In hindsight I am surprised that I am still alive. When I was barely out of my teens I visited war-zones on vacation, which, if you think about it, was not quite a sensible thing to do. But as a typical young man I thought that life was endless; surely I would live forever?
It has been a while since I took such risks.
Probably a good thing.
I was always in awe of my father, who before he was even twenty was flying bombers in the good fight. Three years of that. A few years later he went to sea on tankers, with the earnings of which he paid his passage through college and an aeronautical engineering degree.
People of that generation lived more alive.
As he grew older he became a very civilized person.
Well read, informed, calm, and detail oriented.
There was good reason to admire him.
I am fairly sure that in some respects I do not measure up.
I could have done far better with myself.
But the result is somewhat passable.
I've matured along the way.
I regret very little.
Sambuangan, Basilan, Jolo.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, March 10, 2017
Thursday, March 09, 2017
I KNEW SHE WAS A FLOOZY!
It is a very good thing my apartment mate does not always voice what goes through her mind, because innocent bystanders might be shocked. Not only will she voice for the monkeys, but she also talks back at the television. Which surprises the monkeys, who are arguing about bananas.
This was not what they expected.
"There there", I will exclaim, thus continuing my long tradition of ineffective but comforting utterances, "there there".
They were convinced that what they truly needed was banana daiquiris. And bananas flambé. And banana wazzoo. Neither of the two flesh and blood creatures have met their requirements. All of this, more or less, pursuant a coworker of hers who has a mental thing for William Tell.
No, not the overture. William Tell and the apple.
Which oddly relates to European royalty.
I too get to hear strange things.
But I am used to it.
ATTENTION ABUNDANCE DISORDER
My apartment mate is extremely intelligent, but she's also a typical Asperger type. Which means that multiple strands of conversation will be restarted at odd moments, often when not expected. She is also somewhat anti-social, and rather shy, in consequence of which she expresses herself best when voicing for the stuffed animals, all of whom have distinct personalities, and strange food preferences.
So help me, I have NO idea what a banana wazzoo is.
Something tells me I had better not ask.
I'll be asked to provide it.
This evening my apartment mate was watching an old black and white teevee series while I surfed the internet for further evidence of the sheer ineptitude of our current government. At one point, a blonde was snogging, and my apartment mate hollered "aha, I knew she was a floozy!"
This had been preceded by voices arguing about bananas.
And was followed by the coworker.
She's actually quite sane, but conversationally multi-tasks. I flatter myself that only a genius could follow all of her different trains of thought.
Which would be me, of course, but it actually isn't difficult.
Monkeys: often present in the background.
Coworkers: quite a pain the gand.
Teevee blondes: messy.
I almost never talk about work or my colleagues. Though there are times when I would like to strangle someone. And I avoid both bananas and blondes. Bananas make me itch.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
This was not what they expected.
"There there", I will exclaim, thus continuing my long tradition of ineffective but comforting utterances, "there there".
They were convinced that what they truly needed was banana daiquiris. And bananas flambé. And banana wazzoo. Neither of the two flesh and blood creatures have met their requirements. All of this, more or less, pursuant a coworker of hers who has a mental thing for William Tell.
No, not the overture. William Tell and the apple.
Which oddly relates to European royalty.
I too get to hear strange things.
But I am used to it.
ATTENTION ABUNDANCE DISORDER
My apartment mate is extremely intelligent, but she's also a typical Asperger type. Which means that multiple strands of conversation will be restarted at odd moments, often when not expected. She is also somewhat anti-social, and rather shy, in consequence of which she expresses herself best when voicing for the stuffed animals, all of whom have distinct personalities, and strange food preferences.
So help me, I have NO idea what a banana wazzoo is.
Something tells me I had better not ask.
I'll be asked to provide it.
This evening my apartment mate was watching an old black and white teevee series while I surfed the internet for further evidence of the sheer ineptitude of our current government. At one point, a blonde was snogging, and my apartment mate hollered "aha, I knew she was a floozy!"
This had been preceded by voices arguing about bananas.
And was followed by the coworker.
She's actually quite sane, but conversationally multi-tasks. I flatter myself that only a genius could follow all of her different trains of thought.
Which would be me, of course, but it actually isn't difficult.
Monkeys: often present in the background.
Coworkers: quite a pain the gand.
Teevee blondes: messy.
I almost never talk about work or my colleagues. Though there are times when I would like to strangle someone. And I avoid both bananas and blondes. Bananas make me itch.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
CARNIVOROUS BLONDES ON TEEVEE
Given a choice between watching truly horrible women being themselves on the boob tube, and seeing Brett and Caitlin discreetly suck face in a dark karaoke bar, what would you rather do? Especially if I told you that while Brett and Caitlin are both rather chunky, they both seem bright and nice? No, I don't know them. Haven't even been formally introduced.
But I sat within hearing distance, and they were within view.
They kissed several times. More than exploratory pecking, but less than full throttle French. Ah, young love. Or lust. Either works.
It was Caitlin's first time drinking Fernet Branca. All the kitchen people she knows talk about the stuff, so she was keen to try it. No, she didn't like the taste. Fernet Branca is a bitter mildly alcoholic digestif containing rhubarb, chamomile, cardamom, galangal, gentian, and elder. In San Francisco it is probably more popular than Bourbon Whiskey.
She rinsed her mouth out with water before kissing Brett once more.
She has a beautiful face. Intelligent eyes.
The truly horrible women ("carnivorous blondes") were Hollywood slags in something my apartment mate was watching. America's fascination with rich bitches behaving badly is inexplicable.
In the case of my apartment mate, it's because it gives her insight into the thought processes of white women, with whom she rather seldom comes in contact, as she does not seek out their company, and is surrounded by crazy Filippinas and neurotic Chinese American women at work.
White women are a mystery. She's Chinese American.
Though there are several women among my relatives, and we are all as white as can be, my kinfolk are non-standard and far away.
Nor am I a good guide to the ways of white women.
My last girlfriend was a Chinese American.
Let us not mention priors.
Even nowadays I am a bad source of information about women, because I haven't dated in several years, and haven't pursued likely young gazelles.
I should watch the television show about the Hollywood slags for pointers, but they are just so repellent that I would far rather not.
I can describe women, as I see a number of them every day, and I can identify the type. But my best relationships are probably with felines.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
But I sat within hearing distance, and they were within view.
They kissed several times. More than exploratory pecking, but less than full throttle French. Ah, young love. Or lust. Either works.
It was Caitlin's first time drinking Fernet Branca. All the kitchen people she knows talk about the stuff, so she was keen to try it. No, she didn't like the taste. Fernet Branca is a bitter mildly alcoholic digestif containing rhubarb, chamomile, cardamom, galangal, gentian, and elder. In San Francisco it is probably more popular than Bourbon Whiskey.
She rinsed her mouth out with water before kissing Brett once more.
She has a beautiful face. Intelligent eyes.
The truly horrible women ("carnivorous blondes") were Hollywood slags in something my apartment mate was watching. America's fascination with rich bitches behaving badly is inexplicable.
In the case of my apartment mate, it's because it gives her insight into the thought processes of white women, with whom she rather seldom comes in contact, as she does not seek out their company, and is surrounded by crazy Filippinas and neurotic Chinese American women at work.
White women are a mystery. She's Chinese American.
Though there are several women among my relatives, and we are all as white as can be, my kinfolk are non-standard and far away.
Nor am I a good guide to the ways of white women.
My last girlfriend was a Chinese American.
Let us not mention priors.
I should watch the television show about the Hollywood slags for pointers, but they are just so repellent that I would far rather not.
I can describe women, as I see a number of them every day, and I can identify the type. But my best relationships are probably with felines.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, March 08, 2017
CONCERNING THE LADIES
Today marks International Women's Day. This blogger is not a woman. Never was, never will be. That's both biological and a matter of personal conviction. It seems appropriate to mention that many people who read posts here aren't either, for probably very similar reasons.
I know that because the most popular essay today AND most of this week has been Difference Between French Cut and High Cut, which I wrote over four years ago for the benefit of confused people.
It is about pretty cotton things.
The folks who read that are most likely men.
