THERE ARE DUCKS!

In complete contrast to yesterday when I woke up with noodles in my head, this morning it was duck dreaming. Imagine a montane city along the sloping sides of a gorge, with ducks in the shallows just beyond the river's edge, as well as wandering along the lower streets. After the rice paddies have been semi-drained there is less for them to eat, but they are still young and plump and happy. And tender.

So naturally, roast duck. High heat after a little brining and marinating. Then chunk-chopped and arranged beautifully on a platter, or simply plonked on top of your bowl of warm rice with a splash of sweet-savoury-picante jus. If you are from the Wu speaking region you might prefer the chunks with wheat noodles in a savoury broth. Breakfast of champions.


Perhaps, if there are three or four of you meeting for breakfast before heading over to the archeologic survey offices for work, also a nice steamed fish with ginger shreds and slivered black mushroom briefly seethed in the hot duck fat, with a drizzle of black vinegar over the plated carp. It emphasizes the sweetness of the flesh.

After which you all head out to the veranda of the restaurant several stories above the river, to smoke your pipes under the deep overhanging roof. Professor Zhang smuggled in some nice tins in from Germany, quality Virginia flake.

Need to make sure that we have a pound or two Guangzhou's finest coffee.
And a supply of sambal. It's essential!
Locally made also good.

There are no restaurants overlooking the river which serve roast duck for breakfast in this neighborhood, it being San Francisco. Instead, there's a donut shop. Donuts, as everybody knows, are something we Dutch Americans invented to give all you Anglos early diabetes.
Because you lot have no self-control whatsoever.


It's a sore lack.


This morning on the way to work I passed three crack-smokers at one bus stop (auntie and uncle on their way to Chinatown waited safely several yards away from them), and over on Van Ness there were a few people opposite, in the inverted U fentanyl pose. You know, that stance where the body might topple forward, slump entirely down, or fall sideways in either direction. Drugs for breakfast. Very Trump-era.

Yes, I would far rather have an eatery on a slope.
It was nicely foggy, drifting mists.
Quack!



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