The first smoke of the day was in the briar I associate with giant friendly spiders in Chinatown, the last pipe of the day will be in the pipe for watching rats in Spofford Alley. Neither piece of smoking equipment was made there or is in any way Chinese. And the tobacco is a splendid English style flake produced by a venerable company in North Carolina.
But you see, I live about six blocks from Chinatown, and quite unlike in the downtown Financial District, there are likable people there, delicious baked snacks and hot beverages, and no one yells at you for smoking.
So it's an entirely different ballgame.
There are actually no giant friendly spiders, alas, and the rats which once flourished in Spofford Alley while the city was digging it up and beautifying the place for the edification of tourists, making it all photogenic and picturesque, have died or moved over to Market Street.
San Francisco really loves tourists.
Residents, not so much.
When you leave Grant Avenue (都板街 'dou paan gaai', Dupont Street) and head sideways or into the alleyways, you do not encounter many visitors from the rest of the country, and will hardly hear harsh European languages.
Or bump into large erratic herds of people moving slowly while blocking the sidewalk and stopping for selfies.
I very much like that mental sense of being in a San Francisco that is from somewhere else, not in this dimension, on a different world.
It gives me time and space to dream.
Pipe, tobacco, and quiet passages.
Perhaps a cup of milk tea.
It's a private place.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Showing posts with label Chinatown alleys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chinatown alleys. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 23, 2018
Tuesday, August 08, 2017
CHINATOWN NEIGHBORHOOD IMPROVEMENT
Rereading a food related rant from three years ago, it struck me that it's still as valid as it ever was. And that maybe today or tomorrow I should have some congee with a fried dough stick.
WHITE PEOPLE, KINDLY STAY OUT OF CHINATOWN!
MONDAY, MAY 12, 2014
I myself am so white that I glow in the dark -- heck, you can read a book in the pallid glow of my pastiness -- but I'm talking about other people.
BY THE WAY: the city is trying hard to make Chinatown better for the tourists. That's why one alleyway has been torn up for months and they will eventually install rectangular concrete planters and seats. Bamboo and sharp corners, instead of the round concrete planters and seats.
Which were ugly. Or something.
Other alleys are also slated for improvement.
The finest design minds are at work.
If they really wanted old people to sit down for a while looking picturesque and photogenic, the seats would have back rest capability.
Like alleys in the financial district.
Real benches.
Trash services, better pavement, and more adult classes.
Yes, that would cost more than concrete obstacles.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
WHITE PEOPLE, KINDLY STAY OUT OF CHINATOWN!
MONDAY, MAY 12, 2014
I myself am so white that I glow in the dark -- heck, you can read a book in the pallid glow of my pastiness -- but I'm talking about other people.
BY THE WAY: the city is trying hard to make Chinatown better for the tourists. That's why one alleyway has been torn up for months and they will eventually install rectangular concrete planters and seats. Bamboo and sharp corners, instead of the round concrete planters and seats.
Which were ugly. Or something.
Other alleys are also slated for improvement.
The finest design minds are at work.
If they really wanted old people to sit down for a while looking picturesque and photogenic, the seats would have back rest capability.
Like alleys in the financial district.
Real benches.
Trash services, better pavement, and more adult classes.
Yes, that would cost more than concrete obstacles.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, February 27, 2016
SUCH A CONVENIENT GHETTO
The other day while smoking my pipe after lunch I was approached by five people randomly; three white dudes and two black men. All five of them were unpleasant, damned well illiterate, and deranged.
What makes it really an issue is that this happened in Chinatown. Which, as the city's premier low-income neighborhood, is always first in line to get totally ignored by city hall and the police department until such time as votes need to be harvested.
One of these days the loonies that hide out in Chinatown will bust into view by killing an old lady or raping an infant, whereupon our politicos will decry the situation, promise to do better, apply a bandaid and do something cosmetic, then go back to ignoring the community.
Because, after all, the locals aren't e-yuppies or tech bros.
Not a significant demographic for fund-raising.
And far less likely to squawk.
[It takes less than an hour to smoke a pipe. Five loonies! Damn!]
Ed Lee and his power behind the throne Willie Brown are far too busy catering to the tech industry to worry about a working class ghetto filled with folks who don't have enough English to bitch and make it stick.
Guess what, guys, there's a HUGE number of Caucasian tech-industry folks now living in Chinatown. Do you really think they'll keep quiet when they're strong-armed by your free-range loonies?
By the way; why have I never seen a policeman in any of the alleys, near the Willie 'Woo Woo' Wong playground, or at Portsmouth Square?
Is it right that the ONLY times people in uniform show up are when an ambulance has been called?
Here's a handy list of places where the occasional presence of a police officer or social worker might be a good idea:
Adele Court (亞打利巷)
Beckett Street (白話轉街)
Bedford Place (百福巷)
Brooklyn Place (布閣倫巷)
Clay Street (企李街)
Commercial Street (襟美慎街)
Cordelia Street (歌地利亞街)
Hang Ah Alley (香雅巷)
Jackson Street (昃臣街或積臣街)
Jason Court (金菊園巷)
Joice Street (哉思街)
Keyes Alley (其士巷)
Parkhurst Alley (柏可思巷)
Pontiac Alley (麵包巷)
Ross Alley (舊呂宋巷)
Sacramento Street (沙加緬度街)
Spofford Alley (新呂宋巷)
Stark Alley (士登巷)
St Louis Alley (火燒巷)
Stockton Street (市德頓街)
Stone Street (市東街)
Trenton Street (登頓街)
Walter U. Lum Place (林華耀街或花園街)
Washington Street (華盛頓街)
Waverly Place (天后廟街)
Wayne Place (威恩巷)
Wentworth Place (德和街)
Wetmore Street (域磨街)
Wu Yee Children's Services (護兒兒童服務)
The Willie 'Woo Woo' Wong Playground (黃顯護球場)
[You will note that I didn't mention Grant Avenue, despite three of the crazies lurking on that street between Jackson and Clay. That's because Grant Avenue exists primarily for the tourists. But I did mention both Hang Ah and the vicinity of the Willie 'Woo Woo' Wong Playground, where there were two of them.]
One way to tell that a crime could be committed there is the presence of either tykes or elderly people. Think about that for a moment.
Perhaps what Chinatown needs are "angry Baptist ministers".
Except this time with less pacifism and non-violence.
Because Edwin and Willie may be tone-deaf.
And normally only hear money talk.
We could just wait until some tourists are attacked by a white or black recidivist. That would provoke attention. Either that, or some Midwesterner slips on untended refuse .....
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
What makes it really an issue is that this happened in Chinatown. Which, as the city's premier low-income neighborhood, is always first in line to get totally ignored by city hall and the police department until such time as votes need to be harvested.
One of these days the loonies that hide out in Chinatown will bust into view by killing an old lady or raping an infant, whereupon our politicos will decry the situation, promise to do better, apply a bandaid and do something cosmetic, then go back to ignoring the community.
Because, after all, the locals aren't e-yuppies or tech bros.
Not a significant demographic for fund-raising.
And far less likely to squawk.
[It takes less than an hour to smoke a pipe. Five loonies! Damn!]
Ed Lee and his power behind the throne Willie Brown are far too busy catering to the tech industry to worry about a working class ghetto filled with folks who don't have enough English to bitch and make it stick.
Guess what, guys, there's a HUGE number of Caucasian tech-industry folks now living in Chinatown. Do you really think they'll keep quiet when they're strong-armed by your free-range loonies?
By the way; why have I never seen a policeman in any of the alleys, near the Willie 'Woo Woo' Wong playground, or at Portsmouth Square?
Is it right that the ONLY times people in uniform show up are when an ambulance has been called?
Here's a handy list of places where the occasional presence of a police officer or social worker might be a good idea:
Adele Court (亞打利巷)
Beckett Street (白話轉街)
Bedford Place (百福巷)
Brooklyn Place (布閣倫巷)
Clay Street (企李街)
Commercial Street (襟美慎街)
Cordelia Street (歌地利亞街)
Hang Ah Alley (香雅巷)
Jackson Street (昃臣街或積臣街)
Jason Court (金菊園巷)
Joice Street (哉思街)
Keyes Alley (其士巷)
Parkhurst Alley (柏可思巷)
Pontiac Alley (麵包巷)
Ross Alley (舊呂宋巷)
Sacramento Street (沙加緬度街)
Spofford Alley (新呂宋巷)
Stark Alley (士登巷)
St Louis Alley (火燒巷)
Stockton Street (市德頓街)
Stone Street (市東街)
Trenton Street (登頓街)
Walter U. Lum Place (林華耀街或花園街)
Washington Street (華盛頓街)
Waverly Place (天后廟街)
Wayne Place (威恩巷)
Wentworth Place (德和街)
Wetmore Street (域磨街)
Wu Yee Children's Services (護兒兒童服務)
The Willie 'Woo Woo' Wong Playground (黃顯護球場)
[You will note that I didn't mention Grant Avenue, despite three of the crazies lurking on that street between Jackson and Clay. That's because Grant Avenue exists primarily for the tourists. But I did mention both Hang Ah and the vicinity of the Willie 'Woo Woo' Wong Playground, where there were two of them.]
One way to tell that a crime could be committed there is the presence of either tykes or elderly people. Think about that for a moment.
Perhaps what Chinatown needs are "angry Baptist ministers".
Except this time with less pacifism and non-violence.
Because Edwin and Willie may be tone-deaf.
And normally only hear money talk.
We could just wait until some tourists are attacked by a white or black recidivist. That would provoke attention. Either that, or some Midwesterner slips on untended refuse .....
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
SAN FRANCISCO CHINATOWN ALLEYWAYS
As you know, I head over to Chinatown regularly to have either a late lunch or an early tea, sometimes dinner. After which, because my apartment needs four hours of complete non-smoking with windows open to ventilate so that my apartment mate Savage Kitten does not kvetch, I will wander around for a bit with a pipe and a full load of tobacco.
Chinese people on the streets do not, for the most part, mind smoking. Many of the older men enjoy tobacco, as do a small number of the ladies. Their children, naturally, are modern Americans and probably loathe the habit, but they're still respectful towards their seniors and too polite to run around screaming about the looming anti-Christ or witchcraft while gathering faggots to burn the offender when someone lights up in their purely accidental vicinity, unlike the office-workers and suburbanites in the financial district.
Who are convinced that they have rights dammit, but no one else does.
Even if San Francisco downtown smells like pollution.
Sewer, pissoir, and freeway combined.
Scream, baby, my sidewalk!
Kill the heretic.
Grants Tobacconist (now out of business) on Market Street bent the scholars at the beauty academy three floors up permanently out of shape. There are now several hairdressers whose studies were put on hiatus because of the psychological trauma they endured there when the faintest whisps of tobacco sent them into panics oh the poor babies.
"Thank you SO much for RUINING my lungs!"
You're very welcome, ma'am.
It's a pleasure.
Did I mention three lanes of slow moving high exhaust traffic? Or the deranged people in every other doorway, some of whom haven't been medicated in years? How about the meth-freak twitching halfway down the block? Naked man under an old rug? Daytime drunk?
But me you bitch about.
I get it.
Anyhow, that's not a likely set of reactions in Chinatown, except from tourists, who usually stay on Grant Avenue because everything else scares them. Unless they visit the one alleyway that has a fortune cookie factory, where there is also a Christian mission in case they want some spiritual restoration: Ross Alley.