What if the uplift happened, and everybody raised to heaven (the one hundred and forty four thousand "select" of Protestant mythology) was female, leaving nothing behind but their cars and their clothes?
A DAY WITHOUT WOMEN
We'd find their panties still warm on the Freeway, scattered around in the wrecks and detritus their salvation had caused.
Not all of them would be pretty cotton things. Women's spiritual worth does not correlate to their taste in underwear. That explains some of the strange (disturbed) garments in the Sears Roebuck catalogues from the sixties and seventies.
Better pray that the End Times never happen, boys, because you never want to see those garments again. Ever.
What I searched for was "Missile Bra", and this was the first thing I found.
Those old Sears Roebuck catalogues were weirder, trust me.
Still, that's a lovely skirt, don't you think?
Imagine finding that on the Freeway, amidst all the screeching car crashes and wrecked empty vehicles. It would fire your imagination.
Women don't wear skirts like that anymore.
[Must mention that a sales slogan on the Bra Doctor's Blog says "lingerie for any occasion -- Bras from A to K cups". A to K? "Okay, sometimes I wear an A, but there are days when a K is more festive, AND I've got somewhere to store my cellphone, lipstick and wallet. Plus a place for spare change!" There are probably women who have that thought all the time.]
Are there situations when just Bra and Panties are appropriate garb?
That depends upon whether it's my purely hypothetical significant other wandering through our dwelling on a bright sunny day, or my equally imaginary teenage daughter away at college possibly "doing things".
You do not need to know further details of those fantasms.
And keep your filthy mind out of the gutter.
Missile bras are now worn primarily by Madonna and men in drag. Bikini briefs with their low waistband are suited to imaginary girlfriends and manga babes, whereas French cuts have high leg openings canted forward, and are ideal for both comfort and a natural look. Full skirts, such as the zesty item in the picture above, were popular from the late forties through the fifties, and made the waist look smaller while hiding the size of the hips. They also are favoured by men in drag. The look is extremely flattering on a woman, less so on most men.
Apparently there's some sort of strike ("a day without a woman") planned for today. It will probably go entirely unnoticed by many people, because as British comedies set in war time have shown us, men are perfectly capable of passing for girls. In every platoon there's at least one fellow who wears female drag well and all the boys love him.
Usually it's the slim young thing with no facial hair yet.
Sometimes it's the regimental sergeant-major.
Rank has its privilege.
Scotsmen should never wear bras and panties. That skirt and those hairy legs are disturbing enough.
PLEASE NOTE:
Acceptable: Briefs, Classic briefs, High-cut briefs, French cuts, Hipsters, Boylegs, Bikini. Marginally okay: Control briefs, Tangas. Unacceptable: Thongs, G-strings.
All of this goes double for the sergeant-major.
Cotton or silk only.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I know that because the most popular essay today AND most of this week has been Difference Between French Cut and High Cut, which I wrote over four years ago for the benefit of confused people.
It is about pretty cotton things.
The folks who read that are most likely men.
What if the uplift happened, and everybody raised to heaven (the one hundred and forty four thousand "select" of Protestant mythology) was female, leaving nothing behind but their cars and their clothes?
A DAY WITHOUT WOMEN
We'd find their panties still warm on the Freeway, scattered around in the wrecks and detritus their salvation had caused.
Not all of them would be pretty cotton things. Women's spiritual worth does not correlate to their taste in underwear. That explains some of the strange (disturbed) garments in the Sears Roebuck catalogues from the sixties and seventies.
Better pray that the End Times never happen, boys, because you never want to see those garments again. Ever.
[SOURCE: The Bra Doctor. Featured in this article: Rocket Bras and the Fifties.]
What I searched for was "Missile Bra", and this was the first thing I found.
Those old Sears Roebuck catalogues were weirder, trust me.
Still, that's a lovely skirt, don't you think?
Imagine finding that on the Freeway, amidst all the screeching car crashes and wrecked empty vehicles. It would fire your imagination.
Women don't wear skirts like that anymore.
[Must mention that a sales slogan on the Bra Doctor's Blog says "lingerie for any occasion -- Bras from A to K cups". A to K? "Okay, sometimes I wear an A, but there are days when a K is more festive, AND I've got somewhere to store my cellphone, lipstick and wallet. Plus a place for spare change!" There are probably women who have that thought all the time.]
Are there situations when just Bra and Panties are appropriate garb?
That depends upon whether it's my purely hypothetical significant other wandering through our dwelling on a bright sunny day, or my equally imaginary teenage daughter away at college possibly "doing things".
You do not need to know further details of those fantasms.
And keep your filthy mind out of the gutter.
Missile bras are now worn primarily by Madonna and men in drag. Bikini briefs with their low waistband are suited to imaginary girlfriends and manga babes, whereas French cuts have high leg openings canted forward, and are ideal for both comfort and a natural look. Full skirts, such as the zesty item in the picture above, were popular from the late forties through the fifties, and made the waist look smaller while hiding the size of the hips. They also are favoured by men in drag. The look is extremely flattering on a woman, less so on most men.
Apparently there's some sort of strike ("a day without a woman") planned for today. It will probably go entirely unnoticed by many people, because as British comedies set in war time have shown us, men are perfectly capable of passing for girls. In every platoon there's at least one fellow who wears female drag well and all the boys love him.
Usually it's the slim young thing with no facial hair yet.
Sometimes it's the regimental sergeant-major.
Rank has its privilege.
Scotsmen should never wear bras and panties. That skirt and those hairy legs are disturbing enough.
PLEASE NOTE:
Acceptable: Briefs, Classic briefs, High-cut briefs, French cuts, Hipsters, Boylegs, Bikini. Marginally okay: Control briefs, Tangas. Unacceptable: Thongs, G-strings.
All of this goes double for the sergeant-major.
Cotton or silk only.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, March 07, 2017
BUT IT'S GORMY!
There was a time when San Francisco wasn't filled with twats worrying about gmos, gluten, meat, and foods not carefully curated by nature types and spiritual people following their bliss by farm dilettantery. You used to be able to eat a hamburger or hotdog every few blocks or so -- the Hungry Hippo was less than a mile away from where I'm sitting now, and there was a Zim's within walking distance -- and intelligent people happily chowed down on nature's protein-rich bounty.
This is no longer the case.
We have less than one tenth the number of hamburger joints, chili dog places, and greasy spoons that we used to have.
A lot of the flavour has gone.
In this city you now have to go to Chinatown for real food. To any place that does NOT cater to a bunch of white folks who work in offices, OR wear weird Guatemalan shmatte.
What I had for lunch was 鹹魚雞粒豆腐飯 and it was delicious. The rice, of course, was a gmo. All rice is, even that unhusked brown crap that health freaks eat. There was animal protein abundantly present in the dish, as well as salt fish (cancer!), and tofu (man-boobs! shrunken testicles! thyroid!).
A normal person would need a high-colonic and a juice cleanse after this.
As well as Tibetan prayers, and chakra realignment.
I have super-human powers.
I am not a normal person.
I can eat real food.
Normal people will not touch a hamburger unless it is gormy ("gourmet"). And made with beef from stress-free bovines who were cuddled till the moment they died, served on an artisanal bun with baby greens.
Forget Grey Poupon, that's SO last century.
Stone ground Belgian Ale mustard.
Heirloom tomato ketchup.
Gormy ("gourmet") used to mean that it was rather good, and fun to eat. Now it implies an awakened soul, and meaningful creativity as applied to mundane ingredients, making them super high-fallutin', and a lot more expensive. Pus tablecloths and exotic bottle water.
No dolphins or native people were killed to make this.
And part of our profits go to a good cause.
Our waiters are all artists.
Gormy.
You know, that may be the first time they served 鹹魚雞粒豆腐飯 to a Caucasian, judging by their reaction, and the fact that they don't cater to our type. We ask too many stupid questions, cluster in high traffic zones, and disapprove of nearly everything. We will include them in our learning experience, and if they were honest they'd indicate that this did not make their day. We are too high maintenance to make it worthwhile.
I've always like 鹹魚 because of the saveur it adds.
And the combination with 雞 is traditional.
It also goes well with 五花腩。
It's gourmet.
