Thursday, December 23, 2021


Having not been there in over two years, and seeing as they've changed hands and a new crew is tending the altar of wonton noodle soup -- younger, and presumably not tired out from slopping noodles and dumplings on the edge of the financial district -- it was a natural and logical lunch stop after visiting my bank. Wonton noodle soup is soulfood.

In Hong Kong it's "scrawny Mak's", here we rather ignore the Hong Kong standard, although we agree that there should be dried flounder in the broth.

Also, a dumpling house is NOT a fancy place; you could take your date there if both of you are food mavens, but if you want to impress him or her and their mom, go to a restaurant that has duck, tablecloths, and fine crystal.

I have never tried to impress anyone's mom.
And prefer bare-bones eateries.
However, I like food.
On a day with rainy weather, dumplings are a natural. Wonton are the prefered local type, you might be hard pressed to find northern style shuijiao (水餃) locally. Shanghainese places will usually have them. Wonton (雲吞) are available in many eateries, but only a few actually specialize in them. Theirs are good.

The pipe afterward was excellent.
Chinatown is lovely on a day when the fog and rain mix, the light seems almost supernatural.

On a different note, I'm often tickled pink when people understand me speaking Cantonese. It seems magical to me, because it wasn't always like that. And when they automatically assume that they can continue the exchange in that language with no pressing need to use English it rather says that my accent is okay.
Whenever I speak English, non-Chinese Americans ask me where I'm from. And sometimes guess wildly that I'm English, Australian, or German. Which I'm not. Just an overseas Yank.

I could get used to the acceptance.
It's very nice.

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