THE CLEANEST KITCHEN IN SF

There was no turkey, but it was a relatively good day. When I got back from my jaunt I prepared some hot milk tea and had cake and cookies.
The Season of Shortbread is upon us.

At the restaurant in Chinatown to which I went there is a new waitress with a gentle face. Not so much eye-candy, as warm milk for the eyeballs. Because of the cold weather she was dressed all frumpy in thick sweats, and looked comfy and warm in that get-up. I cannot blame her. My fingers have been reacting (very badly) to the cold all day.
At times blue, at times white.

Personally, I blame the millennials and Trump for this icy cold wave, because before them it was always warm and sunny. Thanksgiving Day might as well also be designated "Blame Apportioning Day".
The Indians gave us Turkey and Lima Beans.
We burned down their villages.
Seems fair.


For the Ukranian and Russian agents following this blog as a means of understanding American Culture and influencing our next election, let me explain what normal people, such as seen on teevee, do on this day.


THANKSGIVING

Americans get up, lounge about the house all morning, while mom and their aunt are already busy preparing a big inedible bird for consumption. Which also necessitates big inedible side dishes, like stove-top stuffing, gravy, string bean casserole, boiled or baked lima beans, boiled butternut squash, boiled sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, grits, canned cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, chocolate and peanut butter pie.

It's a lot of work.

After a light breakfast -- a stack of pancakes, bacon, and syrup -- the men go into the living room and watch two mediocre football teams duke it out all damn' afternoon in a snowstorm somewhere, while the women continue constructing the feast. Then everyone goes into the dining room, a pretend-religion-theme speech is made by the oldest Republican present, one of the young people says something about meat being murder, and everybody devours two or three heaping platefulls, while arguing politics or religion.
Then male Americans head back to the game. Some with plates.
The food is left out in case anybody gets hungry.
Women of the family drive to the mall.
Family pets climb on the table.

When the women return from shopping, the men are fast asleep on the couch, the dog and the cat have thrown up, and there's a trailer-load of dishes to be done, which will take up the remaining three hours before bedtime. The left-overs will feed everyone for a week.
Until someone orders pizza.

But that's normal Americans. People who wear bald eagle feathers, and bleed red, white, and blue. Not us Californians, who never support the President, Jesus, or Republicans, and will vote for the black guy or the angry woman in every election, and instead of going to church become homeless drug addicts or crazy.

BITTER MELON

What I did was today was have bitter melon omelette over rice, with Sriracha hotsauce, and a hot cup of HK Milk Tea. Then I went out and froze my ass off while enjoying some fine aged flake in a no-name briar.

I'm a raging socialist, with black granny gloves.

It was delicious.

Presently I'm preparing to enjoy another pipe full of the three decade old Virginia. Short smoke, in a pot shape French pipe older than myself.
Then another cup of tea.
And a cookie.

TOBACCO INDEX


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