I love my Caucasian kinfolk and friends, but there are very few of them whom I will trust around food. They don't know how to eat properly.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
We have less than one tenth the number of hamburger joints, chili dog places, and greasy spoons that we used to have.
A lot of the flavour has gone.
In this city you now have to go to Chinatown for real food. To any place that does NOT cater to a bunch of white folks who work in offices, OR wear weird Guatemalan shmatte.
What I had for lunch was 鹹魚雞粒豆腐飯 and it was delicious. The rice, of course, was a gmo. All rice is, even that unhusked brown crap that health freaks eat. There was animal protein abundantly present in the dish, as well as salt fish (cancer!), and tofu (man-boobs! shrunken testicles! thyroid!).
A normal person would need a high-colonic and a juice cleanse after this.
As well as Tibetan prayers, and chakra realignment.
I have super-human powers.
I am not a normal person.
I can eat real food.
Normal people will not touch a hamburger unless it is gormy ("gourmet"). And made with beef from stress-free bovines who were cuddled till the moment they died, served on an artisanal bun with baby greens.
Forget Grey Poupon, that's SO last century.
Stone ground Belgian Ale mustard.
Heirloom tomato ketchup.
Gormy ("gourmet") used to mean that it was rather good, and fun to eat. Now it implies an awakened soul, and meaningful creativity as applied to mundane ingredients, making them super high-fallutin', and a lot more expensive. Pus tablecloths and exotic bottle water.
No dolphins or native people were killed to make this.
And part of our profits go to a good cause.
Our waiters are all artists.
Gormy.
You know, that may be the first time they served 鹹魚雞粒豆腐飯 to a Caucasian, judging by their reaction, and the fact that they don't cater to our type. We ask too many stupid questions, cluster in high traffic zones, and disapprove of nearly everything. We will include them in our learning experience, and if they were honest they'd indicate that this did not make their day. We are too high maintenance to make it worthwhile.
I've always like 鹹魚 because of the saveur it adds.
And the combination with 雞 is traditional.
It also goes well with 五花腩。
It's gourmet.
I love my Caucasian kinfolk and friends, but there are very few of them whom I will trust around food. They don't know how to eat properly.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
GOALS, ASPIRATIONS, AND DRIVE
Recently I remarked that middle age meant uncertainty about whether one was becoming a grand old fart or a boring old fossil. And I now have reason to suspect that some of my friends, in an excess of compromise, would vote for "old farting fossil". Which to them, in their brash and giddy youthfulness, might seem the best of both worlds.
I am not pleased by this.
It is less than flattering.
There are times when I wish my friends would recognize what a stellar genius I am, my heavens the world has not seen anything like it, worship worship worship and express adulation, but in fact I am not a genius of any kind, nor have I actually accomplished anything earthshaking, and I've wasted quite a few years by not doing spectacular things.
Still, "farting old fossil" is not what I hoped for.
Not any one of those terms, I think.
Hardly a game plan.
I am young enough to pay it no mind. The child within may have died long ago, battered to death by the angry dolphin within rebelling at the coercion of societal norms, but there is no existenzangst or selbstzweifel.
Anyone can be king of their own dysfunktionalität.
[Especially if they know some German words.]
AUF EINEM TAG DER RUHE
I've got pipe tobacco and hot coffee. The apartment is quiet, as my apartment mate has gone off to work. And I may get a haircut today. Besides a lunch of dimsum or roast meats over rice, I have little else planned for my weekend. I might do laundry, or I might not.
Perhaps I will channel for a badger or a toad.
Later I will browse wikipedia entries.
For things I did not know.
Caffeinated beverages. Smoking. Reading. A nice warm bath. Tasty things to eat. Enjoy the sunlight. Listen in on the humans. Sometimes make sneering or chortling sounds as appropriate.
Postpone growing up.
Be a fearsome forest critter.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I am not pleased by this.
It is less than flattering.
There are times when I wish my friends would recognize what a stellar genius I am, my heavens the world has not seen anything like it, worship worship worship and express adulation, but in fact I am not a genius of any kind, nor have I actually accomplished anything earthshaking, and I've wasted quite a few years by not doing spectacular things.
Still, "farting old fossil" is not what I hoped for.
Not any one of those terms, I think.
Hardly a game plan.
I am young enough to pay it no mind. The child within may have died long ago, battered to death by the angry dolphin within rebelling at the coercion of societal norms, but there is no existenzangst or selbstzweifel.
Anyone can be king of their own dysfunktionalität.
[Especially if they know some German words.]
AUF EINEM TAG DER RUHE
I've got pipe tobacco and hot coffee. The apartment is quiet, as my apartment mate has gone off to work. And I may get a haircut today. Besides a lunch of dimsum or roast meats over rice, I have little else planned for my weekend. I might do laundry, or I might not.
Perhaps I will channel for a badger or a toad.
Later I will browse wikipedia entries.
For things I did not know.
Caffeinated beverages. Smoking. Reading. A nice warm bath. Tasty things to eat. Enjoy the sunlight. Listen in on the humans. Sometimes make sneering or chortling sounds as appropriate.
Postpone growing up.
Be a fearsome forest critter.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, March 06, 2017
FISH BALL NOODLE THERAPY
Fishballs, yellow curry paste, slivered green bell pepper, chopped bacon, celery, onion, ginger, hot chilies, and noodles. No, I do not know what brand the fishballs were, but the noodles were "nourish life". From an estimable manufactury somewhere in Toishan, Canton.
養生麵 -- "nutritional noodle".
It was a great dinner.
See, I've eaten convenient stuff while at work these past few days, so there was reason to rebel against the suburban sandwich muck of Marin.
This is what rebellion looks like: 黃咖哩魚圓麵
['wong gaa lei yü yuen min']
Imagine a picture here of a large bowl with brilliant yellow broth, creamy looking wheat noodles flecked with spice, green brushstrokes, and pearly balls of fishy goodness. The bacon was just to grease the pan, though it marvelously added flavour. The hot chilies were dry and red.
It looked beautiful, and it tasted beautiful.
I don't use a cell phone, so there is no food porn here.
But you should just imagine it yourself.
A mental photo.
The inner man is splendidly nourished.
The fishball-fed inner man will go trundling off to Chinatown tomorrow on his day off, to have somesnackipoos and milk tea, smoke a pipe or two, browse a bit, and get his sanity back.
Wednesday is also a day off. And it likewise will involve Chinatown, nibbles, tea, and tobacco. But I should be much saner then.
No howling at the moon this time.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
養生麵 -- "nutritional noodle".
It was a great dinner.
See, I've eaten convenient stuff while at work these past few days, so there was reason to rebel against the suburban sandwich muck of Marin.
This is what rebellion looks like: 黃咖哩魚圓麵
['wong gaa lei yü yuen min']
Imagine a picture here of a large bowl with brilliant yellow broth, creamy looking wheat noodles flecked with spice, green brushstrokes, and pearly balls of fishy goodness. The bacon was just to grease the pan, though it marvelously added flavour. The hot chilies were dry and red.
It looked beautiful, and it tasted beautiful.
I don't use a cell phone, so there is no food porn here.
But you should just imagine it yourself.
A mental photo.
The inner man is splendidly nourished.
The fishball-fed inner man will go trundling off to Chinatown tomorrow on his day off, to have somesnackipoos and milk tea, smoke a pipe or two, browse a bit, and get his sanity back.
Wednesday is also a day off. And it likewise will involve Chinatown, nibbles, tea, and tobacco. But I should be much saner then.
No howling at the moon this time.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
THE SINGULAR MAN AND LOVELY SMALL BUNS
Really, what could be better for breakfast than 叉燒包 heated up in the microwave? The baked ones are the approximate dimension of breasts, and unlike steamed buns they are lighter, airier, and a darn sight sexier.
There were two of them, a perfect pair. Also like breasts!
They are gone, but their memory lingers.
A perfect quick nibble.
Charsiu bao (叉燒包) come in two varieties, the regular steamed ones, and smaller sweeter baked ones. The later are sometimes called 叉燒餐包 ('cha siu chaan baau'), 烤叉燒包 ('haau cha siu baau'), or 焗嘅叉燒包 ('guk ge cha siu baau'). They are very widely available here in San Francisco, particularly where hard working folk need a quick bite to eat while running from the office bitch in charge of their life (lunch).
