LATE LUNCH IN TOISHAN

Lunch was absolutely divine. Little yellow eels claypot rice (黃鱔煲仔飯 'wong sin pou jai faan'). The only other customers being two women occasionally holding hands. They had not been there when I entered, so I had timed it just right. As a Dutchman, naturally I love eel.
It's mother's milk to me.

That you can get yellow eel claypot rice makes San Francisco seem like you had never left Toishan (臺山), where of course you have never been. Neither have I, and I do not speak Toishanese, barely understand it. Yellow eel is a specialty of the place.


If you want good claypot rice, you must go to a place that specializes in precisely that, which is exactly what I did. Their claypot rice is superb. They speak Toishanese, Cantonese, and Mandarin. I do not know how good their English is.

Two Toishanese speaking women discreetly and affectionately holding hands is okay too.
I mean, where else might you see such a thing, and what better place for it?
And one of them looked to have very nice hands.
Well worth holding.


The phrase I am never going to say to a random person whose hands are exceedingly nice is "excuse me, miss, may I touch your hand" (唔好意思小姐，我可唔可以摸下你隻手 'm hou yi si, siu je， ngo ho m ho yi mo haa nei jek sau'). Things could get sticky, and quite probably NOT in a good way. Hands are for holding chopsticks, not clobbering a Dutchman.

Most of us Dutchmen are rather decent fellows, with whom you'd should rather share an eel than angry face slappeties. I mean.

Part of the crust broken loose, bit of rice, bit of eel, sploot of chili paste.
Contemplative, well-paced, savoured. Thoughtful enjoyment.


Pipe smoked strolling down to catch the bus.



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