There are never any tourists in Trenton Street, around the corner from Y Ben Lau (now a "wellness" clinic and library, extension of the Chinese Hospital) between Jackson and Pacific, and you seldom see them in Beckett or Wentworth either, though there are some hip Caucasians who live in an SRO on the latter. You might spot one or two down on Commercial, because it is picturesque and easy to find, being between the Eastern Bakery on Grant and R & J Lounge on Kearny.
If I've had snackipoos at the dim sum counter on Stockton, I will often head over to Hang Ah, pause for a while watching whoever is playing Tennis at willie 'Woo Woo' Wong, then either head over to Spofford (mahjong parlours) or Waverly (not really an alley, and herds of Germans with informative guides tromp through during the season), before circuitously going further down hill and ending up watching rickety old people playing cards just outside the perimeter of Portsmouth Square (on Walter Lum, between Clay and Washington), within the boundaries of which smoking is not allowed in English.
INFORMATIONAL INTERSTICE
Grant Avenue: 都板街 'du baan gaai'; metropolitan plank street.
Ross Alley: 舊呂宋巷 'gau leui sung hong'; old Luzon lane.
Trenton Street: 登頓街 'dang duen gaai'; thresh-gather arrangement street, which slopes past Ping Yuen. Y Ben Lau: 會賓樓, a defunct restaurant, where in a yet earlier incarnation of that space I took three Shanghainese girls for dim sum. I cannot remember the name it had then, but my guests loved the food.
Chinese Hospital: 東華醫院 'dung waa yi yuen'; east China medical court. Beckett Street: 白話轉街 'baak-waa juen gaai'; vernacular turning street; formerly Bartlett Alley. Wentworth Place: 德和街 'dak wo gaai'; moral harmony street. Commercial Street: 襟美慎街 'kam mei san gaai'; lapel beauty caution street. Hang Ah Alley: 香亞街 'heung ya gaai'; fragrance street, after a parfumerie that once was located here. Willie 'Woo Woo' Wong Playground: 黃顯護球場 'wong hin wu kau cheung', named after a local sports hero. Spofford Alley: 新呂宋巷 'san leui sung hong'; new Luzon lane. Waverly Place: 天后廟街 'tin hau miu gaai'; heaven empress temple street, though the Matsu Temple on Beckett is more commonly known than the Tin Hau shrine nowadays. Tin Hau and Matsu (媽祖'maa jou'; maternal ancestor) are considered the same deity. Germans: 德國人 'dak gwok yan'; ethics country person. Eastern Bakery: 東亞餅食公司 'dung ya bing sik gung si'; east Asia biscuit food public manage. Public manage ('gung si') means company, biscuit foods obviously are baked products such as cookies and pastries. The Eastern Bakery is more commonly know as 東亞餅家 'dung ya bing kaa'; East Asia Cake Family (餅家 means bakery). R & J Lounge: 嶺南小館 'ling naam siu kwun'; southern China minor establishment, deservedly one of the best known restaurants in Chinatown, where you take your snooty out-of-town relatives who aren't easily impressed. Kearny Street: 乾尼街 'gan nei gaai'; dried nun street.
Stockton Street: 市德頓街 'si dak duen gaai'; market harmony arrangement street. Portsmouth Square: 花園角 'faa yuen gok'; flower garden corner. Walter U. Lum Place: 林華耀街 'lam waa yiu gaai'; forest (surname) China glory street, though 花園街 (flower garden street) is more common; it used to be Brenham Place. Clay Street: 企李街 'kei lei gaai'; tiptoe-standing plums street. Washington Street: 華盛頓街 'waa sing duen gaai'; illustrious abundance arranged street. English (language): 英文 'ying man'; brave writing.
- - - - -
There are good places for milk-tea on Waverly Place, Washington, and Pacific right where Beckett ends. They know me there because all three places are part of my ambit, usually before filling my pipe.
If I'm heading to the cigar bar of an evening, I will often pass by the dancing ladies in the park on my way. Middle-aged Chinese women dance somewhat better than young hipsters, but not remarkably so.
Unlike the hipsters, however, they enjoy doing it without petulantly seeming to demand that you watch. Which I don't.
Dancing Chinese women.
In a park.
WHAT'S THE POINT?
To conclude, here's a text that perfectly encapsulates my feelings about tourists and suburbanites:
1:1 "What's the point of visiting San Francisco if you're just another tourist carted around in buses surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Kettering and Coventry in their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their Sunday Mirrors, complaining about the tea "Oh they don't make it properly here, do they, not like at home" and stopping at Majorcan bodegas selling bacon cheese-burgers and Sierra Pale Ale and Red Bull and calamares plus two veg and sitting in their cotton frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen purulent flesh 'cos they "overdid it on the first day." 1:2 "And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellevues and Continentals with their modern international luxury roomettes and draught Sierra Pale Ale and Red Bull and swimming pools full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging into queues." 1:3 "And if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss the bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night the hotel has a bloody cabaret in the bar, featuring a tiny emaciated dago with nine-inch hips and some bloated fat tart with her hair brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners."
2:1 "And adenoidal typists from Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up hairy bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel and once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman ruins to buy Orange Fanta and melted ice cream and bleeding Sierra Pale Ale and Red Bull and one evening you visit the so called typical restaurant with local colour and atmosphere and you sit next to a party from Rhyl who keep singing "Torremolinos, Torremolinos" and complaining about the food, "It's so greasy isn't it?"" 2:2 "And you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic camera and Dr. Scholl sandals and last Tuesday's Daily Express and he drones on and on about how Donald Trump should be running this country and how many languages Jeb Bush can speak and then he throws up Sierra Pale Ale over the Cuba Libres." 2:3 "And sending tinted postcards of places they don't realise they haven't even visited to "All at number 22, weather wonderful, our room is marked with an 'X'. Food very greasy but we've found a charming little local place hidden away in the back streets where they serve Sierra Pale Ale and Red Bull and cheese and onion crisps and the accordionist plays 'Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner'."
3:1 "And spending four days on the tarmac at Luton airport on a five-day package tour with nothing to eat but dried BEA-type sandwiches and you can't even get a drink of Sierra Pale Ale because you're still in England and the bloody bar closes every time you're thirsty and there's nowhere to sleep and the kids are crying and vomiting and breaking the plastic ash-trays." 3:2 "And they keep telling you it'll only be another hour although your plane is still in Iceland and has to take some Swedes to Serbia before it can load you up at 3 a.m. in the bloody morning." 3:3 "And you sit on the tarmac till six because of "unforeseen difficulties", i.e. the permanent strike of Air Traffic Control in Paris, and nobody can go to the lavatory until you take off at 8, and when you get to Malaga airport everybody's swallowing enterovioform tablets and queuing for the toilets and queuing for the armed customs officers, and queuing for the bloody bus that isn't there to take you to the hotel that hasn't yet been finished."
4:1 "And when you finally get to the half-built Algerian ruin called the Hotel Del Sol by paying half your holiday money to a licensed bandit in a taxi you find there's no water in the pool, there's no water in the taps, there's no water in the bog and there's only a bleeding lizard in the bidet." 4:2 "And half the rooms are double booked." 4:3 "And you can't sleep anyway because of the permanent twenty-four-hour drilling of the foundations of the hotel next door, and you're plagued by appalling apprentice chemists from Ealing pretending to be hipsters, and middle-class stockbrokers' wives busily buying identical holiday villas in suburban development plots just like Esher, in case the Democratic candidate wins the election, and fat American matrons with sloppy buttocks and Hawaiian-patterned ski pants looking for any mulatto male who can keep it up long enough when they finally let it all flop out."
5:1 "And the Spanish Tourist Board promises you that the raging cholera epidemic is "merely a case of mild Spanish tummy", like the previous outbreak of Spanish tummy in 1660 which killed half London and decimated Europe, and meanwhile the bloody Guardia Civil are busy arresting sixteen-year-olds for kissing in the streets and shooting anyone under nineteen who doesn't like Franco." 5:2 "And then on the last day in the airport lounge every one's comparing sunburns, drinking Asti Spumanti and Red Bull and buying cartons of duty free designer crap and using up their last Euros on horrid dolls in Spanish National costume and awful straw donkeys and bullfight posters with your name on "Ordoney, El Cordobes, and Brian Pooles of Norwich" 5:3 "And 3-D pictures of the Pope and Kennedy and Franco." 5:4 "And everybody's talking about coming again next year and you swear you never will although there you are tumbling bleary-eyed out of a sardine-packed antique Iberian airplane ..... "
Monty Python was right about so many things.
A profoundly formative influence.
And a philosophy.
Watneys Red Barrel is unavailable here.
Which is a good thing.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Who are convinced that they have rights dammit, but no one else does.
Even if San Francisco downtown smells like pollution.
Sewer, pissoir, and freeway combined.
Scream, baby, my sidewalk!
Kill the heretic.
Grants Tobacconist (now out of business) on Market Street bent the scholars at the beauty academy three floors up permanently out of shape. There are now several hairdressers whose studies were put on hiatus because of the psychological trauma they endured there when the faintest whisps of tobacco sent them into panics oh the poor babies.
"Thank you SO much for RUINING my lungs!"
You're very welcome, ma'am.
It's a pleasure.
Did I mention three lanes of slow moving high exhaust traffic? Or the deranged people in every other doorway, some of whom haven't been medicated in years? How about the meth-freak twitching halfway down the block? Naked man under an old rug? Daytime drunk?
But me you bitch about.
I get it.
Anyhow, that's not a likely set of reactions in Chinatown, except from tourists, who usually stay on Grant Avenue because everything else scares them. Unless they visit the one alleyway that has a fortune cookie factory, where there is also a Christian mission in case they want some spiritual restoration: Ross Alley.
There are never any tourists in Trenton Street, around the corner from Y Ben Lau (now a "wellness" clinic and library, extension of the Chinese Hospital) between Jackson and Pacific, and you seldom see them in Beckett or Wentworth either, though there are some hip Caucasians who live in an SRO on the latter. You might spot one or two down on Commercial, because it is picturesque and easy to find, being between the Eastern Bakery on Grant and R & J Lounge on Kearny.
If I've had snackipoos at the dim sum counter on Stockton, I will often head over to Hang Ah, pause for a while watching whoever is playing Tennis at willie 'Woo Woo' Wong, then either head over to Spofford (mahjong parlours) or Waverly (not really an alley, and herds of Germans with informative guides tromp through during the season), before circuitously going further down hill and ending up watching rickety old people playing cards just outside the perimeter of Portsmouth Square (on Walter Lum, between Clay and Washington), within the boundaries of which smoking is not allowed in English.
INFORMATIONAL INTERSTICE
Grant Avenue: 都板街 'du baan gaai'; metropolitan plank street.
Ross Alley: 舊呂宋巷 'gau leui sung hong'; old Luzon lane.
Trenton Street: 登頓街 'dang duen gaai'; thresh-gather arrangement street, which slopes past Ping Yuen. Y Ben Lau: 會賓樓, a defunct restaurant, where in a yet earlier incarnation of that space I took three Shanghainese girls for dim sum. I cannot remember the name it had then, but my guests loved the food.