In actual fact they are a perfect way to start the day.
Far better than pan-fried muck and cereal.
And great with hot sauce.
I bought some in Chinatown while shopping, and intended to share them with my apartment mate, but it turns out I ate them all myself.
Maybe I will buy more tomorrow.
Shan't mention the similarity to breasts. She already thinks of me as somewhat pervy, don't want to give her any more evidence.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
There were two of them, a perfect pair. Also like breasts!
They are gone, but their memory lingers.
A perfect quick nibble.
Charsiu bao (叉燒包) come in two varieties, the regular steamed ones, and smaller sweeter baked ones. The later are sometimes called 叉燒餐包 ('cha siu chaan baau'), 烤叉燒包 ('haau cha siu baau'), or 焗嘅叉燒包 ('guk ge cha siu baau'). They are very widely available here in San Francisco, particularly where hard working folk need a quick bite to eat while running from the office bitch in charge of their life (lunch).
In actual fact they are a perfect way to start the day.
Far better than pan-fried muck and cereal.
And great with hot sauce.
I bought some in Chinatown while shopping, and intended to share them with my apartment mate, but it turns out I ate them all myself.
Maybe I will buy more tomorrow.
Shan't mention the similarity to breasts. She already thinks of me as somewhat pervy, don't want to give her any more evidence.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, March 05, 2017
THEIR GIDDY TWIRLING
While having a drink at a karaoke place earlier this evening I realized that many of the liberal pro-Israel people with whom I used to associate have over time become Netanyahuist Trumpite putzes. Not coincidentally, many of them are no longer associates, in real life or on Facebook.
Two or three years ago this would have saddened me. Now I am actually rather cheerful over not being included in simchas, chaggim, yortzeiten, and other significant events. One of them nearly five years ago turned the private mailinglist into a personal vehicle for anti-Obama gun-nut paranoia, another one wailed about her goddam feelings and her cats (to whom she was allergic, poor little asthmatic lesbian wuss) all the time.
You precious little rightwing snowflakes.
Did Obama seize your guns?
Kill your kitty?
I'm older. More mature. Less patient. Still not likely to compromise.
And Netanyahu is still a dick.
I prefer the company of younger people with lively minds, who are not so rigid in their mental constipation that their knickers get all twisty because their emotions have taken up residence in their colons. People who can, even if not fully logical, still engage their wits when enraged, rather than their weepy whiny "I'm horribly offended" sides.
Several of my former associates need high-colonic irrigation.
To just get over their hyper-sensitive selves.
Life is good. Disassociated life is better.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Two or three years ago this would have saddened me. Now I am actually rather cheerful over not being included in simchas, chaggim, yortzeiten, and other significant events. One of them nearly five years ago turned the private mailinglist into a personal vehicle for anti-Obama gun-nut paranoia, another one wailed about her goddam feelings and her cats (to whom she was allergic, poor little asthmatic lesbian wuss) all the time.
You precious little rightwing snowflakes.
Did Obama seize your guns?
Kill your kitty?
I'm older. More mature. Less patient. Still not likely to compromise.
And Netanyahu is still a dick.
I prefer the company of younger people with lively minds, who are not so rigid in their mental constipation that their knickers get all twisty because their emotions have taken up residence in their colons. People who can, even if not fully logical, still engage their wits when enraged, rather than their weepy whiny "I'm horribly offended" sides.
Several of my former associates need high-colonic irrigation.
To just get over their hyper-sensitive selves.
Life is good. Disassociated life is better.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
THE SINGULAR MAN AND HIS MELONS
There are times when the singular man realizes that his best friend is a skillet. Just heat it up, gild some sliced onion plus ginger, toss in the thickly sliced 節瓜 for a minute or two, sherry to seethe, then add the chunks of 叉燒 and a dollop of 蠔油 and quickly reduce till glazy.
Serve over rice.
One can do the same with thinly sliced bitter melon. Or zucchini.
Respectively, 涼瓜炒叉燒 and 夏南瓜炒叉燒。
Yes, there are times when I would like to take my skillet to bed with me, and keep it warm during the frigid nights such as we are having now. It must get awfully lonely in that cold cold kitchen when the lights are out.
Middle of the night existential angst and all that.
Oh poor lonesome cast iron!
But a skillet is not a person, of course. If she were I might have to make twice as much 節瓜炒叉燒 so that she too could eat.
Plus she'd mess up my pristine bed sheets.
So she stays in the kitchen.
Fuzzy melon (節瓜 'jit gwa') does not really need to be peeled before cooking, it just looks nicer that way. Charsiu pork (叉燒) is a superlative ingredient easily picked up from a Chinatown roast meats place on Friday, before the working weekend. Oyster sauce (蠔油 'ho yau') is a strictly Cantonese invention, and may not even be available wherever the critical mass of Cantonese people has not yet been achieved; places like Peking, Hot Pot Inner Mongolia, Fudgebucket Manchuria (Liaoning), or the savage wilds of New Jersey and Okely Homey.
I love my cast iron skillets.
They comfort me.
When I came home this evening there were several small stuffed animals arguing on my bed, and my apartment mate was in her room curled up reading. Like yesterday, she spent most of the day dozing. Tomorrow both of us work -- she'll probably be grumbling early in the morning before she heads out -- and Tuesday it is my turn to be a lazy slug all warm and toasty. To which I am looking forward.
One tseet gwa, if of lesser size, is sufficient for a singular man. If it's larger it can serve two. But only person in this apartment is fond of tseet gwa.
It has a clean fresh taste, and the flesh is very beautiful when cooked. Cucumber can be substituted, as well as yellow summer squash.
Wikipedia seems to think that it is the same as wintermelon (冬瓜 'tung gwa'), but I have my doubts about that.
In the interests of honesty, I should mention that my bedsheets are not quite pristine. My bed has a rug and a down comforter, no hanky panky goes on in there, and I wore out my sheets over the years. As a singular man there is no need for refinement, or sometimes even attention to detail. Just as long as everything is reasonably clean and doesn't smell bad.
There's a dense mound of books along the lefthand side. It's almost a reference library. There is no room for a frypan there.
I do not eat in bed.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Serve over rice.
One can do the same with thinly sliced bitter melon. Or zucchini.
Respectively, 涼瓜炒叉燒 and 夏南瓜炒叉燒。
Yes, there are times when I would like to take my skillet to bed with me, and keep it warm during the frigid nights such as we are having now. It must get awfully lonely in that cold cold kitchen when the lights are out.
Middle of the night existential angst and all that.
Oh poor lonesome cast iron!
But a skillet is not a person, of course. If she were I might have to make twice as much 節瓜炒叉燒 so that she too could eat.
Plus she'd mess up my pristine bed sheets.
So she stays in the kitchen.
Fuzzy melon (節瓜 'jit gwa') does not really need to be peeled before cooking, it just looks nicer that way. Charsiu pork (叉燒) is a superlative ingredient easily picked up from a Chinatown roast meats place on Friday, before the working weekend. Oyster sauce (蠔油 'ho yau') is a strictly Cantonese invention, and may not even be available wherever the critical mass of Cantonese people has not yet been achieved; places like Peking, Hot Pot Inner Mongolia, Fudgebucket Manchuria (Liaoning), or the savage wilds of New Jersey and Okely Homey.
I love my cast iron skillets.
They comfort me.
When I came home this evening there were several small stuffed animals arguing on my bed, and my apartment mate was in her room curled up reading. Like yesterday, she spent most of the day dozing. Tomorrow both of us work -- she'll probably be grumbling early in the morning before she heads out -- and Tuesday it is my turn to be a lazy slug all warm and toasty. To which I am looking forward.
One tseet gwa, if of lesser size, is sufficient for a singular man. If it's larger it can serve two. But only person in this apartment is fond of tseet gwa.
It has a clean fresh taste, and the flesh is very beautiful when cooked. Cucumber can be substituted, as well as yellow summer squash.
Wikipedia seems to think that it is the same as wintermelon (冬瓜 'tung gwa'), but I have my doubts about that.
