes a dab of minyak kayu putih on the skin was recommended; good for sore muscles, strong smelling – if it didn’t repel the mosquitoes, it would soothe their bites.
I think some people simply used it as an air-freshener, however.
Or even a personal fragrance.
If you weren’t used to the heat in this part of the world you might wake up two or three times a night, drenched in sweat and freezing. A few minutes later you would be dry, and again far too warm.
Go outside and dump a scoop of water over yourself, not so much to cool off (the water was always warm), as to cleanse the skin. Otherwise you will feel gritty and unsocial at daybreak.
At times the splish splish of someone else doing the same could be heard, from very far off. That, plus the almost imperceptible creaking as things all around cooled down, murmured voices from somewhere on the piers, and the sounds of stealthy living things, were what kept the place from being entirely still.
It felt comfortable.
Warm rain. Hungry, not hungry. Greedily happy.
Smoothness. Coffee and fried rice with fish.
Flag down a pedicab to head into town.
Ice with syrup and condensed milk.
Doze in the daytime. Read and smoke cigarettes half the night.
There will be another boat in two weeks.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The water was too shallow for large ships, too deep for a stilt-village, and the old sailing schooners that used to ply the inter-island trade no longer visited – there was no local swallows nest anymore, and nobody gathered trepang. The natives in the hills had been chased further inland, and consequently not enough resin was harvested to make it worthwhile.
The new jetty, which jutted far out into the sea, berthed freighters shipping rubber or plastic goods and rice from the factories in town, as well as the occasional tanker from further down the coast. You could see the vessels moored out in the straights awaiting their turn. It was a constantly changing view.
A bit further down, where the shore gradually sloped into the breakers, the Sama had built a settlement of clutter, sheds, pontoons, and moored boats. The tide took care of the refuse, but it still stank. People said it was because of what the Japanese had done there over forty years ago.
RESIDENCE AT PUNDO LANANG
It was better on these piers than elsewhere in the city, especially after nightfall, when breezes carried moisture in from the sea. On some days a sudden torrential downpour in mid-afternoon would have dumped much water on the wharf, and the coolness stayed longer, sometimes till sunset.
At night time, in between the warehouses, braziers would be lit, coffee and simple meals prepared. The caretakers lived fairly Spartan lives, they hardly spent the family stipend, and seldom even opened the tins of meat from overseas. Fresh fish bought from the Sama might be grilled – it was good with chilies and bottled condiments. So were the local vegetables, mostly eggplant and amaranthus (daun bayem). Other than occasional forays to the toko they rarely ventured out of the precinct.
The quietness had grown on them, and some who had spent years there had become reclusive.
It was silent. It was… very peaceful.
When there was a breeze, and often this was only after dark, it felt velvety among the sheds and warehouses, and you could hear the rustling of the leaves of a great many potted plants, or the trees at the intersection of the beach road and the cargo path. Seldom strong enough to ruffle hair, but nevertheless a happy-making circumstance. Much nicer were the downpours that happened two or three times a week, suddenly drenching everything with sheets of water for ten or twenty minutes. Once the rain stopped, it took only a few minutes for all the water to evaporate, especially on the beach road and at the new all-concrete jetty, and the blast of heat from the hard surfaces would resume with greater ferocity. But at Pundo Lanang, the moisture did not depart as fast, stray coolness could be felt between the buildings and under the eaves.
Mosquito nets were absolutely essential, because of pockets of unseen standing water, and the lack of air-conditioning. The smoke from cooking fires kept some of the bugs away, as did the trays of smoldering leaves from a local plant that was spicy-sharp and vanilla-like but not sweet (daun apa?), with which the curtains around the bed would be censed ten or twenty minutes before sleep. Sandal wood incense (tjandana) had the same effect.
Cigarettes worked best of all, it was said. But that could have simply been an excuse.
Oil lamps also gave that result. Or maybe they just stank profusely.
Sometimes a dab of minyak kayu putih on the skin was recommended; good for sore muscles, strong smelling – if it didn’t repel the mosquitoes, it would soothe their bites.
I think some people simply used it as an air-freshener, however.
Or even a personal fragrance.
If you weren’t used to the heat in this part of the world you might wake up two or three times a night, drenched in sweat and freezing. A few minutes later you would be dry, and again far too warm.
Go outside and dump a scoop of water over yourself, not so much to cool off (the water was always warm), as to cleanse the skin. Otherwise you will feel gritty and unsocial at daybreak.
At times the splish splish of someone else doing the same could be heard, from very far off. That, plus the almost imperceptible creaking as things all around cooled down, murmured voices from somewhere on the piers, and the sounds of stealthy living things, were what kept the place from being entirely still.
It felt comfortable.
Warm rain. Hungry, not hungry. Greedily happy.
Smoothness. Coffee and fried rice with fish.
Flag down a pedicab to head into town.
Ice with syrup and condensed milk.
Doze in the daytime. Read and smoke cigarettes half the night.
There will be another boat in two weeks.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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All you are allowed to bring into Hong Kong is one open pack of cigarettes with one smoke missing, OR two cigars of any type, OR one opened ...
