Tuesday, April 09, 2024

A CLEAN PIPE SMOKER

The perfect afternoon consists of chicken curry and rice, Hong Kong milk tea, a Peterson pipe with aged Virginias, and a two hour nap. As surely everyone knows? That particular chachanteng has a chicken curry I rather like -- without the inevitable chopped onion, but with slightly browned potato chunks, so it's much more Hong Kong than Chinatownish, and plenty of sauce -- and although there are often a horde of irritating old-town blighters who snoot whenever I'm there, yesterday it was free of that crowd.
So I had a splendid time before my smoke.
And napped after returning home.


Of course, for some reason I cannot understand, I got to hear about Meghan Markle's magic floating womb, narcissists getting preggers, Bill Clinton, and other somehow linked subjects when I woke up and entered the teevee room. These are the dubious benefits of youtube.
As well as the apartment mate's obsessions, coupled with Aspergers.

What I also cannot understand is why I dreamed of a rice wholesale and retail operation. This year's crop from Thailand, fifty pound bags of varying qualities from the Delta, Arborio for the Italian community, and aged Basmati and Texmati for the sari-wearers.
It may have had something to do with chicken curry.
That seems logical.
咖喱雞

There are parts of Chinatown beyond that which I seldom visit. But the bakery that operates in slapdash manner is still around, as is the duck place and the shop that years ago was run by Hakkas from Suriname who spoke Dutch. So is the small claypot restaurant owned by villagers, with very reasonable prices and an extensive selection of offerings.
Which is good. I should go there again. Decent people, too.



Bought a twelve pack of bath soap while nearby.
I was on the cusp of running out.
But I shall be clean.




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