In the interests of honesty, I should mention that my bedsheets are not quite pristine. My bed has a rug and a down comforter, no hanky panky goes on in there, and I wore out my sheets over the years. As a singular man there is no need for refinement, or sometimes even attention to detail. Just as long as everything is reasonably clean and doesn't smell bad.
There's a dense mound of books along the lefthand side. It's almost a reference library. There is no room for a frypan there.
I do not eat in bed.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
READ THIS FOR BREAKFAST
My readers are dear to me, because without even trying they tell me the best way to grab attention. And, what with being an egomaniac single man and rather a loner, that is something I desperately crave. Oh yes.
Adulate me!
I am waving a roast bird over my head at this very moment!
"How admirable", you will surely exclaim.
The posts listed below represent what visitors are reading right now.
Four pieces about food, versus two which probably drew in bent souls.
If they are in San Francisco, they are staring at the screen with bleary eyes wondering what possessed them, and whether there's any meaning to life.
Which there is, but maybe not theirs.
Popular now, in order:
BEST ROAST DUCK IN SAN FRANCISCO
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2011/11/best-roast-duck-in-san-francisco.html
Nov 4, 2011
A straightforward appreciation of some fine eating.
LET ME SEE YOUR NIPPLES
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2011/04/let-me-see-your-nipples.html
Apr 9, 2011
Nipples can be very pretty. But there are none on this post. Which is a deliberate omission. Despite being a dirty-minded old coot, I run a very clean blog. It is suitable for the gentler sex, children, and old people.
Plus puppies.
BEAN CURD COUNTRY
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2017/03/bean-curd-country.html
Mar 2, 2017
This essay about food may have peeved a Mandarin speaker. Which is dandy. In this blogger's universe Mandarin speakers should be peeved.
HAM SAP LO - THE CANTONESE PERVERT
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2011/04/ham-sap-lo-cantonese-pervert.html
Apr 27, 2011
Not a how-to, but it does give some valuable pointers on what it takes to be a rather loathsome human being.
WHEN THERE AREN'T ENOUGH DUTCHMEN
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2017/03/when-there-arent-enough-dutchmen.html
Mar 3, 2017
It's about herring, illustrated with a lovely painting by Pieter Claesz.
That by itself shows you it's good stuff.
CANTONESE ROAST GOOSE http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2012/12/cantonese-roast-goose.html
Dec 26, 2012
When properly done, a roast goose is a lovely and orgasmic experience! Dense flesh with the right balance of greasy goodness and meaty delight. Fun for the whole family, and though there is enough for everybody, you don't want them there! You and your sweety will eat it all by yourselves!
Go away! It's ours, bitches!
On the whole I prefer the culinarily curious over the lasciviously inclined, more so in real life than here. Second-hand lascivity is not an exciting basis for discussion, but someone licking her chops while fondly recollecting a luscious oily duck, or a glistening piece of fresh sweet fish, oh boy!
Some people look so dreamy when they talk about food.
I haven't seen nipples or herring in a very long time.
But I enjoy roast fowl fairly often.
Life is good.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Adulate me!
I am waving a roast bird over my head at this very moment!
"How admirable", you will surely exclaim.
The posts listed below represent what visitors are reading right now.
Four pieces about food, versus two which probably drew in bent souls.
If they are in San Francisco, they are staring at the screen with bleary eyes wondering what possessed them, and whether there's any meaning to life.
Which there is, but maybe not theirs.
Popular now, in order:
BEST ROAST DUCK IN SAN FRANCISCO
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2011/11/best-roast-duck-in-san-francisco.html
Nov 4, 2011
A straightforward appreciation of some fine eating.
LET ME SEE YOUR NIPPLES
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2011/04/let-me-see-your-nipples.html
Apr 9, 2011
Nipples can be very pretty. But there are none on this post. Which is a deliberate omission. Despite being a dirty-minded old coot, I run a very clean blog. It is suitable for the gentler sex, children, and old people.
Plus puppies.
BEAN CURD COUNTRY
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2017/03/bean-curd-country.html
Mar 2, 2017
This essay about food may have peeved a Mandarin speaker. Which is dandy. In this blogger's universe Mandarin speakers should be peeved.
HAM SAP LO - THE CANTONESE PERVERT
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2011/04/ham-sap-lo-cantonese-pervert.html
Apr 27, 2011
Not a how-to, but it does give some valuable pointers on what it takes to be a rather loathsome human being.
WHEN THERE AREN'T ENOUGH DUTCHMEN
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2017/03/when-there-arent-enough-dutchmen.html
Mar 3, 2017
It's about herring, illustrated with a lovely painting by Pieter Claesz.
That by itself shows you it's good stuff.
CANTONESE ROAST GOOSE http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2012/12/cantonese-roast-goose.html
Dec 26, 2012
When properly done, a roast goose is a lovely and orgasmic experience! Dense flesh with the right balance of greasy goodness and meaty delight. Fun for the whole family, and though there is enough for everybody, you don't want them there! You and your sweety will eat it all by yourselves!
Go away! It's ours, bitches!
On the whole I prefer the culinarily curious over the lasciviously inclined, more so in real life than here. Second-hand lascivity is not an exciting basis for discussion, but someone licking her chops while fondly recollecting a luscious oily duck, or a glistening piece of fresh sweet fish, oh boy!
Some people look so dreamy when they talk about food.
I haven't seen nipples or herring in a very long time.
But I enjoy roast fowl fairly often.
Life is good.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, March 04, 2017
OUR FOOD ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH!
One of the frequently galling things is when you're eating lunch and people walk in, look around intently, and walk out. Without buying anything. None of the dimsum, none of the pastries, none of the food on the steam table.
This isn't just white folks either. Chinese do it also.
All of this is quite fresh, tasty, and excellent.
What do you mean it doesn't suit you?
There are window photos.
You saw them.
三餸一湯
Rice, mui choi kau yiuk, curried potato, and mixed vegetable with pork bits and a little bit of salt fish. Plus a bowl of broth. A full meal, home style, and infinitely satisfying. Saam song yat tong: three dishes one soup!
Probably over a dozen choices for your three dishes -- all of which are very nice, by the way -- plus rice and a bowl of lo fo tong (老火湯).
They also have some very good dimsum items. Plus jook, yautiu, noodles, and pastries. They're clean, the quality is good, and it's all ridiculously inexpensive, so you snobs and trolls should not act so snooty.
Regular-ass white Americans do it because they are overly fastidious, don't know what anything is, and have a mental block about asking questions.
Europeans do ask questions, but do not understand answers, and don't have a clue what anything is anyhow, which disturbs them very much.
Chinese American young people somehow consider themselves lost, marooned in a throwback to the stone age, gawd!
And Mandarin speakers often quail at the concept of food that they think they know but don't.
The average Mexican American walks in, sees stuff they've never eaten before, and promptly points at something and says "uno, por favor".
Commendably open-minded, and keenly fascinated by los comestibles de las otras personas. The mouth is an investigative organ, and will carefully analyze whatever is put into it.
I actually have a confession: Unlike the white Americans, locally born Chinese Americans, Europeans, and Mainland immigrants, I can speak enough Cantonese to find out what that stuff is, read food related characters absolutely fluently (even the simplified script crap), have researched a lot of things extensively, and am more than average open minded about food.
Heck, I was eating eel, snails, and raw herring as a child.
And was fondly acquainted with chilies.
As well as shrimp paste.
So I really shouldn't sneer at the less fortunate. That being regular-ass white Americans, country side-Euries, and the blinkered second generation.
Mandarin-only northerners remain fair game, though.
They're often wrong about everything.
At least buy something!
Just gawking is rude.
I'm eating here.
And you know, it's rather insulting when you come in, don't say a word, stare carefully at everything, and then walk out. Not even a "howdy".
How do you know it's not up to your high standards?
Did you just guess that before you came in?
You were expecting lobster?