Chinese Hospital: 東華醫院 'dung waa yi yuen'; east China medical court. Beckett Street: 白話轉街 'baak-waa juen gaai'; vernacular turning street; formerly Bartlett Alley. Wentworth Place: 德和街 'dak wo gaai'; moral harmony street. Commercial Street: 襟美慎街 'kam mei san gaai'; lapel beauty caution street. Hang Ah Alley: 香亞街 'heung ya gaai'; fragrance street, after a parfumerie that once was located here. Willie 'Woo Woo' Wong Playground: 黃顯護球場 'wong hin wu kau cheung', named after a local sports hero. Spofford Alley: 新呂宋巷 'san leui sung hong'; new Luzon lane. Waverly Place: 天后廟街 'tin hau miu gaai'; heaven empress temple street, though the Matsu Temple on Beckett is more commonly known than the Tin Hau shrine nowadays. Tin Hau and Matsu (媽祖'maa jou'; maternal ancestor) are considered the same deity. Germans: 德國人 'dak gwok yan'; ethics country person. Eastern Bakery: 東亞餅食公司 'dung ya bing sik gung si'; east Asia biscuit food public manage. Public manage ('gung si') means company, biscuit foods obviously are baked products such as cookies and pastries. The Eastern Bakery is more commonly know as 東亞餅家 'dung ya bing kaa'; East Asia Cake Family (餅家 means bakery). R & J Lounge: 嶺南小館 'ling naam siu kwun'; southern China minor establishment, deservedly one of the best known restaurants in Chinatown, where you take your snooty out-of-town relatives who aren't easily impressed. Kearny Street: 乾尼街 'gan nei gaai'; dried nun street.
Stockton Street: 市德頓街 'si dak duen gaai'; market harmony arrangement street. Portsmouth Square: 花園角 'faa yuen gok'; flower garden corner. Walter U. Lum Place: 林華耀街 'lam waa yiu gaai'; forest (surname) China glory street, though 花園街 (flower garden street) is more common; it used to be Brenham Place. Clay Street: 企李街 'kei lei gaai'; tiptoe-standing plums street. Washington Street: 華盛頓街 'waa sing duen gaai'; illustrious abundance arranged street. English (language): 英文 'ying man'; brave writing.
- - - - -
There are good places for milk-tea on Waverly Place, Washington, and Pacific right where Beckett ends. They know me there because all three places are part of my ambit, usually before filling my pipe.
If I'm heading to the cigar bar of an evening, I will often pass by the dancing ladies in the park on my way. Middle-aged Chinese women dance somewhat better than young hipsters, but not remarkably so.
Unlike the hipsters, however, they enjoy doing it without petulantly seeming to demand that you watch. Which I don't.
Dancing Chinese women.
In a park.
WHAT'S THE POINT?
To conclude, here's a text that perfectly encapsulates my feelings about tourists and suburbanites:
1:1 "What's the point of visiting San Francisco if you're just another tourist carted around in buses surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Kettering and Coventry in their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their Sunday Mirrors, complaining about the tea "Oh they don't make it properly here, do they, not like at home" and stopping at Majorcan bodegas selling bacon cheese-burgers and Sierra Pale Ale and Red Bull and calamares plus two veg and sitting in their cotton frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen purulent flesh 'cos they "overdid it on the first day." 1:2 "And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellevues and Continentals with their modern international luxury roomettes and draught Sierra Pale Ale and Red Bull and swimming pools full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging into queues." 1:3 "And if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss the bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night the hotel has a bloody cabaret in the bar, featuring a tiny emaciated dago with nine-inch hips and some bloated fat tart with her hair brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners."
2:1 "And adenoidal typists from Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up hairy bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel and once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman ruins to buy Orange Fanta and melted ice cream and bleeding Sierra Pale Ale and Red Bull and one evening you visit the so called typical restaurant with local colour and atmosphere and you sit next to a party from Rhyl who keep singing "Torremolinos, Torremolinos" and complaining about the food, "It's so greasy isn't it?"" 2:2 "And you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic camera and Dr. Scholl sandals and last Tuesday's Daily Express and he drones on and on about how Donald Trump should be running this country and how many languages Jeb Bush can speak and then he throws up Sierra Pale Ale over the Cuba Libres." 2:3 "And sending tinted postcards of places they don't realise they haven't even visited to "All at number 22, weather wonderful, our room is marked with an 'X'. Food very greasy but we've found a charming little local place hidden away in the back streets where they serve Sierra Pale Ale and Red Bull and cheese and onion crisps and the accordionist plays 'Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner'."
3:1 "And spending four days on the tarmac at Luton airport on a five-day package tour with nothing to eat but dried BEA-type sandwiches and you can't even get a drink of Sierra Pale Ale because you're still in England and the bloody bar closes every time you're thirsty and there's nowhere to sleep and the kids are crying and vomiting and breaking the plastic ash-trays." 3:2 "And they keep telling you it'll only be another hour although your plane is still in Iceland and has to take some Swedes to Serbia before it can load you up at 3 a.m. in the bloody morning." 3:3 "And you sit on the tarmac till six because of "unforeseen difficulties", i.e. the permanent strike of Air Traffic Control in Paris, and nobody can go to the lavatory until you take off at 8, and when you get to Malaga airport everybody's swallowing enterovioform tablets and queuing for the toilets and queuing for the armed customs officers, and queuing for the bloody bus that isn't there to take you to the hotel that hasn't yet been finished."
4:1 "And when you finally get to the half-built Algerian ruin called the Hotel Del Sol by paying half your holiday money to a licensed bandit in a taxi you find there's no water in the pool, there's no water in the taps, there's no water in the bog and there's only a bleeding lizard in the bidet." 4:2 "And half the rooms are double booked." 4:3 "And you can't sleep anyway because of the permanent twenty-four-hour drilling of the foundations of the hotel next door, and you're plagued by appalling apprentice chemists from Ealing pretending to be hipsters, and middle-class stockbrokers' wives busily buying identical holiday villas in suburban development plots just like Esher, in case the Democratic candidate wins the election, and fat American matrons with sloppy buttocks and Hawaiian-patterned ski pants looking for any mulatto male who can keep it up long enough when they finally let it all flop out."
5:1 "And the Spanish Tourist Board promises you that the raging cholera epidemic is "merely a case of mild Spanish tummy", like the previous outbreak of Spanish tummy in 1660 which killed half London and decimated Europe, and meanwhile the bloody Guardia Civil are busy arresting sixteen-year-olds for kissing in the streets and shooting anyone under nineteen who doesn't like Franco." 5:2 "And then on the last day in the airport lounge every one's comparing sunburns, drinking Asti Spumanti and Red Bull and buying cartons of duty free designer crap and using up their last Euros on horrid dolls in Spanish National costume and awful straw donkeys and bullfight posters with your name on "Ordoney, El Cordobes, and Brian Pooles of Norwich" 5:3 "And 3-D pictures of the Pope and Kennedy and Franco." 5:4 "And everybody's talking about coming again next year and you swear you never will although there you are tumbling bleary-eyed out of a sardine-packed antique Iberian airplane ..... "
Monty Python was right about so many things.
A profoundly formative influence.
And a philosophy.
Watneys Red Barrel is unavailable here.
Which is a good thing.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
EIGHT LEGS CAFE
Please imagine that in the cave labyrinth underneath Telegraph Hill there is a bakery run by giant spiders. And that, because they are all vegetarians, the char siu sou (叉燒酥)) is filled with tofu.
An altogether horrible idea!
Yet some of my readers may not realize how repulsive that is. "Surely", they will say, "char siu flavoured soybean curd is a great good?"
Unless of course they are spiders.
Who think it's natural.
I will insist that vegetarians have no business taking over our beloved foods and mucking them up by subterfuge. Do we insist upon kelp or wheatgrass flavoured beefsteak? Has anyone ever produced bacon with the appearance of tempeh or miso?
IT'S DAMNED NEAR VEGAN!
At one point a little girl will wander into the spider bakery. She took a wrong turn after twilight (dusk starts shortly after five at this time of year), and, while answering a text message from a beloved classmate ("what caused the fall of the Roman Empire? There are too many possibilities!"), she stumbled into a long dark tunnel -- the entrance was on an alley way, next to the mahjong parlour -- at the very end of which was a bright cheerful light. As she drew closer, shadows in the glowing nimbus became apparent. Lumpish things, some with horns, and also undefinable balls of fur. Plus creatures with many long spindly legs. And there was happy chatter, and good-natured chortling, such as people enjoying a spot of tea and a pastry are wont to make.
Did she still have that ten dollar bill her mommy gave her for lunch? Oh goody, she did! She realized that she was totally starving, she had eaten nothing since breakfast!
She skips up to the counter, excited at the prospect of tasty things to nibble on, and a hot cup of milk tea! All the pastries look so lovely! Crisp and flaky, and there's crumbly roll with red bean paste, and linyong pastry, and egg-tarts, and char siu sou ......
As she's pointing at the char siu sou, the friendly spider behind the counter says "I'm so sorry, little girl, that isn't really char siu, but tofu (and red dye). And that isn't real egg tart (yellow no. 5)."
The child looks utterly crest fallen.
Very very disappointed.
Uncle Spidy gently suggests a strawberry tartlet, and some of the gooey almond bread. They'll be better than even real char siu would have been, and much much nicer than tofu!
And they are.
She stays till seven, when they close, doing her homework.
Afterwards the friendly arachnid walks her up the tunnel to the entrance, and tells her to carefully remember where it is, but be circumspect about telling anyone. The folks in the mahjong parlour in the alleyway don't even know, they're kind of abstracted by their game.
She still has eight dollars left.
He must not have charged her for the hot milk tea. Maybe he forgot? He really wanted her to enjoy the pastries, perhaps that distracted him.
She'll go back tomorrow afternoon and offer to pay.
And to have more strawberry tart.
It's a nice place.
I'll forgive the arachnids for not using butter, or clarified lard, in their baking.
They're repulsed by such things, and just can't help it.
But they really should post a warning.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
An altogether horrible idea!
Yet some of my readers may not realize how repulsive that is. "Surely", they will say, "char siu flavoured soybean curd is a great good?"
Unless of course they are spiders.
Who think it's natural.
I will insist that vegetarians have no business taking over our beloved foods and mucking them up by subterfuge. Do we insist upon kelp or wheatgrass flavoured beefsteak? Has anyone ever produced bacon with the appearance of tempeh or miso?
IT'S DAMNED NEAR VEGAN!
At one point a little girl will wander into the spider bakery. She took a wrong turn after twilight (dusk starts shortly after five at this time of year), and, while answering a text message from a beloved classmate ("what caused the fall of the Roman Empire? There are too many possibilities!"), she stumbled into a long dark tunnel -- the entrance was on an alley way, next to the mahjong parlour -- at the very end of which was a bright cheerful light. As she drew closer, shadows in the glowing nimbus became apparent. Lumpish things, some with horns, and also undefinable balls of fur. Plus creatures with many long spindly legs. And there was happy chatter, and good-natured chortling, such as people enjoying a spot of tea and a pastry are wont to make.
Did she still have that ten dollar bill her mommy gave her for lunch? Oh goody, she did! She realized that she was totally starving, she had eaten nothing since breakfast!
She skips up to the counter, excited at the prospect of tasty things to nibble on, and a hot cup of milk tea! All the pastries look so lovely! Crisp and flaky, and there's crumbly roll with red bean paste, and linyong pastry, and egg-tarts, and char siu sou ......
As she's pointing at the char siu sou, the friendly spider behind the counter says "I'm so sorry, little girl, that isn't really char siu, but tofu (and red dye). And that isn't real egg tart (yellow no. 5)."
The child looks utterly crest fallen.
Very very disappointed.
Uncle Spidy gently suggests a strawberry tartlet, and some of the gooey almond bread. They'll be better than even real char siu would have been, and much much nicer than tofu!
And they are.
She stays till seven, when they close, doing her homework.
Afterwards the friendly arachnid walks her up the tunnel to the entrance, and tells her to carefully remember where it is, but be circumspect about telling anyone. The folks in the mahjong parlour in the alleyway don't even know, they're kind of abstracted by their game.
