Wednesday, August 11, 2021


Some of us go to Chinese restaurants not only for the food, but just so we won't have to deal with white weirdness. The restaurants which I patronize nowadays are usually good for that. They're the kinds of places that white folks avoid. Which meant that when I walked in, all the other customers with one exception were Chinese.

But good times weren't about to last. By the time I left over half the people in there were not Chinese. The beleaguered waitress asked me to explain what the couple at the next table were saying. Is the chicken very well done? Or is there (as is common in Chinese restaurants that cater to Cantonese people) distinct pink near the bone? Well, that was a two way street.

[That's not exactly what they said, but extrapolating from everything else they said it's what they meant.]

I explained to the waitress that some people freak out if they see chicken blood or crimson bones (有啲人唔好見雞血,唔要骨紅 'yau di yan m-hou kin gai huet, m-yiu gwat hong').
And persuaded the table to order the fried chicken instead (炸雞 'jaa gai').

For some reason that meant I knew everything about Jews, crime, and dark criminal royals who are actually secret Kurdish Jews. And all those crimes! A lifetime! What?
Sweet Jesus, what is this raving nutball talking about?

[The waitress is a very nice person; she doesn't deserve crazy shiznit.]

There are over a dozen kwailo in this place, and the loonies sit next to me. Why couldn't it have been that nice Mexican family? Even the two kvetchy New York ladies drinking boba tea?

Turns out the chicken was well-done. No trace of pink.

My meal was also excellent.

涼瓜煎蛋飯 。

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