梅菜扣肉
Mui choi kau yiuk is very easy to make, and totally worth it. Use a large whole chunk, OR thick slices of pork belly (五花肉，五花腩 'ng faa yiuk', 'ng faa naam'; five flower meat, five flower loin). Rinse, rub it dry with a little salt (optional), gild on one or two sides in a hot pan. Add a little soy sauce and some cooking sherry or rice wine, plus a handful or two of soaked and squeezed-out snow vegetable (梅菜 'mui choi') to the pan, as well as some water or stock, and simmer over low heat till the meat is fall-apart tender. This, as you can see, is simple. There are more complicated ways to make it, and other ingredients can be optionally added, but essentially it is just fatty meat and a little pickled vegetable.
If you add extra water you can also dump in sliced or whole champignons to stew along. Plus a peppercorn or two and a shot of hard liquor.
Non-rice eaters should have warm crusty sourdough or French bread to sop up the juices. Or a mantou. They also have that.
Don't forget the Sriracha sauce.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
This isn't just white folks either. Chinese do it also.
All of this is quite fresh, tasty, and excellent.
What do you mean it doesn't suit you?
There are window photos.
You saw them.
三餸一湯
Rice, mui choi kau yiuk, curried potato, and mixed vegetable with pork bits and a little bit of salt fish. Plus a bowl of broth. A full meal, home style, and infinitely satisfying. Saam song yat tong: three dishes one soup!
Probably over a dozen choices for your three dishes -- all of which are very nice, by the way -- plus rice and a bowl of lo fo tong (老火湯).
They also have some very good dimsum items. Plus jook, yautiu, noodles, and pastries. They're clean, the quality is good, and it's all ridiculously inexpensive, so you snobs and trolls should not act so snooty.
Regular-ass white Americans do it because they are overly fastidious, don't know what anything is, and have a mental block about asking questions.
Europeans do ask questions, but do not understand answers, and don't have a clue what anything is anyhow, which disturbs them very much.
Chinese American young people somehow consider themselves lost, marooned in a throwback to the stone age, gawd!
And Mandarin speakers often quail at the concept of food that they think they know but don't.
The average Mexican American walks in, sees stuff they've never eaten before, and promptly points at something and says "uno, por favor".
Commendably open-minded, and keenly fascinated by los comestibles de las otras personas. The mouth is an investigative organ, and will carefully analyze whatever is put into it.
I actually have a confession: Unlike the white Americans, locally born Chinese Americans, Europeans, and Mainland immigrants, I can speak enough Cantonese to find out what that stuff is, read food related characters absolutely fluently (even the simplified script crap), have researched a lot of things extensively, and am more than average open minded about food.
Heck, I was eating eel, snails, and raw herring as a child.
And was fondly acquainted with chilies.
As well as shrimp paste.
So I really shouldn't sneer at the less fortunate. That being regular-ass white Americans, country side-Euries, and the blinkered second generation.
Mandarin-only northerners remain fair game, though.
They're often wrong about everything.
At least buy something!
Just gawking is rude.
I'm eating here.
And you know, it's rather insulting when you come in, don't say a word, stare carefully at everything, and then walk out. Not even a "howdy".
How do you know it's not up to your high standards?
Did you just guess that before you came in?
You were expecting lobster?
梅菜扣肉
Mui choi kau yiuk is very easy to make, and totally worth it. Use a large whole chunk, OR thick slices of pork belly (五花肉，五花腩 'ng faa yiuk', 'ng faa naam'; five flower meat, five flower loin). Rinse, rub it dry with a little salt (optional), gild on one or two sides in a hot pan. Add a little soy sauce and some cooking sherry or rice wine, plus a handful or two of soaked and squeezed-out snow vegetable (梅菜 'mui choi') to the pan, as well as some water or stock, and simmer over low heat till the meat is fall-apart tender. This, as you can see, is simple. There are more complicated ways to make it, and other ingredients can be optionally added, but essentially it is just fatty meat and a little pickled vegetable.
If you add extra water you can also dump in sliced or whole champignons to stew along. Plus a peppercorn or two and a shot of hard liquor.
Non-rice eaters should have warm crusty sourdough or French bread to sop up the juices. Or a mantou. They also have that.
Don't forget the Sriracha sauce.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, March 03, 2017
WHEN THERE AREN'T ENOUGH DUTCHMEN
This city, while a marvelous amusement park, is a culinary wasteland, as it lacks herring. Specifically, green herring. Oh sure, there are places where you can buy Polish pickled herring, or jarred Scandinavian herring, even whole herring in a bucket of brine, which you must clean bone soak and eat very carefully, like a Russian. And sushi places sometimes do stuff with herring. But specifically, there is no streetside stand on a quiet square where you can get a very lightly cured fillet of herring with or without chopped onions, your choice.
Recommendation: have the chopped onions.
Americans are not up on herring.
It's a character flaw.
Probably a good thing, too, because the English, Irish, Scandinavians, Eastern Europeans, and sundry other primitive bastards are already overfishing the North Sea and driving up herring prices in the Netherlands while causing diminished supplies and the occasional shortage, and we Dutch do not need anymore competition from you hogs.
GEHAKTE HARING OP JOODSCHE WYZE
[Jewish chopped herring salad]
16 ounce jar pickled herring.
1 onion.
1 green apple.
3 hard boiled eggs.
A brisk squeeze of lemon juice.
A pinch of ground white pepper.
Drain the herring and remove whatever pickling spices are among the fish pieces. Rinse, drain again. With a cleaver chop to a medium size, about the texture of small broken shrimp.
Peel, core, and chop the apple slightly smaller than the fish, squeezing the lemon over to prevent oxidation.
Traditionally you would use vinegar instead, because lemons were an imported luxury from less beastly weathered climes, but screw that, you now have lemons; use them.
Chop the onion a little finer than the apple.
Regarding the hard boiled eggs, chop these rather coarsely, as they should be recognizable pieces.
Mix everything, but don't be anal about it. Smooth plastic wrap over the top and chill the mixture for a few hours. Serve with dense rye bread, or if you have pretensions, thick sourdough toast points.
A little freshly minced parsley or dill makes a lovely garnish.
But you could also just poof a little paprika over.
If it's not moist enough, add olive oil.
For some people this is comfort food. Germans and Scandinavians could add sourcream, Gallitzianers more apple and a punch of sugar, and Litvaks would sneer that it is too sweet. Foodsnobs might substitute scallion and chives for some of the onion. But all of this is missing the point:
This is NOT refined food.
I actually haven't made this dish in several years, as my apartment mate believes herring should be raw and green, Dutch style (actually a very light natural cure), and would be grievously hurt at this abuse of a fish. She's Chinese American and naturally has strong opinions about seafood.
Obviously I haven't ever made it for an office party either.
I once made an Indonesian curry for "Festive Friday".
Too damned many white bread Americans.
Three people just loved it.
Out of forty.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Recommendation: have the chopped onions.
Americans are not up on herring.
It's a character flaw.
Probably a good thing, too, because the English, Irish, Scandinavians, Eastern Europeans, and sundry other primitive bastards are already overfishing the North Sea and driving up herring prices in the Netherlands while causing diminished supplies and the occasional shortage, and we Dutch do not need anymore competition from you hogs.
GEHAKTE HARING OP JOODSCHE WYZE
[Jewish chopped herring salad]
16 ounce jar pickled herring.
1 onion.
1 green apple.
3 hard boiled eggs.
A brisk squeeze of lemon juice.
A pinch of ground white pepper.
Drain the herring and remove whatever pickling spices are among the fish pieces. Rinse, drain again. With a cleaver chop to a medium size, about the texture of small broken shrimp.
Peel, core, and chop the apple slightly smaller than the fish, squeezing the lemon over to prevent oxidation.
Traditionally you would use vinegar instead, because lemons were an imported luxury from less beastly weathered climes, but screw that, you now have lemons; use them.
Chop the onion a little finer than the apple.
Regarding the hard boiled eggs, chop these rather coarsely, as they should be recognizable pieces.
Mix everything, but don't be anal about it. Smooth plastic wrap over the top and chill the mixture for a few hours. Serve with dense rye bread, or if you have pretensions, thick sourdough toast points.
A little freshly minced parsley or dill makes a lovely garnish.
But you could also just poof a little paprika over.
If it's not moist enough, add olive oil.