She still has eight dollars left.
He must not have charged her for the hot milk tea. Maybe he forgot? He really wanted her to enjoy the pastries, perhaps that distracted him.
She'll go back tomorrow afternoon and offer to pay.
And to have more strawberry tart.
It's a nice place.
I'll forgive the arachnids for not using butter, or clarified lard, in their baking.
They're repulsed by such things, and just can't help it.
But they really should post a warning.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
SPOFFORD NEEDS REAL BENCHES
One way to improve Spofford Alley would be to remove all the stupid concrete obstacles (planters and round blocks) that some dogoodniks littered along the entire length of the block. In fact, most of the concrete sitting blocks in Chinatown alleys are an utter waste of space and uncomfortable, as well as rather remarkably ugly.
Pigeons dump on them in any case.
No one wants to sit there.
Put in some real benches, for heavens sake, and if you're worried about bums sleeping there make them divided seating so no one can lie down.
Entirely aside from which, bums already sleep in Chinatown. There is an entire colony of them in Hang Ah, right next to the Willie Woo Woo Wong Playground. As well as half a dozen dossed down in the entry way to Chong Kee Jan on Walter Lum, facing Portsmouth Square. Which, by the way, has several seriously disturbed people infesting the shrubbery at all hours. They dominate when the gamblers leave for the night.
I suppose having homeless people sleep outdoors in Chinatown, even if the vast majority of those that actually do so aren't Chinese but white and black crazies, is a convenience for everyone in San Francisco. Because they aren't bothering any of the folks in the shopping areas downtown when they're there, nor befouling doorways in the Financial District.
They are entirely out of sight, and out of mind.
And really, who is complaining?
My favourite alleys are Hang Ah, because during the daytime it is quiet and not particularly skeevy; Spofford and Ross, which are both mixed residential and commercial, plus Wentworth and Becket below Grant Avenue. But absolutely the nicest alleys are Trenton between Jackson and Pacific, and Commercial from Grant down to Leidesdorff.
I note that there are very nice benches on Commercial between Kearny and Sansome, after one enters the Financial District. Obviously, pudgy office workers need to sit down far more than fragile elderly Chinese, even if the only time that they will do so outdoors is during lunch.
You know, real benches in many of the Chinatown alleyways would be very nice. It would allow seniors to spend more time outdoors, and the neighborhood would become so much brighter and more livable.
Yes, I know. Lots of benches in Portsmouth Square.
Did I already mention the disturbed people?
And smoking is not allowed in parks.
Many elderly men smoke.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Pigeons dump on them in any case.
No one wants to sit there.
Put in some real benches, for heavens sake, and if you're worried about bums sleeping there make them divided seating so no one can lie down.
Entirely aside from which, bums already sleep in Chinatown. There is an entire colony of them in Hang Ah, right next to the Willie Woo Woo Wong Playground. As well as half a dozen dossed down in the entry way to Chong Kee Jan on Walter Lum, facing Portsmouth Square. Which, by the way, has several seriously disturbed people infesting the shrubbery at all hours. They dominate when the gamblers leave for the night.
I suppose having homeless people sleep outdoors in Chinatown, even if the vast majority of those that actually do so aren't Chinese but white and black crazies, is a convenience for everyone in San Francisco. Because they aren't bothering any of the folks in the shopping areas downtown when they're there, nor befouling doorways in the Financial District.
They are entirely out of sight, and out of mind.
And really, who is complaining?
My favourite alleys are Hang Ah, because during the daytime it is quiet and not particularly skeevy; Spofford and Ross, which are both mixed residential and commercial, plus Wentworth and Becket below Grant Avenue. But absolutely the nicest alleys are Trenton between Jackson and Pacific, and Commercial from Grant down to Leidesdorff.
I note that there are very nice benches on Commercial between Kearny and Sansome, after one enters the Financial District. Obviously, pudgy office workers need to sit down far more than fragile elderly Chinese, even if the only time that they will do so outdoors is during lunch.
You know, real benches in many of the Chinatown alleyways would be very nice. It would allow seniors to spend more time outdoors, and the neighborhood would become so much brighter and more livable.
Yes, I know. Lots of benches in Portsmouth Square.
Did I already mention the disturbed people?
And smoking is not allowed in parks.
Many elderly men smoke.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
VERY LIKELY SHE'S BEREFT!
Ross Alley is one of the most-visited areas of Chinatown. Reason being that it is non-threatening -- no obvious signs of cannibalism, white slavery, daemon rum, and drug addiction -- and contains, in addition to a Christian mission to the heathens, also a fortune cookie factory, a picturesque old geezer, a learning annex, and a trinket shop.
And a smallish pale purple brassiere.
Which reflects impeccable taste.
Slightly padded for comfort.
Discreet lace edging.
Given this data, it should not surprise you at all that there are often tourists present. They're timorous beasties, and quiveringly follow the dictats of their tourguides, without whom they would be lost.
Ross. Easy word. Tourists.
But the smallish brassiere is an anomaly. It is by no means a permanent and admirable fixture, alas. It fluttered down from on high while I was strolling through the alleyway. I would have picked it up and possibly rushed off with it, but there were tourists there.
Consequently my only connection with the tasteful pale purple garment is that I keenly feel for the woman from whose window it fell. There were other items still hanging there, to air-dry while their owner is at work, but they were too far up to accurately identify. Although one of them may have been a pair of light blue panties.
It may have been her favourite bra. Such things are precious.
People of both genders are often very attached to one.
And, if it's comfortable and well-designed.....
A profound loss! Worth lamenting!
I can intensely imagine her heart-ache when she comes home and finds it missing. If I ever meet her, I should gladly buy her a replacement.
I feel that it would be a gallant thing to do.
An ice-breaker, in any case.
I wish I could say more about the bra, perhaps creatively speculating about the person who used to wear it, her home life and personality as suggested by the garment, but I only saw it briefly. One does not wish to be noticed staring at a woman's bra, you see, and although I looked back quickly several times to ascertain that it was still there, those were only fleeting glimpses, from progressively greater distances. So, other than hue, padding, shape and curvature, plus the discreet lace edging (white), there is not much I can report. Couldn't even speculate about the proportion of cotton versus synthetic fabric.
'Tis a sad, sad loss.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
And a smallish pale purple brassiere.
Which reflects impeccable taste.
Slightly padded for comfort.
Discreet lace edging.
Given this data, it should not surprise you at all that there are often tourists present. They're timorous beasties, and quiveringly follow the dictats of their tourguides, without whom they would be lost.
Ross. Easy word. Tourists.
But the smallish brassiere is an anomaly. It is by no means a permanent and admirable fixture, alas. It fluttered down from on high while I was strolling through the alleyway. I would have picked it up and possibly rushed off with it, but there were tourists there.
Consequently my only connection with the tasteful pale purple garment is that I keenly feel for the woman from whose window it fell. There were other items still hanging there, to air-dry while their owner is at work, but they were too far up to accurately identify. Although one of them may have been a pair of light blue panties.
It may have been her favourite bra. Such things are precious.
People of both genders are often very attached to one.
And, if it's comfortable and well-designed.....
A profound loss! Worth lamenting!
I can intensely imagine her heart-ache when she comes home and finds it missing. If I ever meet her, I should gladly buy her a replacement.
I feel that it would be a gallant thing to do.
An ice-breaker, in any case.
I wish I could say more about the bra, perhaps creatively speculating about the person who used to wear it, her home life and personality as suggested by the garment, but I only saw it briefly. One does not wish to be noticed staring at a woman's bra, you see, and although I looked back quickly several times to ascertain that it was still there, those were only fleeting glimpses, from progressively greater distances. So, other than hue, padding, shape and curvature, plus the discreet lace edging (white), there is not much I can report. Couldn't even speculate about the proportion of cotton versus synthetic fabric.
'Tis a sad, sad loss.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
AMERICAN HISTORY BETWEEN JACKSON AND WASHINGTON
Yesterday I got a late start on my jaunt to Chinatown for tea and a snack. And besides that, I wandered around once I got there to purchase this and that (炸豆腐兩塊，一簇蔬菜 'jaa daufu leung faai, yat chuk so choi' -- fried tofu two lumps, one bunch of veggies). So it wasn't till around six o'clock that I headed over to a friendly place.
從昃臣街到華盛頓街。
['chung jak san gai dou waa sing dun gai']
Once I turned into the alley, I heard a squeaky girlish voice saying "and there was also one named John, John Aaah-dums!" It turned out to be someone less than half my height holding her mom's hand as they walked. The mother said "hai maa" (係嘛 "is it, huh?"), probably merely to indicate that she was indeed listening. As they walked it became clearer that the little child spoke English as a first language, the parent English barely at all. Yet at first it really seemed like they were communicating. "Yes, and he was a lawyer (律師 'lut-si'), but not like sook sook ("uncle"), a REAL lawyer". The mother indicated profound astonishment: "m-hai-a maa (唔係吖嘛 "oh surely not?")?"
"A lawyer!!!"
The little girl pronounced it 'loh yah', with a certain relish. So far she had enunciated almost everything clearly and distinctly, but this may have been a concept that was more intelligible if kept in the correct accent.
The mother said "waa" (嘩 "wow") in feigned amazement.
The kid probably didn't even hear the pretense.
Almost everyone is familiar with lawyers.
They aren't a modern invention.
As I walked behind them I could only be surprised that a child so young, obviously of kindergarten age, was happily spouting American history. When I was her age -- five at most -- I didn't know beans about American history. That didn't come until I had turned my ever-growing skill at reading Dutch into an ability to read English, when I was almost nine.
This kid probably already knew how to read.
"And after Aaah-dums there was Jefferson, who was big, and rich, and also owned slaves!"
And that, clearly, was too much. The mother snorted "jan-ge (眞嘅)?!?" as if to express 'you don't say'. Slaves, indeed. Whatever those were.
I too was surprised. What on earth are they teaching kids these days?
No one needs to know that a Founding Father had a dark side.
At least not until later; it's a complex situation.
The kid halted and pulled at her mother's hand.
"But you have to learn this, it's important!"
It was at that moment that I realized what was going on. The child was reviewing what she had heard in school, so that her mom's English would improve. And mom, when she picked the kid up, had finished putting in a full day and was probably both pre-occupied and tired.
Likely the process was something that both of them had worked out.
Though perhaps not with such a clearly stated purpose.
The kid was just being conscientious.
She had a task to do.
Was the child really as young as I think she was? Maybe not. She could have already been in grammar school. But she looked very small, and sounded extremely young.
Unless the mother starts paying attention, she risks her daughter eventually no longer understanding her.
If you don't speak your children's language, you end up alone.
When they turned the corner I could still hear the little girl saying "Jefferson, Thomas Jefferson, you must remember!"
She sounded serious.
* * * * *
METALEGOMENON
Across Washington Street from the alleyway (德和街 'dak wo gai'; Wentworth Place), the warm light of the bakery beckoned. Even though the restaurant section was full and hub-bubbly, the tables in front of the baked goods counters were unoccupied.
When the boss-lady saw me come in she asked "ah, nei seui-yiu naai chaa, ha?" (哦，你需要奶茶，啊？Hey, you need milk tea, eh?)
Yes want, please, hot" (要，唔該，熱嘅。"yiu, m-goi, yit ge.")
"Jo-dai sin, ngo lo bei nei" (坐底先，我攞畀你。"Sit down first, I'll bring it to you".).
When they know you, it's like coming home.
Their milk-tea is really good.
