BLACK PEPPER COW WILLOW RIVER POWDER

Sometimes you have to wonder what other people think. Especially when their native language is Toishanese, they use Cantonese with customers on a daily basis, and not infrequently have to attempt Mandarin. And English is something they learned, and mispronounce, by fragmentary rote.

They're probably thinking that Caucasians are odd fish.



The woman behind the counter looked quizzical when a departing customer said "sheeh sheeh". The first thing I though was 'lion lion' and 'stone stone', but almost immediately I recognized what was actually meant.
I have the advantage because English is a native tongue.

Then another customer asked what something was called.
She answered that is was shrimp rice.
But he was referring to the cilantro rice-sheet roll which he had just purchased, which is yuen sai cheung fan (芫茜腸粉).

After I had finished my meal a lovely white family of eight walked in, and one of them shyly asked where they could find Peking Duck. This was in a cafeteria, with choices of plate lunches, steamed dim sum, baked items, congee, and oil stick. Obviously wrong, but who else to ask?
The question proved baffling to counter auntie.
Her answer was equally so.



When necessary, I jump in to clarify matters. But only when this will not be misconstrued. In indirect consequence of which they now have the English phrase "black pepper beef rice-noodles" on one of the sheets on the wall behind the counter.

黑椒牛柳河粉

It's probably beef sirloin or a rather similar cut.
But the Chinese words are quite clear.
Black pepper cow willow.
River powder.





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WE GIVE THE WARMEST WELCOME POSSIBLE

Unlike many Democrats, I do not spend my time composing hit-lists of all the vilest Republicans in local, state, and federal government. I figure that eventually those things will sort themselves out; Mitch McConnell, his wife, and Alex Jones will die in a conflagration when the bong they smoke in their little Christian love-dungeon explodes in a fire ball.
Or something like that.

I have scant respect for Republicans.


When not at work, I seldom interact with their kind.


Fortunately, here in the city they are few, and endangered, although sometimes a stray from the rest of America stumbles around.


Like many residents of the city I really wish our mayor didn't pander so to the hospitality industry by trying to attract conventions and tourists.
Most of us do not depend on prostitution for our livelihoods.


Yesterday I read Yelp reviews of some of my favourite places. The most hateful ones were by visitors from elsewhere. Apparently we just don't meet the high standards of people from places like Wilmington, Milwaukee, Memphis, and Detroit. Or all of the Midwest.
My piles bleed for y'all.
You are precious.
Eggplants.





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AYURVEDIC BLUEBERRIES OUT THE WAZZOO!

One of the truly great things about the woman who used to be my date every Friday night, and is still my apartment mate, is that she loves cheese. What makes this remarkable is that her love interest for the last half dozen years has dietary issues -- he's white, lactose intolerant, neurotic, and apparently can't cook worth diddly -- and she herself is Chinese (but not lactose intolerant in the slightest).

See, that right there explains why we still live together and not with other people. Unlike most of English-speaking San Francisco we don't have bugs up our asses about gluten, meat, dairy, or gmos. We enjoy food, and neither she nor I worship kale, turmeric, or protein supplements.


Naturally, as the resident white person in this household, I consume more vegetables than she does. Vegetables are wonderful with fish sauce, or bacon, or chili paste. Or all three of those.


Tonight after coming home from Marin I did not feel like cooking. So I had cheese and crackers, and a large cup of strong coffee. She's asleep in her room right now, but I note that the bacon supply has been abundantly restocked. Good-o!

Tomorrow morning I shall briefly wake up when she fries up breakfast for herself and watches one or two more episodes of a murder series she's been following before going to work. Then I shall drift back into slumber, with the lingering fragrance of limp-crispy pork influencing my dreams.

When I get up for real later in the morning, I shall have a pipe and some Virginia flake with my coffee. I never eat breakfast; caffeine and tobacco are sufficient to get me started.



We're probably stuck with each other as apartment mates for life, because the alternatives in this city have food hang-ups, ideological problems, and multiple mental issues. Besides being totes "spiritual".

Or are vegetarian schizos who do drugs.

And think that cheese is murder.

Bacon is from the devil.

Tobacco is evil.


Yoga.




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SCOTCH MOTH DAD LIKES A SOFT BOILED EGG

An internet Caledonian has very strong opinions about soft-boiled eggs, and consequently believes we Americans are hopeless, because we don't have egg cups. I say "we", even though I possess an egg cup, as I feel that on the whole he is right. We Americans hardly ever eat soft-boiled eggs. Somewhat less often in fact than hard-boiled eggs (we are gehakte eier mavins like you wouldn't believe, mmm, eier salat on New York rye!), and far, far less often than we have scrambled eggs or omelettes.

