WHO IS YOUR DUTCH UNCLE?

When I remembered that they were closed on Tuesday I headed over to the dumpling place and had a late lunch there instead. The women who work there treat me very well, probably because an inoffensive old white guy who tips decently, acts with reserve, and reads Chinese in addition to being able to speak Cantonese is on the one hand a rarity and on the other hand may actually be a customer you would like to see come back repeatedly. I mean, it IS a dumpling place. So why do so many tourists order electric-hued sweet and sour things, and chow mein? Plus they're screwed, tip-wise. The local Chinese barely tip, and Europeans have all decided that America is barbaric in that regard and they will not stand for it.
They've revolted, to teach the savages a lesson. Tip like the Dutch. Miserly.

Dumplings!

Being a Dutch American I have the best of both worlds. And having been in the food service industry, I refuse to be a cheap bastard. I want to be remembered favourably, so that I'm welcomed the next time and can get my favourite table.
Plus I like dumplings.

Also, I have never understood why so many Europeans act like we should all understand French, German, or Italian, instead of English and Cantonese. It's not quite as bad as the Spanish, who treat everyone who doesn't speak their exact version of "Castilian" like swine, but it still grates a bit. The English are better, as they're largely overjoyed that they can understand our patois. All those hours watching Kojak and Bay Watch paid off!

[En Nederlanders verwachting doorgaans nooit dat iemand hier hun taal verstaat; vandaar dat ze soms de vreemdste dingen onderling zeggen. Of rare opmerkingen over de inboorlingen uitkramen.]

A good meal in a comfortable environment.
Plus a darn good cup of milk tea.
And a smoke after.

My friend Neil often mentions the pleasure of having a cup of tea on the back terrace in the morning, with his pipe, and his cat for company, while keeping a wary eye out for the local coyote who regards the cat as potentially an ambulatory breakfast. I think I have the same pleasure smoking my pipe in Chinatown while alert to possibly interference from our feral loonies. After a cup of tea.

It's not the local Chinese I worry about, they're sane and normal. It's my fellow whites, blacks, browns, and indeterminates. Some of whom redefine "alternative universe". Such as the idiot who asked me while I was smoking there after dark whether I had any crystal.
Dude. Do I look like drug-addled dingo to you? Or a yuppie?


In retrospect, I may have seemed somewhat odd this evening. I mentioned church reformers at least three times in conversation with the bookseller. 1): A man afflicted with chronic gout, acid indigestion, and migraines. 2): An unpleasant German drunk. 3): And a fat brit monarch with syphilitic sores and brain-rot. And that's not even getting into American millenarianism, MAGA, or the Mormons.


BY THE WAY: a lot of Americans are stupid, some are braindead. And far too many don't speak Dutch at all. The rot started when all those English speakers crossed Wall Street and headed into the Bowery. Also, when we paid the Indians, we got the entire shebang, lock stock and barrel. That did NOT include any bloody Anglos! Send them all back!



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