Note that 'jo dai sin' is a strictly Cantonese way of expressing it, and 'lo bei' is quite nearly unintelligible gibberish to a Mandarin speaker even when written. Trust me, it makes NO sense outside of Cantonese.
The fried tofu and fresh vegetables I had purchased were later used to make a hot pot, with dried mushroom slices, a little sausage, and a broth flavoured with abalone extract, soy sauce, rice wine, ginger, sugar, and five spice powder. Plus a squeeze of hot sauce.
Fried tofu can be bought at Wo Chong company, Inc. (和昌芽菜豆腐 'wo chung ngaa choi dau fu'), 863 Washington Street, just down from Stockton. They make their tofu fresh daily, and the fried tofu squares are a beautiful addition to a soup or stew.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
從昃臣街到華盛頓街。
['chung jak san gai dou waa sing dun gai']
Once I turned into the alley, I heard a squeaky girlish voice saying "and there was also one named John, John Aaah-dums!" It turned out to be someone less than half my height holding her mom's hand as they walked. The mother said "hai maa" (係嘛 "is it, huh?"), probably merely to indicate that she was indeed listening. As they walked it became clearer that the little child spoke English as a first language, the parent English barely at all. Yet at first it really seemed like they were communicating. "Yes, and he was a lawyer (律師 'lut-si'), but not like sook sook ("uncle"), a REAL lawyer". The mother indicated profound astonishment: "m-hai-a maa (唔係吖嘛 "oh surely not?")?"
"A lawyer!!!"
The little girl pronounced it 'loh yah', with a certain relish. So far she had enunciated almost everything clearly and distinctly, but this may have been a concept that was more intelligible if kept in the correct accent.
The mother said "waa" (嘩 "wow") in feigned amazement.
The kid probably didn't even hear the pretense.
Almost everyone is familiar with lawyers.
They aren't a modern invention.
As I walked behind them I could only be surprised that a child so young, obviously of kindergarten age, was happily spouting American history. When I was her age -- five at most -- I didn't know beans about American history. That didn't come until I had turned my ever-growing skill at reading Dutch into an ability to read English, when I was almost nine.
This kid probably already knew how to read.
"And after Aaah-dums there was Jefferson, who was big, and rich, and also owned slaves!"
And that, clearly, was too much. The mother snorted "jan-ge (眞嘅)?!?" as if to express 'you don't say'. Slaves, indeed. Whatever those were.
I too was surprised. What on earth are they teaching kids these days?
No one needs to know that a Founding Father had a dark side.
At least not until later; it's a complex situation.
The kid halted and pulled at her mother's hand.
"But you have to learn this, it's important!"
It was at that moment that I realized what was going on. The child was reviewing what she had heard in school, so that her mom's English would improve. And mom, when she picked the kid up, had finished putting in a full day and was probably both pre-occupied and tired.
Likely the process was something that both of them had worked out.
Though perhaps not with such a clearly stated purpose.
The kid was just being conscientious.
She had a task to do.
Was the child really as young as I think she was? Maybe not. She could have already been in grammar school. But she looked very small, and sounded extremely young.
Unless the mother starts paying attention, she risks her daughter eventually no longer understanding her.
If you don't speak your children's language, you end up alone.
When they turned the corner I could still hear the little girl saying "Jefferson, Thomas Jefferson, you must remember!"
She sounded serious.
* * * * *
METALEGOMENON
Across Washington Street from the alleyway (德和街 'dak wo gai'; Wentworth Place), the warm light of the bakery beckoned. Even though the restaurant section was full and hub-bubbly, the tables in front of the baked goods counters were unoccupied.
When the boss-lady saw me come in she asked "ah, nei seui-yiu naai chaa, ha?" (哦，你需要奶茶，啊？Hey, you need milk tea, eh?)
Yes want, please, hot" (要，唔該，熱嘅。"yiu, m-goi, yit ge.")
"Jo-dai sin, ngo lo bei nei" (坐底先，我攞畀你。"Sit down first, I'll bring it to you".).
When they know you, it's like coming home.
Their milk-tea is really good.
Note that 'jo dai sin' is a strictly Cantonese way of expressing it, and 'lo bei' is quite nearly unintelligible gibberish to a Mandarin speaker even when written. Trust me, it makes NO sense outside of Cantonese.
The fried tofu and fresh vegetables I had purchased were later used to make a hot pot, with dried mushroom slices, a little sausage, and a broth flavoured with abalone extract, soy sauce, rice wine, ginger, sugar, and five spice powder. Plus a squeeze of hot sauce.
Fried tofu can be bought at Wo Chong company, Inc. (和昌芽菜豆腐 'wo chung ngaa choi dau fu'), 863 Washington Street, just down from Stockton. They make their tofu fresh daily, and the fried tofu squares are a beautiful addition to a soup or stew.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, June 23, 2014
HANG AH ALLEYWAY IS A DUMP
There are benches there overlooking the tennis and volleyball courts, but you dare not sit there. They are the property of strange people camping out. I suspect that the city authorities deliberately ignore the squalor, as despite the colourful nature of the Chinatown neighborhood, and its magnetic ability to draw in morbidly obese tourists from the other states -- all of whom pay exorbitant prices for food, drink, and lodging in this city -- our benevolent real-estate mogul leadership is actually rather embarrassed about the Chinese, and would far rather that they go elsewhere. They are occupying valuable housing that could be more profitably rented to programmers and e-yuppies. And if Chinatown disappears, there will be no further justification for maintaining a height-limit on construction, in what is an area of prime real-estate right next to the financial district.
If a crazy recently released person gropes a little girl, that can only be good for business. Might persuade the non-fully Americanized to leave.
The more the merrier.
Or is that "the fewer, the better"?
Really, why are there so many non-Chinese loony tunes in the middle of Chinatown? Portsmouth Square this afternoon was awash with stark-raving mad white people. A rich slice of life if ever there was one. The combination of general grottiness -- because city services like sweeping and litter control are severely underfunded -- and insane asylum escapees, along with people sleeping off drug or alcohol induced stupors, in between having fits and shivers, was quite enough to frighten away even the visitors, whose only function is to marvel at the wondrousness of it all, while dropping piles of cash in the upscale hotels and boutiques near Union Square.
Look Mom, a filthy naked person drinking bubble tea!
Stand next to him, Hyacinth, we need a photo!
Hyacinth dutifully strikes a pose.
Smiling coyly.
CHEESE!
The folks back in Iowa City will be so impressed!
Shortly afterwards, the loony vomits.
Definitely the best shot.
香雅巷的垃圾
Anyway, back to the benches in Hang Ah Alley. Cardboard box hutments, with filthy extremities sticking out. A gibbering black man, angrily taking his luggage to pieces. A disheveled bag-woman animatedly arguing with a brick wall. Someone with long unkempt hair pawing at the air, bewildered by the invisible presences just beyond reach.
Downhill, on the other side of the Tennis and Volleybal courts, kids were happily playing. Yes, out of sight of the extreme examples of real world pathos in the alleyway, but still too close for comfort. Which is probably why their grandparents were keeping an eagle eye on everything, just in case.
The gates of the social clubs that line the alley were all shut, locked to keep the flotsam out.
Inspector Callahan: "Well, when an adult male is chasing a female with intent to commit rape, I shoot the bastard; that's my policy."
Mayor: "Intent? How do you establish that?"
Inspector Callahan: "When a naked man is chasing a woman through an alley with a butcher knife and a hard-on, I figure he isn't out collecting for the Red Cross."
[From the movie 'Dirty Harry', made in 1971, starring Clint Eastwood.]
Normally I like Hang Ah Alley. Especially on a sunny day. But instead of lingering there, I strode through purposely, having recognized in seconds that it had been allowed to lapse. Again. Like all the back passages in Chinatown, it suffers from the malign neglect of a city administration that only listens to what they want to hear; that being the dulcet diction of nice middle-class people who speak excellent English and take pompous political hacks seriously.
You know, the folks who can be invited to cocktail parties.
And relied on to pay generously for the privilege.
With praise and campaign funding.
Brie eaters.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
If a crazy recently released person gropes a little girl, that can only be good for business. Might persuade the non-fully Americanized to leave.
The more the merrier.
Or is that "the fewer, the better"?
Really, why are there so many non-Chinese loony tunes in the middle of Chinatown? Portsmouth Square this afternoon was awash with stark-raving mad white people. A rich slice of life if ever there was one. The combination of general grottiness -- because city services like sweeping and litter control are severely underfunded -- and insane asylum escapees, along with people sleeping off drug or alcohol induced stupors, in between having fits and shivers, was quite enough to frighten away even the visitors, whose only function is to marvel at the wondrousness of it all, while dropping piles of cash in the upscale hotels and boutiques near Union Square.
Look Mom, a filthy naked person drinking bubble tea!
Stand next to him, Hyacinth, we need a photo!
Hyacinth dutifully strikes a pose.
Smiling coyly.
CHEESE!
The folks back in Iowa City will be so impressed!
Shortly afterwards, the loony vomits.
Definitely the best shot.
香雅巷的垃圾
Anyway, back to the benches in Hang Ah Alley. Cardboard box hutments, with filthy extremities sticking out. A gibbering black man, angrily taking his luggage to pieces. A disheveled bag-woman animatedly arguing with a brick wall. Someone with long unkempt hair pawing at the air, bewildered by the invisible presences just beyond reach.
Downhill, on the other side of the Tennis and Volleybal courts, kids were happily playing. Yes, out of sight of the extreme examples of real world pathos in the alleyway, but still too close for comfort. Which is probably why their grandparents were keeping an eagle eye on everything, just in case.
The gates of the social clubs that line the alley were all shut, locked to keep the flotsam out.
Inspector Callahan: "Well, when an adult male is chasing a female with intent to commit rape, I shoot the bastard; that's my policy."
Mayor: "Intent? How do you establish that?"
Inspector Callahan: "When a naked man is chasing a woman through an alley with a butcher knife and a hard-on, I figure he isn't out collecting for the Red Cross."
[From the movie 'Dirty Harry', made in 1971, starring Clint Eastwood.]
Normally I like Hang Ah Alley. Especially on a sunny day. But instead of lingering there, I strode through purposely, having recognized in seconds that it had been allowed to lapse. Again. Like all the back passages in Chinatown, it suffers from the malign neglect of a city administration that only listens to what they want to hear; that being the dulcet diction of nice middle-class people who speak excellent English and take pompous political hacks seriously.
You know, the folks who can be invited to cocktail parties.
And relied on to pay generously for the privilege.
With praise and campaign funding.
Brie eaters.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, January 04, 2014
CHINATOWN NEEDS MORE COPS
Interesting caption for an essay, don't you think? "Chinatown needs more cops." And no, this has nothing to do with Chinese crime. Neither Chinese on Chinese crime, nor Chinese on innocent pure white folks who never did anyone any harm and don't deserve it.
Instead, it has to do with street people. And the assorted loonies that the police have so helpfully chased away from the downtown shopping areas.
Why did the various loose ends end up in Chinatown?
Because unlike merchants in Union Square and along Market Street between Montgomery and Powell -- the places where tourists drop their money and show how much they appreciate a colourful and festive metropolis like San Francisco -- the folks who live and work in Chinatown are somewhat hesitant to call the authorities at the drop of every single hat. Their tendency is to believe that if they don't attract overmuch attention from the police force, they won't be treated like crap when they really need a bit of law-enforcement.
Which allows some pretty unstable people to roam about terrorizing honest folks just trying to make a living.