For some people this is comfort food. Germans and Scandinavians could add sourcream, Gallitzianers more apple and a punch of sugar, and Litvaks would sneer that it is too sweet. Foodsnobs might substitute scallion and chives for some of the onion. But all of this is missing the point:
This is NOT refined food.
Still life with herring, by Pieter Claesz (1597 - 1661)
Pushkin Museum, Moscow
I actually haven't made this dish in several years, as my apartment mate believes herring should be raw and green, Dutch style (actually a very light natural cure), and would be grievously hurt at this abuse of a fish. She's Chinese American and naturally has strong opinions about seafood.
Obviously I haven't ever made it for an office party either.
I once made an Indonesian curry for "Festive Friday".
Too damned many white bread Americans.
Three people just loved it.
Out of forty.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, March 02, 2017
I COOK FOR NO MAN!
My home smells delicious right now. It's seriously driving me up the wall.
My apartment mate is cooking something to take over to her boyfriend's place, the lucky stiff.
She doesn't eat my food, I don't eat hers. We do not cook for each other. She cooks for her boyfriend, I haven't cooked for anyone in quite a while.
I'd cook for a woman, if I knew one.
When she's in the kitchen I had best stay out. So this evening I shall head around the corner for a burrito, because the one thing this neighborhood lacks is a decent Cantonese restaurant. When it is impossible to get good Cantonese home-style cooking, Mexican food for beer swilling white boys and neurotic twenty-somethings will have to suffice.
They actually do very good carnitas.
Dinner will be excellent.
Salsa!
But I was actually looking forward to baau yiu jap yau choi chau yiuk si (鮑魚汁油菜炒肉絲). It would be so happy!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
My apartment mate is cooking something to take over to her boyfriend's place, the lucky stiff.
She doesn't eat my food, I don't eat hers. We do not cook for each other. She cooks for her boyfriend, I haven't cooked for anyone in quite a while.
I'd cook for a woman, if I knew one.
When she's in the kitchen I had best stay out. So this evening I shall head around the corner for a burrito, because the one thing this neighborhood lacks is a decent Cantonese restaurant. When it is impossible to get good Cantonese home-style cooking, Mexican food for beer swilling white boys and neurotic twenty-somethings will have to suffice.
They actually do very good carnitas.
Dinner will be excellent.
Salsa!
But I was actually looking forward to baau yiu jap yau choi chau yiuk si (鮑魚汁油菜炒肉絲). It would be so happy!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
ATTENTION, BARGAIN SHOPPERS!
Every Thursday there's a street market in Valkenswaard on the square in front of the Saint Nicholas church, which is in the centre of town. Valkenswaard is a small city of plus or minus thirty thousand inhabitants in the south of the Netherlands surrounded by fens and forest, ten kilometres from the Belgian border, an equal distance south from Eindhoven.
Eindhoven you may have heard of: Philips Electronics.
Valkenswaard is a pleasant burg.
Good people.
But if we hadn't moved there when I was six, I never would have heard of the place, and likely not visited either. Just mentioning that for context.
Very much is offered at Dutch street markets, your money is worth more there. Such things are among the more likable aspects of life in the country.
DE MARKT -- VALKENSWAARD
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u8MeCZNVdfg.]
The author of this clip is Marijke Maes, who may have been in highschool in 2013. Probably at the successor to the Hertog Jan College (which no longer exists). Other than that, I do not know much (or anything, really) about her.
My mother would in Autumn drag me along to the market when she bought bulbs to plant in our garden; because of her lumbago, sticking them in the ground under her supervision was my job. In Spring and Summer she bought young shrubs. We had a lovely garden.
My father, brother, and I would often get herring at one of the seafood stands. Or smoked fish, which was delicious.
I remember one summer day when a sudden rain storm flooded the bins of a fish merchant, whose wriggly eels made a desperate bin for freedom in the gutters along the east side of the square, approximately where Jo D'n Urste is now. Several of us boys gleefully chased them before they could disappear down the drains.
Very late in the year you could also buy freshly dressed game there.
Somewhere I still have recipes for Konijn met Mosterdsaus, Konijn met Donker Bier, and "K'nien mee Prumen" (stewed thumper with dried plums). Haven't done those in years, as my apartment mate fondly remembers the pet bunny rabbit her brothers had when she was still a child.
Yeah, I could do probably it when she's not at home.
We don't eat together, and it would be easy.
But evenso. She'd probably find out.
Not worth the recrimination.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Eindhoven you may have heard of: Philips Electronics.
Valkenswaard is a pleasant burg.
Good people.
But if we hadn't moved there when I was six, I never would have heard of the place, and likely not visited either. Just mentioning that for context.
Very much is offered at Dutch street markets, your money is worth more there. Such things are among the more likable aspects of life in the country.
DE MARKT -- VALKENSWAARD
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u8MeCZNVdfg.]
The author of this clip is Marijke Maes, who may have been in highschool in 2013. Probably at the successor to the Hertog Jan College (which no longer exists). Other than that, I do not know much (or anything, really) about her.
My mother would in Autumn drag me along to the market when she bought bulbs to plant in our garden; because of her lumbago, sticking them in the ground under her supervision was my job. In Spring and Summer she bought young shrubs. We had a lovely garden.
My father, brother, and I would often get herring at one of the seafood stands. Or smoked fish, which was delicious.
I remember one summer day when a sudden rain storm flooded the bins of a fish merchant, whose wriggly eels made a desperate bin for freedom in the gutters along the east side of the square, approximately where Jo D'n Urste is now. Several of us boys gleefully chased them before they could disappear down the drains.
Very late in the year you could also buy freshly dressed game there.
Somewhere I still have recipes for Konijn met Mosterdsaus, Konijn met Donker Bier, and "K'nien mee Prumen" (stewed thumper with dried plums). Haven't done those in years, as my apartment mate fondly remembers the pet bunny rabbit her brothers had when she was still a child.
Yeah, I could do probably it when she's not at home.
We don't eat together, and it would be easy.
But evenso. She'd probably find out.
Not worth the recrimination.
[Foto: BHIC, Collectie Provincie Noord-Brabant]
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
BEAN CURD COUNTRY
Among beloved Hong Kong eats is one substance that many non-Kongers find repellent, and another which I like but my stomach doesn't.
The disgusting item is stinky tofu (臭豆腐).
The problematic one is fresh tofu.
Fermenting beancurd yields something that unfavourably resembles toe cheese. Or sometimes assertive garbage sludge. It can not be said to be immensely popular, and it is also a must try when visiting Taiwan.
木桶豆腐花
Fresh tofu (豆腐花) is, on the other hand, quite delightful. Except for people who enjoy the taste but suffer cramps after consuming it. It is a refreshing mid-afternoon snack widely available in Fragrant Harbour, and to a lesser extent in San Francisco Chinatown. Best way to serve is with gingko nuts in syrup, or sweet red adzuki beans. And, luxuriously, sweet condensed milk and tinned fruit salad, but that is rare.
I seldom eat it, but I'm odd.
Other favourite Hong Kong treats, for the curious: curry fish balls (咖喱魚蛋 'gaa lei yu daan'), won ton noodles (雲吞湯麵 'wan tan tong min'), charsiu (叉燒), egg tarts (蛋撻 'daan taat'), pineapple buns (菠蘿包 'po lo baau'), jook (粥), steamed charsiu bao (蒸叉燒包), rice sheet noodle (腸粉 'cheung fan'), old wife cakes (老婆餅 'lou po beng'), white sugar cake (白糖糕 'paak tong gou'), French toast (西多士 'sai do si'). mango pudding (芒果布甸), little cart noodles (車仔麵 'che jai min'), prawn balls (蝦球 'haa kau'), fried chicken (炸雞 'jaa kai'), tea eggs (茶葉蛋 'cha yip daan'), chow fun (炒粉), Swiss wings (瑞士雞翼 'seui si kai yik'), red bean ices (紅荳冰 'hung dou ping'), ......
Actually, the list is endless.
And ALL of them will float through your head at two o'clock in the morning, eventually waking you up.
I was actually dreaming of a burrito, but got sidetracked.
Carnitas is reminiscent of charsiu and siu yiuk.
And could probably be used similarly.