Americans make really horrid scrambled eggs and omelettes, by the way, it's damned well barbaric! There's a difference between "runny" and "rubbery", and it's NOT just the spelling!

But anyhow, here's a ranting Scotsman.
From Twitter.


moth dad @innesmck:

I'VE JUST BEEN INFORMED AMERICANS DO NOT HAVE EGG CUPS AND I AM SO ANGRY RN


THIS IS ALMOST AS BAD AS WHEN I FOUND OUT YOU DON'T ALL HAVE KETTLES, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK


okay all you people asking me what an egg cup is better be fucking joking i swear to god


WHERE THE HELL DO YOU PUT YOUR EGGS

jesus fucking christ


and don't even get me started on the fact american eggs need to be refrigerated


IF YOU JUST DON'T WASH THE PROTECTIVE COATING OFF THEM YOU CAN KEEP EGGS ANYWHERE


serious life hack, tell your farmers


ok ok seriously though we did not go through 300 MILLION YEARS OF EVOLUTION to have an egg just roll around on a fucking plate


AND HOW DO YOU KEEP THE YOLK IN? does it just pour everywhere or do you have to hold the egg upright, or...? what is your game there?


alright, so what i'm hearing here, and this is pretty upsetting news, is that americans DO NOT SOFT BOIL THEIR EGGS


I am going for a walk, this is too messed up


so many hard boiled eggs
just solid fucking eggs
rolling around on plates



and also WIND THE FUCK BACK UP because apparently a bunch of you americans who said you did have kettles meant STOVE TOP and that is fucked


okay look i know i got emotional here but if nothing else i try to be an educator, so americans, for your own good, you need to know


1. electric kettles are good & cheap & boil water in 2 minutes here and you can never be fully trusted if i do not see one in your kitchen


2. when you boil eggs you need to stop before the yolk gets hard and then put it in an egg cup and cut the top off and dip bread in it


I know I can trust you all to accept and learn from your mistakes, I understand, we are all still growing


3 I believe in you


never fucking test my patience like this again, though, jesus christ



[END CITE]

[SOURCE: Mashable: America, this Scottish person wants you to stop eating eggs wrong.]



He has a point. Other things at which Americans fail are English breakfasts, American breakfasts, any breakfasts, coffee, tea, and beer.
Plus herring. Y'all really bad at herring.




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SOLID LUMP OF GOODNESS

This man is a purist. Joong contain glutinous rice, fatty pork, peanuts, a salted egg yolk, and a slice of lap cheung. Plus a pinch of salt. Some people add dried shrimp and dried scallops, but these are not necessary, and make the finished product too busy. Same goes for dried black mushroom, which you also don't need.

Some people use lokdau in lieu of peanuts.
The Taiwanese do horrible things.
Shanghainese are worse.
Savages!

Furthermore, while your mom's delicious joong are indeed a family treasure and wondrous, there is no need to make a huge fuss about them. Copy her recipe and methodology only if you really want to. Otherwise simple buy them from an auntie on Stockton Street or a restaurant. It may take a few experiments before you find the right source.


粽

As a heathen, you can naturally expect me to have my own way of doing them. But I do not make them myself. Why should I fuss with wet bamboo leaves and curing my own eggs? Instead, I have a favourite source. They're probably not the very best possible, but they suit me just fine, and I rather like the folks who work there. The joong can be heated up at home when I'm peckish, to be eaten with a sambal of chili paste, orange juice, and fish sauce, all simmered briefly till gloopy with a little oil.

You are quite horrified, I can tell.

I told you I was a heathen.





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ORANGE FOOL

What better way to celebrate our freedom from tyranny and the rule of despots than with a sweet dessert? This concoction is sure to please.

One pound cake, cut not too thick.
Four to six sweet oranges.
One pint of heavy whipping cream.
Quarter cup of sugar.
Half a teaspoon orange essence.
Grand Marnier.


Line the bottom of a glass bowl with sliced pound cake. Juice the oranges after rasping the zest thinly. Slice the zest fine, simmer in water for ten minutes, drain and rinse.
Over a low flame stir the sugar into the juice until well dissolved, add the softened zest and essence. Pour evenly over the sponge cake slices and let it soak in.
Sprinkle Grand Marnier over the cake (optional).
Whip the cream till it forms peaks, dollop into bowl, and set to chill in the fridge until after the July Fourth barbecue.