Such as the insane black gentleman with whom I got into an altercation at one of my favourite eateries.
Apparently the rangy looking dude is a regular pest there. They refused to allow him to use the bathroom, they would not mollify him with any dumplings even though he screamed and shouted, and when they asked him to leave he got abusive and started pushing the woman who owns the place around. He even spat on the counter, overturned things, and smashed the tip jar, and was about to smack the proprietress.
Who is only five foot tall and weighs less than me.
So I chased his nasty skank ass out.
Before continuing my meal.
Which was delicious.
This is not something I am supposed to do. If we hadn't started tolerating the whackjobs in this city and declared it a sanctuary so many years ago, it would not be something I would have to do.
Yeah, the city finally did something about the hobo jungle in Hang Ah Alley. Probably only AFTER one of those people groped some child in the nearby playground. But the nuts are still hanging out at Washington Square, and every time I walk past that area I see at least one of them trying to threaten some of the little old gambling addicts that play cards there all day long.
And guess what? The seediness has started to return; the shifty campers are slowly infiltrating Hang Ah Alley again.
Which is right next to a tennis court and a volleyball area.
And very near a playground with children.
Where there are few adults.
Elderly adults.
Mostly.
There are enough crazy people in Chinatown who already belong there that they don't need any more. And there are far too many children and vulnerable oldsters to permit the near-complete absence of either the mental health professionals OR the trained keepers of the peace.
Chinatown is one of the main reasons that tourists come to this city. Chinatown is picturesque, photogenic, fascinating, and something you just won't see in Fumbuck, Iowa. Chinatown helps lay the golden egg that much of this city feeds on. Chinatown is overcrowded, not at all prosperous, and because of both apathy and neglect by Recology and the Department of Public Works (and others), Chinatown is a health-hazard waiting to happen.
Nice that we have so many tourists, as well as all the carpetbagging yuppies from elsewhere in the country. And programmers, business majors, hipsters, and reasonably prosperous artistic types, who all move here. But if we don't take care of our own, we won't have that enticing golden reputation much longer.
All we'll have are nutcases and speed freaks terrorizing honest folks just trying to make a living.
Chinatown needs more cops.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Why did the various loose ends end up in Chinatown?
Because unlike merchants in Union Square and along Market Street between Montgomery and Powell -- the places where tourists drop their money and show how much they appreciate a colourful and festive metropolis like San Francisco -- the folks who live and work in Chinatown are somewhat hesitant to call the authorities at the drop of every single hat. Their tendency is to believe that if they don't attract overmuch attention from the police force, they won't be treated like crap when they really need a bit of law-enforcement.
Which allows some pretty unstable people to roam about terrorizing honest folks just trying to make a living.
Such as the insane black gentleman with whom I got into an altercation at one of my favourite eateries.
Apparently the rangy looking dude is a regular pest there. They refused to allow him to use the bathroom, they would not mollify him with any dumplings even though he screamed and shouted, and when they asked him to leave he got abusive and started pushing the woman who owns the place around. He even spat on the counter, overturned things, and smashed the tip jar, and was about to smack the proprietress.
Who is only five foot tall and weighs less than me.
So I chased his nasty skank ass out.
Before continuing my meal.
Which was delicious.
This is not something I am supposed to do. If we hadn't started tolerating the whackjobs in this city and declared it a sanctuary so many years ago, it would not be something I would have to do.
Yeah, the city finally did something about the hobo jungle in Hang Ah Alley. Probably only AFTER one of those people groped some child in the nearby playground. But the nuts are still hanging out at Washington Square, and every time I walk past that area I see at least one of them trying to threaten some of the little old gambling addicts that play cards there all day long.
And guess what? The seediness has started to return; the shifty campers are slowly infiltrating Hang Ah Alley again.
Which is right next to a tennis court and a volleyball area.
And very near a playground with children.
Where there are few adults.
Elderly adults.
Mostly.
There are enough crazy people in Chinatown who already belong there that they don't need any more. And there are far too many children and vulnerable oldsters to permit the near-complete absence of either the mental health professionals OR the trained keepers of the peace.
Chinatown is one of the main reasons that tourists come to this city. Chinatown is picturesque, photogenic, fascinating, and something you just won't see in Fumbuck, Iowa. Chinatown helps lay the golden egg that much of this city feeds on. Chinatown is overcrowded, not at all prosperous, and because of both apathy and neglect by Recology and the Department of Public Works (and others), Chinatown is a health-hazard waiting to happen.
Nice that we have so many tourists, as well as all the carpetbagging yuppies from elsewhere in the country. And programmers, business majors, hipsters, and reasonably prosperous artistic types, who all move here. But if we don't take care of our own, we won't have that enticing golden reputation much longer.
All we'll have are nutcases and speed freaks terrorizing honest folks just trying to make a living.
Chinatown needs more cops.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, October 13, 2013
MIDNIGHT SNACK
I missed the last bus, so I took a zig-zaggy way home. The direct route would have had me huffing up a steep slope, and there was plenty of time. So instead of heading directly up Sacramento or California Street, I wandered from Kearney Street to Grant Avenue, cut up to Waverly at Clay, then traversed Portola ("Old Chinatown Lane") from Washington to Jackson, crossed Stockton, and turned right into Trenton Street.
Right outside the eastern side of the Ping Yuen West housing project, there were two orbs at waist level.
[Sacramento Street: 唐人街 (or 沙加緬度街 past 美臣街). California Street: 加利福尼亞街. Kearney Street: 乾尼街. Grant Avenue: 都板街. Waverly: 天后廟街. Clay Street: 企李街. Portola Alley: 舊華埠巷. Washington Street: 華盛頓街. Jackson Street: 積臣街. Stockton Street: 市德頓街, Trenton Street: 登頓街. Ping Yuen West: 西平原.]
Two glowing orbs.
Curious.
浣熊!
I looked at the raccoon. The raccoon looked at me. I stepped back a few paces, and filled a pipe. The raccoon observed. I lit the pipe. The raccoon was alarmed at the flare, then calmed down when the flame died. Just in case the animal was still disconcerted, I took another step backward. The raccoon cautiously resumed wrestling with the lid of the refuse disposal unit, occasionally glancing over in my direction.
Don't worry, small furry person, I have a pipe! You can enjoy all of that yourself, there is no need to share. Honestly.
My oral fixation is satisfied.
Eat!
I have no idea what the creature found in there. But whatever it was, it smelled fecund. Rich, robust, and fruity. Rather like a good Virginia flake tobacco. Perhaps I should offer to share my smoke?
Fish heads; that accounts for the aroma of Perique.
There should be a late-night eatery in Chinatown, run by a Cantonese relative of Gandalf, so that a middle-aged Dutch American and a young raccoon might have a bite together.
Something with noodles.
See, you hold the chopsticks like so; use your first digit for leverage, because you do not actually have opposable thumbs, what with being a raccoon and all. That's just the way it is. Then angle your second and third digits against the pieces of bamboo, and with deft pinching motions you can lift the morsels to your mouth.
Have you ever had charsiu? I really think you'll like it.
Be cautious with the Sriracha hotsauce.
Unless you've had it before.
It's... peppy.
The raccoon would likely need at least three(!) telephone books on the seat to reach up to the table. But it would probably love the lights, and shiny surfaces. Along with the quietness, and the fact that Gandalf understands the existential hunger furry creatures feel.
As well as their liking for noodles.
After our snack, we'll share some tobacco.
The raccoon finished rooting around, came down from the garbage can and stared up at me for a few seconds, then turned around and slipped through the fencing into the courtyard of Ping Yuen.
I tapped out my pipe, and continued up Pacific.
Not now, but one of these days.
Noodles.
*浣熊 (woon hong): the wash bear.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Right outside the eastern side of the Ping Yuen West housing project, there were two orbs at waist level.
[Sacramento Street: 唐人街 (or 沙加緬度街 past 美臣街). California Street: 加利福尼亞街. Kearney Street: 乾尼街. Grant Avenue: 都板街. Waverly: 天后廟街. Clay Street: 企李街. Portola Alley: 舊華埠巷. Washington Street: 華盛頓街. Jackson Street: 積臣街. Stockton Street: 市德頓街, Trenton Street: 登頓街. Ping Yuen West: 西平原.]
Two glowing orbs.
Curious.
浣熊!
I looked at the raccoon. The raccoon looked at me. I stepped back a few paces, and filled a pipe. The raccoon observed. I lit the pipe. The raccoon was alarmed at the flare, then calmed down when the flame died. Just in case the animal was still disconcerted, I took another step backward. The raccoon cautiously resumed wrestling with the lid of the refuse disposal unit, occasionally glancing over in my direction.
Don't worry, small furry person, I have a pipe! You can enjoy all of that yourself, there is no need to share. Honestly.
My oral fixation is satisfied.
Eat!
I have no idea what the creature found in there. But whatever it was, it smelled fecund. Rich, robust, and fruity. Rather like a good Virginia flake tobacco. Perhaps I should offer to share my smoke?
Fish heads; that accounts for the aroma of Perique.
There should be a late-night eatery in Chinatown, run by a Cantonese relative of Gandalf, so that a middle-aged Dutch American and a young raccoon might have a bite together.
Something with noodles.
See, you hold the chopsticks like so; use your first digit for leverage, because you do not actually have opposable thumbs, what with being a raccoon and all. That's just the way it is. Then angle your second and third digits against the pieces of bamboo, and with deft pinching motions you can lift the morsels to your mouth.
Have you ever had charsiu? I really think you'll like it.
Be cautious with the Sriracha hotsauce.
Unless you've had it before.
It's... peppy.
The raccoon would likely need at least three(!) telephone books on the seat to reach up to the table. But it would probably love the lights, and shiny surfaces. Along with the quietness, and the fact that Gandalf understands the existential hunger furry creatures feel.
As well as their liking for noodles.
After our snack, we'll share some tobacco.
The raccoon finished rooting around, came down from the garbage can and stared up at me for a few seconds, then turned around and slipped through the fencing into the courtyard of Ping Yuen.
I tapped out my pipe, and continued up Pacific.
Not now, but one of these days.
Noodles.
*浣熊 (woon hong): the wash bear.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, October 12, 2013
POTTED PLANTS
Two minor occurrences recently indicate that there is overmuch wrong with the world. Or at least, the world within San Francisco Chinatown.
Both involve plants in pots.
新呂宋巷嘅件事
The first one is the surreptitious removal of two large concrete planters installed in Spofford Alley as part of a civic beautification programme a few years ago. Possibly put there an attempt to make a narrow stretch with lively mahjong cockpits and small businesses on both sides more inviting. Seeing as surely both tourists and residents would be intimidated by a noisy tunnel with rackety social clubs, a hair salon, and a flower shop. And there are indeed residents there, lots of them. Installing planters might bring the shy creatures out into the open.
The planters are no longer there. Some one probably decided that they needed to park a car occasionally. Or that there needed to be space for parking, so that one could pass non-moving vehicles. Which the presence of the planters prevented.
No, I don't think that the city dis-installed them.
Instead, I have this vision of a somewhat timid looking gentleman from Hong Kong armed with dynamite and a jackhammer quietly destroying both concrete items in the middle of the night, while no one noticed.
Dammit, there's NO space to make deliveries in this alley.
Rank rebellion against the civic beautifiers.
An insubordinate citizen.
Miscreance.
It was actually high time someone did so, as almost all the planters in that alleyway are disused, abandoned, void of any trees that may have originally been in them. They function as spittoons, garbage bins, pissoirs for white people, and irritating obstructions. As urban improvement projects went, they were a pointless failure.
