Nothing but good healthy stuff. Yesterday I ate like a dissipated Catholic, meaning self-indulgent, all sinful items with next to no actual nutritive value whatsoever. Good heavens, almost like a spoiled Indian kid.
Meats and sweets, bilkul no sabzi.
I'll end up ek mota admi.
Bahut jigglywala.
Pastry.
Cookie.
Cookie.
Cookie.
Barbecue pork rib sandwich (sándwich de costilla de cerdo barbacoa), with very extrovert sploodges of Srirach hot sauce and a bag of chips.
It was delicious!
Cheese.
Three penguins.
Cookie.
Cookie.
Cookie.
Cookie.
Cookie.
On my weekends I tend to eat better. Recognizable vegetable material.
Chinatown today for a late lunch. I am torn between Baked Portuguese Chicken Rice (焗葡國雞飯 'guk pou gwok gai faan'), Tomato Porkchop and Rice (鮮茄焗豬扒飯 'sin ke guk chü paa faan', OR 蕃茄豬扒飯 'faan ke chü paa faan'), or cheap eaties on Stockton Street (三餸一湯 'saam song yat tong': three dishes and a soup, plus rice).
See, at work my options are limited to Seven Eleven, just chockfull of salty fatty meaty plus sweet baked crispy crunchy creamy soft and gooey, but no bittermelon fish, sarson da saag, spinach turnovers, or other yummy things of vegetable origin. Yeah, carrots and celery in a little package, and mixed wilted oddments called "salad", but "yummy" is not the applicable term. No wonder the Punjabis who work there look so peaked, positively pale and sickly, there's just unhealthy convenience, zero nutrition.
Just beyond Seven Eleven is McDonalds.
Ten minutes away is In-N-Out.
Sriracha is a vegetable.
McDonalds isn't.
You know, those weird containers of carrots and celery are probably good if you stir-fry them with bacon and black-bean sauce, and serve with rice.
There is no wok at work.
Nor a stove.
My weekend starts Monday evening and continues till late Wednesday, in case you were wondering. The rest of the week I am neither available nor entirely compos mentis.
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