Thursday, December 08, 2016


Yesterday evening I ate tofu and roast pork with gravy over rice. It was at a place (港新寶燒腊小食) my ex-girlfriend liked, which for a while after the break-up I avoided, because of "connotations". I have, for petty reasons which I do not see a need to share overcome the connotations.

It was very good. Naturally it is something that you could do at home (豆腐燒肉飯), and would much more likely get at a chachanteng (such as the one mentioned in the linked post above), but, ideally, you should go directly to the source: a roast meats eatery (燒味店 'siu mei dim').

Fourteen other customers in the place, one dozen of whom were dining together behind me.

I'm always amazed at the ability of many Cantonese people to quickly and spontaneously organize a group raid on good food. When I was still working down the Peninsula, it was like herding kittens to get just two or three other people together for a food run, and twenty of us eating together took three weeks of planning and scheduling. Three extremely frustrating weeks.
I know, because I was the one doing the planning.
And scheduling. And cajoling.

I don't think most Anglos are social eaters.

Certainly only very few of the ones I know. I am Anglo, in a manner of speaking, and other than a slice of mediocre pizza with an old friend once a week I haven't gone out eating with other people very much in years.

I no longer feel alone when eating by myself. That's just the way it is, and I've gotten used to it. And, in truth, I am not alone, there are people all around me who also have come to whichever place it is expressly for the food.
Happy folks, hubbubbing and discussabilating con brio.

It struck me yesterday evening that I could understand what everyone there said with the exception of the ornery Filipino ordering food to go.
That, of course, was not his problem.
He truly was eating alone.

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