Installed during a fit of patronizing benevolence.
I doubt that residents were consulted.
Here are your planters!
We know best!
Quiet!
Civic "improvement" that serves to make a neighborhood cutesypoo and cuddly despite the rowdy local residents, is both irritating and hypocritical.
A couple of dying trees and several other concrete obstructions do not improve the life of anyone except those who know better, and are relatively cheap window dressing besides. If you really want to benefit the neighborhood, how about spending some real money? Given the enrichment brought by tourists, who rupture their wallets while gawking at all the fascinating Chinese people, there should be plenty of funds available. Perhaps computer learning centres? Benches for the old folks to sit and enjoy the autumn sun? More police foot patrols?
I don't know. Dumping ugly concrete planters that no one likes or wants in a narrow alley seems rather haphazard, stifling, and cluttersome.
Nicely repaving that alley could be a far better idea.
The residents need more jackhammers.
Kindly see to it.
花園街嘅件事
The other 'plant in pot' related offense is that someone complained about a local business putting out two tables, three chairs, and several potted plants every day, in order to make the sidewalk in front of their café more inviting. The potted plants that were clustered around the two trees in front, as well as the warmth of a little oasis where one could enjoy a beverage while watching the world go by, added considerable charm to an alleyway which normally attracts people with the shakes. Someone, probably a jealous nearby merchant, set up a squawk, and the city sprung into action. The health department ferociously shook their finger at the offending business owner, and several agencies came down on his enterprise like a ton of bricks.
Drinking coffee in the open air is not a health problem.
There was no litter, and no garbage issue.
It was clean and inviting.
The city still hasn't done anything about the smelly dumpsters of a nearby emporium. Or the potholes and refuse in the street. Or the crazies that lurk all round that area, and make it both rank and skeevy at night. Two clean tables, three non-rickety chairs, and some nice greenery, however, are an opportunity for bureaucrats to show that they care, and are avidly concerned. The garbage cans at both ends of that alleyway are eternally overflowing, and together with the streetpeople attract vermin. Did I mention the potholes? If you look straight down, you might see Australia. Provided you don't fall in, of course. I'm fairly certain we've lost several adorable little black-haired moppets already. You probably don't care, because doing something about that might actually require effort.
The form for reporting "child down pothole" probably hasn't been translated into Chinese either, and a small missing relative is not a health code violation.
Two tables. Three chairs. Several lovely potted plants.
All taken in in the evening, and taken care of.
Warmth which was not there before.
Yeah, that's a problem.
* * * * * *
Well, at least I don't smell medicinal pot all over the place. Which is quite a bit different from other areas in the downtown. And there are fewer, far fewer, aggressive panhandlers and uncontrollable crazies in Chinatown than on Market Street and in Union Square. It's a cleaner and more inviting place than San Francisco Civic Center.
Public drunkenness in the neighborhood is almost unknown, except for young white people passing through late at night and overturning garbage cans or in an excess of high spirits shouting and banging the metal shutters of shops along Grant Avenue.
Other than the rude out-of-towners, folks are fairly pleasant.
The food and the atmosphere are pretty good.
And it's family friendly.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Both involve plants in pots.
新呂宋巷嘅件事
The first one is the surreptitious removal of two large concrete planters installed in Spofford Alley as part of a civic beautification programme a few years ago. Possibly put there an attempt to make a narrow stretch with lively mahjong cockpits and small businesses on both sides more inviting. Seeing as surely both tourists and residents would be intimidated by a noisy tunnel with rackety social clubs, a hair salon, and a flower shop. And there are indeed residents there, lots of them. Installing planters might bring the shy creatures out into the open.
The planters are no longer there. Some one probably decided that they needed to park a car occasionally. Or that there needed to be space for parking, so that one could pass non-moving vehicles. Which the presence of the planters prevented.
No, I don't think that the city dis-installed them.
Instead, I have this vision of a somewhat timid looking gentleman from Hong Kong armed with dynamite and a jackhammer quietly destroying both concrete items in the middle of the night, while no one noticed.
Dammit, there's NO space to make deliveries in this alley.
Rank rebellion against the civic beautifiers.
An insubordinate citizen.
Miscreance.
It was actually high time someone did so, as almost all the planters in that alleyway are disused, abandoned, void of any trees that may have originally been in them. They function as spittoons, garbage bins, pissoirs for white people, and irritating obstructions. As urban improvement projects went, they were a pointless failure.
Installed during a fit of patronizing benevolence.
I doubt that residents were consulted.
Here are your planters!
We know best!
Quiet!
Civic "improvement" that serves to make a neighborhood cutesypoo and cuddly despite the rowdy local residents, is both irritating and hypocritical.
A couple of dying trees and several other concrete obstructions do not improve the life of anyone except those who know better, and are relatively cheap window dressing besides. If you really want to benefit the neighborhood, how about spending some real money? Given the enrichment brought by tourists, who rupture their wallets while gawking at all the fascinating Chinese people, there should be plenty of funds available. Perhaps computer learning centres? Benches for the old folks to sit and enjoy the autumn sun? More police foot patrols?
I don't know. Dumping ugly concrete planters that no one likes or wants in a narrow alley seems rather haphazard, stifling, and cluttersome.
Nicely repaving that alley could be a far better idea.
The residents need more jackhammers.
Kindly see to it.
花園街嘅件事
The other 'plant in pot' related offense is that someone complained about a local business putting out two tables, three chairs, and several potted plants every day, in order to make the sidewalk in front of their café more inviting. The potted plants that were clustered around the two trees in front, as well as the warmth of a little oasis where one could enjoy a beverage while watching the world go by, added considerable charm to an alleyway which normally attracts people with the shakes. Someone, probably a jealous nearby merchant, set up a squawk, and the city sprung into action. The health department ferociously shook their finger at the offending business owner, and several agencies came down on his enterprise like a ton of bricks.
Drinking coffee in the open air is not a health problem.
There was no litter, and no garbage issue.
It was clean and inviting.
The city still hasn't done anything about the smelly dumpsters of a nearby emporium. Or the potholes and refuse in the street. Or the crazies that lurk all round that area, and make it both rank and skeevy at night. Two clean tables, three non-rickety chairs, and some nice greenery, however, are an opportunity for bureaucrats to show that they care, and are avidly concerned. The garbage cans at both ends of that alleyway are eternally overflowing, and together with the streetpeople attract vermin. Did I mention the potholes? If you look straight down, you might see Australia. Provided you don't fall in, of course. I'm fairly certain we've lost several adorable little black-haired moppets already. You probably don't care, because doing something about that might actually require effort.
The form for reporting "child down pothole" probably hasn't been translated into Chinese either, and a small missing relative is not a health code violation.
Two tables. Three chairs. Several lovely potted plants.
All taken in in the evening, and taken care of.
Warmth which was not there before.
Yeah, that's a problem.
* * * * * *
Well, at least I don't smell medicinal pot all over the place. Which is quite a bit different from other areas in the downtown. And there are fewer, far fewer, aggressive panhandlers and uncontrollable crazies in Chinatown than on Market Street and in Union Square. It's a cleaner and more inviting place than San Francisco Civic Center.
Public drunkenness in the neighborhood is almost unknown, except for young white people passing through late at night and overturning garbage cans or in an excess of high spirits shouting and banging the metal shutters of shops along Grant Avenue.
Other than the rude out-of-towners, folks are fairly pleasant.
The food and the atmosphere are pretty good.
And it's family friendly.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
TENDING TOWARDS SOLITARY HAUNTING
Sometimes one is not a particularly social man. Badger. Social badger. Not a social badger. Particularly.
Sometimes all a man (badger) wants to do is have a light lunch by himself, then wander around the alleys of C'town smoking a pipe and presenting a somewhat disturbing (i.e.: white person) visage to little old ladies and small children who are not particularly familiar with bewhiskered gentlemen (gentlebadgers) smoking a pipe (corncob, perhaps) and reeking deliciously of fine flue-cured, dark Kentucky, and Louisiana Perique.
Sometimes. Alleyways.
And particularly.
Usually between three and six P.M.
Late afternoon, near teatime.
Across Sacramento (唐人街) from Brooklyn Place ( 布閣倫巷) near Stockton (市德頓街), Hang Ah Alley (香雅巷) snakes rectalinearly past the volleyball and tennis courts, alongside of which homeless people have taken over the benches and constructed shelters with cardboard and tarps. From the three or four association offices on the western side comes the clackity racket of mahjong tiles, and through the open doors one can see folks engaged in competition.
On Clay (企李街) there are a row of hair salons, including the one I go to when in need of a trim. My barber still does not know that I speak Cantonese, as there has been no reason to let the cat out of the bag. He and his staff do not talk about me, and I do not need to communicate anything that cannot be said in English.
My English is better by far than my Cantonese.
Sleeping dogs, no cat out of the bag, and no disconcerting surprises.
[唐人街 'tong yan kaai': T'ang Person Street. 市德頓街 'si tak twun kaai': market virtue arrangement street. 布閣倫巷 'bou gok luen hong': announce pavilion human relations passageway. 香雅巷 'heung ya hong': fragrant refinement alley. 企李街 'kei lei kaai': tiptoe plum street.]
Spofford Alley (新呂宋巷 'new Spanish Alley') runs between Clay and Washington. The characters for Spanish (呂宋 'leui-song': Luzon) phonetically hearken bag to the Philippines and the galleon trade between Manila and Canton. It's a usage that is much faded now, as Spain has not been a presence in the Islands for generations, nor actually in San Francisco, and the galleons have all been decommissioned.
San Leui-Song Hong is rather dusty and dirty, there are one or two hair cutters and association offices, plus doorways to stairs leading to living quarters. Occasionally children play there under the watchful eyes of kinfolk.
[新呂宋巷 'san leui-song hong': new musical note Song dynasty passageway.]
Washington Street (華盛頓街) has a few herbalists and jewelry stores, plus many places to eat. Kam Lok (金樂飯店) serves family food in a basement, San Sun (三陽咖啡餐屋) offers noodly substances and good stir-fries plus chilled Vietnamese coffee, Man Kee (文記茶餐廳) is a very Hong Kong place with excellently strange offerings familiar to HK folks but not so well-known outside of fragrant harbor (HK style western food and quick meals, or snacks and mega calorie dumps, all delicious), and a banquet facility that saw better days many decades ago. Tourists wander by speaking in German, Italian, or Dutch, and looking baffled.
Deer crossing. Lost deer. Or ducklings.
Not ants; no sense of purpose.
[華盛頓街 'waa seng tun kaai': elegant surfeit arrangement street. 金樂飯店 'kam lok fan dim': gold happiness rice shop. 三陽咖啡餐屋 'saam yeung gaa fei ngok': three positivities coffee house (陽 also means 'sun', 'masculine', yang element). 文記茶餐廳 'man kei cha chan teng': literary record tea dining hall (owner is named 文, hence 文記, what Man has done).]
Immediately across the street Portola Alley, now called 'Old Chinatown Lane'(舊華埠巷 ) continues Spofford to a dead-end. There used to be stables here, and the previous Chinese name recalled that: horse stable alley (馬房巷).
[舊華埠巷 'gau waa fau hong': familiar elegant portcity (華 elegant also means 'Chinese'). 馬房巷 'maa fong hong': horse lodging passage.]
Further down the block Ross Alley is actually the extension of Spofford, as the name 'Old Spanish Alley' (舊呂宋巷 'gau leui-song hong') makes clear for locals. Yes, there is still the sound of mahjong tiles, but where the best and biggest gambling hall once stood, there is now a Christian mission whose Chinese sign informs the reader that 'Jesus loves you'. And bully for him.