In steamed bao, for instance.
Or in cheung fan.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The disgusting item is stinky tofu (臭豆腐).
The problematic one is fresh tofu.
Fermenting beancurd yields something that unfavourably resembles toe cheese. Or sometimes assertive garbage sludge. It can not be said to be immensely popular, and it is also a must try when visiting Taiwan.
木桶豆腐花
Fresh tofu (豆腐花) is, on the other hand, quite delightful. Except for people who enjoy the taste but suffer cramps after consuming it. It is a refreshing mid-afternoon snack widely available in Fragrant Harbour, and to a lesser extent in San Francisco Chinatown. Best way to serve is with gingko nuts in syrup, or sweet red adzuki beans. And, luxuriously, sweet condensed milk and tinned fruit salad, but that is rare.
I seldom eat it, but I'm odd.
Other favourite Hong Kong treats, for the curious: curry fish balls (咖喱魚蛋 'gaa lei yu daan'), won ton noodles (雲吞湯麵 'wan tan tong min'), charsiu (叉燒), egg tarts (蛋撻 'daan taat'), pineapple buns (菠蘿包 'po lo baau'), jook (粥), steamed charsiu bao (蒸叉燒包), rice sheet noodle (腸粉 'cheung fan'), old wife cakes (老婆餅 'lou po beng'), white sugar cake (白糖糕 'paak tong gou'), French toast (西多士 'sai do si'). mango pudding (芒果布甸), little cart noodles (車仔麵 'che jai min'), prawn balls (蝦球 'haa kau'), fried chicken (炸雞 'jaa kai'), tea eggs (茶葉蛋 'cha yip daan'), chow fun (炒粉), Swiss wings (瑞士雞翼 'seui si kai yik'), red bean ices (紅荳冰 'hung dou ping'), ......
Actually, the list is endless.
And ALL of them will float through your head at two o'clock in the morning, eventually waking you up.
I was actually dreaming of a burrito, but got sidetracked.
Carnitas is reminiscent of charsiu and siu yiuk.
And could probably be used similarly.
In steamed bao, for instance.
Or in cheung fan.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, March 01, 2017
THE DANCE OF THE STUBBORN PIGS
Apartment mate watching ballet on youtube. In an attempt to identify a scrap of music going through her head. Which turns out to be from Swan Lake. Which, being a snarky Chinese American, she chose to think of as 'Swine Lake'. Dancing pigs, now there's a fabulous concept.
Ballerinas by day, brutal assassins by night.
Because pigs should be bold.
And adventurous!
This from a woman what loves bacon.
And charsiu. And siu yiuk.
And sausages.
紅色娘子軍芭蕾舞
Being the white guy in this apartment, as well as a caveman and cultural illiterate, I naturally gravitate towards angry ladies dancing with machine guns when I think of ballet: The Red Detachment of Women.
Forward, sisters, against the patriarchy!
Anything to make people poncing about on stage bearable.
On the banks of the Manchuen river (萬泉河).
Deadly women, hippity hop.
The emotional scenes were horrifically sappy, it was dreary twaddle, and the entire production stank. Way too high-brow in any case.
Edward Gorey's 'La Chauve-Souris Dorée'!
Now there's a fabulous show!
So meaningful.
I am not a ballet lover.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Ballerinas by day, brutal assassins by night.
Because pigs should be bold.
And adventurous!
This from a woman what loves bacon.
And charsiu. And siu yiuk.
And sausages.
紅色娘子軍芭蕾舞
Being the white guy in this apartment, as well as a caveman and cultural illiterate, I naturally gravitate towards angry ladies dancing with machine guns when I think of ballet: The Red Detachment of Women.
Forward, sisters, against the patriarchy!
Anything to make people poncing about on stage bearable.
On the banks of the Manchuen river (萬泉河).
Deadly women, hippity hop.
The emotional scenes were horrifically sappy, it was dreary twaddle, and the entire production stank. Way too high-brow in any case.
Edward Gorey's 'La Chauve-Souris Dorée'!
Now there's a fabulous show!
So meaningful.
I am not a ballet lover.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
FOCUS ON YOUR FRIED RICE
The number of women in the place was greater than the number of men until he came in. So naturally I stared at him with a fixed and gimlet eye.
He may have wondered about that. If he ever noticed.
Like many people in San Francisco his world within and his world without had melded seamlessly, though unsuited at either extreme.
He talked to the pastries behind glass.
And they responded.
Finally he decided which ones to have, and made strange arrythmic dance moves while eating them, over a ten minute plus interval.
I commend the staff for not reacting in any way to his eccentricity and treating him as a normal human being. Or at least a normal Caucasian.
They've probably been exposed to enough unbalanced white people that they assume many of us are that way.
The reason I looked resolutely in his direction is because I had no other choice. If I had looked straight ahead the elderly gentleman choking down some Hoinam Chicken might have become self-conscious, off to the side and the three Chinese American young ladies would have likely wondered whether I was a typical white male creepazoid, and completely to the left the young couple should have been weirded out.
I actually spent a fair amount of time fondly observing my nice warm plate of curry seafood fried rice.
咖喱海鮮粒炒飯
My, how delicious it looks! So sad, very very sad, that it is rapidly vanishing before my eyes. Mmm, perhaps a little more sambal oelek.
Maybe I should have eaten breakfast and lunch sooner. I didn't have bupkes to eat all day! I sure hope that this does not excite my gout.
But what the hey, sometimes you gotta live risky.
That old man really shouldn't shove more rice in his mouth when he has a coughing fit, it will only make things worse. Are those girls eating stuff covered with steaming cheese sauce? Perhaps he's doing a tango with the bun, but it could just be a personal interpretation of Latin dance.
Mmm, girls covered with cheese sauce! Pervert!
Gaa lei hoi sin lap chaau faan. It really is the breakfast of champions. Especially if you spent most of the day wallowing about and didn't get down to Chinatown till tea time. Shrimp, little scallops, red and green lantern peppers chopped small, minced onion ... fragrant and golden.
Dollops of sambal, and a dusting of pepper powder.
As well as a hot cup of milk-tea.
Today I must get out of the house earlier.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
He may have wondered about that. If he ever noticed.
Like many people in San Francisco his world within and his world without had melded seamlessly, though unsuited at either extreme.
He talked to the pastries behind glass.
And they responded.
Finally he decided which ones to have, and made strange arrythmic dance moves while eating them, over a ten minute plus interval.
I commend the staff for not reacting in any way to his eccentricity and treating him as a normal human being. Or at least a normal Caucasian.
They've probably been exposed to enough unbalanced white people that they assume many of us are that way.
The reason I looked resolutely in his direction is because I had no other choice. If I had looked straight ahead the elderly gentleman choking down some Hoinam Chicken might have become self-conscious, off to the side and the three Chinese American young ladies would have likely wondered whether I was a typical white male creepazoid, and completely to the left the young couple should have been weirded out.
I actually spent a fair amount of time fondly observing my nice warm plate of curry seafood fried rice.
咖喱海鮮粒炒飯
My, how delicious it looks! So sad, very very sad, that it is rapidly vanishing before my eyes. Mmm, perhaps a little more sambal oelek.
Maybe I should have eaten breakfast and lunch sooner. I didn't have bupkes to eat all day! I sure hope that this does not excite my gout.
But what the hey, sometimes you gotta live risky.
That old man really shouldn't shove more rice in his mouth when he has a coughing fit, it will only make things worse. Are those girls eating stuff covered with steaming cheese sauce? Perhaps he's doing a tango with the bun, but it could just be a personal interpretation of Latin dance.
Mmm, girls covered with cheese sauce! Pervert!
Gaa lei hoi sin lap chaau faan. It really is the breakfast of champions. Especially if you spent most of the day wallowing about and didn't get down to Chinatown till tea time. Shrimp, little scallops, red and green lantern peppers chopped small, minced onion ... fragrant and golden.
Dollops of sambal, and a dusting of pepper powder.
As well as a hot cup of milk-tea.
Today I must get out of the house earlier.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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OWNING THE LIBS
Today will be quite pleasant. Shan't doomscroll much. Reading about the bozos currently in charge of the United States is not good for t...
