It's very good to speak Cantonese. Better, in fact, than being the king, no matter what Mel Brooks says (reference to a line from a famous movie right here).
On a whim I went into the restaurant. Their menu was geared toward both large parties sharing multiple dishes and wayward tourists having ONE large dish, plus rice, and soup or an appetizer.
I am a single man. Specifically, a single diner.
"Waaall, ya know, all of this ain't suitable for just one person. Can I just get roast duck over rice?"
Apparently, of course I can. Because I'm home-town. Cost me less than what was on the menu. And it was a wonderful meal. Truly darn good.
I left a happy camper, and they want me to return.
Which I will; I want to return too.
Roast duck. Rice. Hot sauce.
Baby bokchoi.
Tea.
燒鴨飯
Earlier I had enjoyed an hour in the company of the ex-mercenary. Apparently they eat beans and rice in Brazilian prisons. Or rice and beans. And cat; if you can afford it.
It's anyway far better than being executed in Ghana.
Screw Brazil. It's a pox-ridden hell-hole.
Argentina is not one iota better.
Corruption and clap.
Stench.
Lunch and midnight snack: Genovan salami and Oxford marmalade on sourdough. I had run out of mayonnaise.
I've still got some dried duck.
Just saying.
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