Across the way a printing company is located, nearby is a florist catering to the funeral trade, whose sign optimistically announces that they also do happy occasions! Weddings! Mothers day! Anniversaries! Other!
A little further on is a fortune cookie factory that all the tourists have heard about and feel compelled to visit, and almost next-door Alan Gin's barbershop is still in business even though the Chinese Frank Sinatra himself passed away nearly two decades ago.
There is no trace of the Rickshaw Nightclub anymore. Probably just as well, there is no need to encourage late-night partying here. Too many people would wish to sleep at that time.
There are residences up from street level.
Down Jackson Street (昃臣街), across Dupont (Grant Avenue; 都板街) to Wentworth Place (德和街), which runs between Jackson and Washington, continuing Becket Street (白話轉街). At the Corner of Becket is the New Orchid Pavilion (新蘭亭 san lun ting), where one may get a meal for an exceptionally low low price. It is very popular with the elderly.
On Wentworth there's a shop selling Japanese plastic figures from anime and manga, a few run down storefronts, a place offering herbal substances (參茸行), and a Shanghainese woman selling music and movie CDs. You can see the Washington Bakery & Restaurant (華盛頓茶餐廳) all the way from the corner of Jackson and Wentworth.
It beckons.
Good milk tea. Interesting food.
[昃臣街 'jak san kaai': oblique officials street. 都板街 'dou baan kaai': metropolitan plank street, DuPont was what it was called before we named it after our eighteenth president. 德和街 'tak wo kaai': virtue harmony street. 白話轉街 'baak waa juen kaai': plain speech revolving street. 參茸行 'sam yung hang': ginseng and deer antler entreprise. 華盛頓茶餐廳 'waa seng tun cha chan teng': Washington tea-restaurant.]
Just below the Washington Bakery is the corner of Walter U. Lum Place (林華耀街 'lam waa fui kaai'), which used to be Flower Park Street (花園街) till the nineties. It runs along the top end of Portsmouth Square (花園角), where the elderly gather in droves to play chess and cards, and chat in Toishanese till nightfall. There are also loonies there, but they do not interfere with the old folks. Sometimes they sleep on the grass.
Walter Lum is a good place to finish the pipe of tobacco lit after lunch, unless it is too windy, in which case I head down to the bench on Hotaling Alley, where everything is quiet till the nearby restaurants re-awaken for cocktails and dinner. No, there are no Chinese characters for Hotaling; it's named after a whiskey merchant from the nineteenth century, and is not part of Chinatown.
[花園角 'faa yuen kok': flower park angle. 角 'kok': angle, corner, horn.]
Waverly (天后廟街) is also a nice place to wander around for a while. Fewer tourists, many grand association buildings, and good food at the Utopia (蔘滿意粥).
[天后廟街 'tin hau miu kaai': heaven empress temple street. 蔘滿意粥 'saam mun yi juk': intervention (ginseng) happy congee, take part in happiness rice porridge.]
Commercial (襟美慎街), between Grant and Kearny, has its own charm.
At the corner of Kearny, the R & J Lounge (嶺南小館) tempts many diners, further down towards Montgomery is the City View Restaurant (城景) which has some pretty darn good dimsum.
There are benches where on can get away with smoking.
Which is a fine thing.
[襟美慎街 'gam mei san kaai': lapel beauty caution street. Formerly 'calle de los commerciantes', meaning 'commercial street. 乾尼街 'kin nei kaai': fertilizing nun street. 嶺南小館 'ling naam siu kwun': passes south small establishment; South of the Passes (Canton) eatery. 城景 'sing king': metropolitan scenery.]
It's good to be alone. One can dream, read signs, and observe people.
And sometimes you meet folks you know, or interesting strangers.
Sometimes you just dream.
And smell smoky.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sometimes all a man (badger) wants to do is have a light lunch by himself, then wander around the alleys of C'town smoking a pipe and presenting a somewhat disturbing (i.e.: white person) visage to little old ladies and small children who are not particularly familiar with bewhiskered gentlemen (gentlebadgers) smoking a pipe (corncob, perhaps) and reeking deliciously of fine flue-cured, dark Kentucky, and Louisiana Perique.
Sometimes. Alleyways.
And particularly.
Usually between three and six P.M.
Late afternoon, near teatime.
Across Sacramento (唐人街) from Brooklyn Place ( 布閣倫巷) near Stockton (市德頓街), Hang Ah Alley (香雅巷) snakes rectalinearly past the volleyball and tennis courts, alongside of which homeless people have taken over the benches and constructed shelters with cardboard and tarps. From the three or four association offices on the western side comes the clackity racket of mahjong tiles, and through the open doors one can see folks engaged in competition.
On Clay (企李街) there are a row of hair salons, including the one I go to when in need of a trim. My barber still does not know that I speak Cantonese, as there has been no reason to let the cat out of the bag. He and his staff do not talk about me, and I do not need to communicate anything that cannot be said in English.
My English is better by far than my Cantonese.
Sleeping dogs, no cat out of the bag, and no disconcerting surprises.
[唐人街 'tong yan kaai': T'ang Person Street. 市德頓街 'si tak twun kaai': market virtue arrangement street. 布閣倫巷 'bou gok luen hong': announce pavilion human relations passageway. 香雅巷 'heung ya hong': fragrant refinement alley. 企李街 'kei lei kaai': tiptoe plum street.]
Spofford Alley (新呂宋巷 'new Spanish Alley') runs between Clay and Washington. The characters for Spanish (呂宋 'leui-song': Luzon) phonetically hearken bag to the Philippines and the galleon trade between Manila and Canton. It's a usage that is much faded now, as Spain has not been a presence in the Islands for generations, nor actually in San Francisco, and the galleons have all been decommissioned.
San Leui-Song Hong is rather dusty and dirty, there are one or two hair cutters and association offices, plus doorways to stairs leading to living quarters. Occasionally children play there under the watchful eyes of kinfolk.
[新呂宋巷 'san leui-song hong': new musical note Song dynasty passageway.]
Washington Street (華盛頓街) has a few herbalists and jewelry stores, plus many places to eat. Kam Lok (金樂飯店) serves family food in a basement, San Sun (三陽咖啡餐屋) offers noodly substances and good stir-fries plus chilled Vietnamese coffee, Man Kee (文記茶餐廳) is a very Hong Kong place with excellently strange offerings familiar to HK folks but not so well-known outside of fragrant harbor (HK style western food and quick meals, or snacks and mega calorie dumps, all delicious), and a banquet facility that saw better days many decades ago. Tourists wander by speaking in German, Italian, or Dutch, and looking baffled.
Deer crossing. Lost deer. Or ducklings.
Not ants; no sense of purpose.
[華盛頓街 'waa seng tun kaai': elegant surfeit arrangement street. 金樂飯店 'kam lok fan dim': gold happiness rice shop. 三陽咖啡餐屋 'saam yeung gaa fei ngok': three positivities coffee house (陽 also means 'sun', 'masculine', yang element). 文記茶餐廳 'man kei cha chan teng': literary record tea dining hall (owner is named 文, hence 文記, what Man has done).]
Immediately across the street Portola Alley, now called 'Old Chinatown Lane'(舊華埠巷 ) continues Spofford to a dead-end. There used to be stables here, and the previous Chinese name recalled that: horse stable alley (馬房巷).
[舊華埠巷 'gau waa fau hong': familiar elegant portcity (華 elegant also means 'Chinese'). 馬房巷 'maa fong hong': horse lodging passage.]
Further down the block Ross Alley is actually the extension of Spofford, as the name 'Old Spanish Alley' (舊呂宋巷 'gau leui-song hong') makes clear for locals. Yes, there is still the sound of mahjong tiles, but where the best and biggest gambling hall once stood, there is now a Christian mission whose Chinese sign informs the reader that 'Jesus loves you'. And bully for him.
Across the way a printing company is located, nearby is a florist catering to the funeral trade, whose sign optimistically announces that they also do happy occasions! Weddings! Mothers day! Anniversaries! Other!
A little further on is a fortune cookie factory that all the tourists have heard about and feel compelled to visit, and almost next-door Alan Gin's barbershop is still in business even though the Chinese Frank Sinatra himself passed away nearly two decades ago.
There is no trace of the Rickshaw Nightclub anymore. Probably just as well, there is no need to encourage late-night partying here. Too many people would wish to sleep at that time.
There are residences up from street level.
Down Jackson Street (昃臣街), across Dupont (Grant Avenue; 都板街) to Wentworth Place (德和街), which runs between Jackson and Washington, continuing Becket Street (白話轉街). At the Corner of Becket is the New Orchid Pavilion (新蘭亭 san lun ting), where one may get a meal for an exceptionally low low price. It is very popular with the elderly.
On Wentworth there's a shop selling Japanese plastic figures from anime and manga, a few run down storefronts, a place offering herbal substances (參茸行), and a Shanghainese woman selling music and movie CDs. You can see the Washington Bakery & Restaurant (華盛頓茶餐廳) all the way from the corner of Jackson and Wentworth.
It beckons.
Good milk tea. Interesting food.
[昃臣街 'jak san kaai': oblique officials street. 都板街 'dou baan kaai': metropolitan plank street, DuPont was what it was called before we named it after our eighteenth president. 德和街 'tak wo kaai': virtue harmony street. 白話轉街 'baak waa juen kaai': plain speech revolving street. 參茸行 'sam yung hang': ginseng and deer antler entreprise. 華盛頓茶餐廳 'waa seng tun cha chan teng': Washington tea-restaurant.]
Just below the Washington Bakery is the corner of Walter U. Lum Place (林華耀街 'lam waa fui kaai'), which used to be Flower Park Street (花園街) till the nineties. It runs along the top end of Portsmouth Square (花園角), where the elderly gather in droves to play chess and cards, and chat in Toishanese till nightfall. There are also loonies there, but they do not interfere with the old folks. Sometimes they sleep on the grass.
Walter Lum is a good place to finish the pipe of tobacco lit after lunch, unless it is too windy, in which case I head down to the bench on Hotaling Alley, where everything is quiet till the nearby restaurants re-awaken for cocktails and dinner. No, there are no Chinese characters for Hotaling; it's named after a whiskey merchant from the nineteenth century, and is not part of Chinatown.
[花園角 'faa yuen kok': flower park angle. 角 'kok': angle, corner, horn.]
Waverly (天后廟街) is also a nice place to wander around for a while. Fewer tourists, many grand association buildings, and good food at the Utopia (蔘滿意粥).
[天后廟街 'tin hau miu kaai': heaven empress temple street. 蔘滿意粥 'saam mun yi juk': intervention (ginseng) happy congee, take part in happiness rice porridge.]
Commercial (襟美慎街), between Grant and Kearny, has its own charm.
At the corner of Kearny, the R & J Lounge (嶺南小館) tempts many diners, further down towards Montgomery is the City View Restaurant (城景) which has some pretty darn good dimsum.
There are benches where on can get away with smoking.
Which is a fine thing.
[襟美慎街 'gam mei san kaai': lapel beauty caution street. Formerly 'calle de los commerciantes', meaning 'commercial street. 乾尼街 'kin nei kaai': fertilizing nun street. 嶺南小館 'ling naam siu kwun': passes south small establishment; South of the Passes (Canton) eatery. 城景 'sing king': metropolitan scenery.]
It's good to be alone. One can dream, read signs, and observe people.
And sometimes you meet folks you know, or interesting strangers.
Sometimes you just dream.
And smell smoky.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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