Yes, you are correct; this is actually a trifle. A true fool is cream or custard folded into cooked pureed fruit. But no fruit solids are used here (unless you add Mandarin Oranges in syrup) to the mixture, and in any case the person consuming it will mess it all up when eating.

You can also use yoghurt.

But why?





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THE CURSE OF SCHEMING OFFICIALS AND LOW LIFES

One sentence caught my eye immediately: "Henan’s reputation as a land exhausted by overcultivation and whose principal exports are low lifes and low-income workers, seems unfounded in the glorious blaze of springtime."

---The Rise and Fall of Luoyang (article in the SCMP by Thomas Bird)

Also from that article: "In the 14th-century historical novel Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Luoyang is depicted as the mighty centre of authority, rather like today’s Beijing, populated by scheming officials."

It's worth reading.

Of course, as an American and a Californian, all I can think is that it would be wonderful to burn down a city filled with Republicans. Yes, I know that that would cause the "unfortunate" demise of many Christians and Texans.
But that might be entirely the point.
A justifiable eventuality.


What on earth makes you think I'm referring to Washington D.C.?


It could be any number of urbs on the other side of the Sierras.


關帝廟

On a related note, there is a temple to Guan Yu (關羽 'gwaan yu') on one of the alleyways in Chinatown. No, not the bigger hall on Stockton Street which was named after a San Wui geonymic, but a more modest place of ritual, very near comfortable benches, a small private park, as well as the former headquarters location of my bank.
One of these days I will go in.
I am curious.

The astute reader will understand the connexions.




Note: a lord Guan temple is sometimes called a 協天宮 ('hip tin gung'), especially if located next to a tin hau temple (天后廟). But this is more folk religionish than simple veneration or respectful remembrance.
There is one such combination in Ma Wan Tsuen (馬環村). Very picture worthy.
Overlooking the carp channel, opposite the island.



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DOES YOUR MOM KNOW?

What does the mature middle-aged badger do after consuming a delicious repast guaranteed to disquietify his digestion? why, he goes around the corner for some whisky and horrific karaoke, of course!
My friend the bookseller is still in doubt about karaoke having any possible redeeming qualities. My ex-girlfriend and still current apartment mate has threatened to do songs (heavy metal blood and gore anthems). And my stuffed animals would be dynamite singers, or at least psychologically twisted enough to do it.


FIRST WHISKY

Somebody loses a five dollar bill while 'The Legal Beagles' are doing the Oakland Booty song. She accuses a nearby table of stealing it. The bar-tender assures her that that is 'Anna Bananana', who is too drunk to even notice a fiver. The Legal Beagles are all white, more so as they sing.
Everybody claps. It took great courage to do that.
The dogs return to their seats.
Smirking.

SECOND WHISKY

Smoke outside, small cigarillo. Tall hipster tries to eat a slice of pizza and score simultaneously. Gets cheese all over his front, is un-aware of this. Understandably the middle-aged fake blonde does not want a "friendly" hug. The badger enjoys his smoke while studiously looking away.

Back upstairs, Mistah Shidz is manufacturing a blunt. Pot is legal now, and his physique says "cuddle me with the munchies". In addition to prime bud his bag also contains Oreos.

The somebody that lost the five dollar bill is sharing a long drink with somebody who has a silver booger hanging from her nose.

THIRD WHISKY

We've listened to several horrible songs. The remnants of the Legal Beagles have massacred a seventies classic, which was a hit when their parents were still teenagers.

Mistah Shidz has consumed the second blunt, he's out of it. The somebody who lost the fiver is now sharing gloss lipstick and fashion tips with silver nose booger girl.

Somebody is wailing at the mike about drugs.

Perhaps unintentionally ironic.

I do not sing, at all.

You are lucky.



It was a good evening. I saw too much thong, and too many tattoos.


The Legal Beagles left; young, drunk, and happy.




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THE TOFU EATERS

My apartment mate worries about her sense of taste and smell. She's been fighting a respiratory thing, and in consequence everything tastes bland. As she was admitting on the phone to her boyfriend when I returned home from work. I likewise fought the respiratory thing recently.
It lasted the better part of a month.
I've infected several people.

I won.


My taste has come back, and today's smoking of Stonehenge Flake was superlative in three different pipes. I know that I should have told her "do not worry, your taste and smell will return", but by the time I finally thought to do so I was in the kitchen preparing myself some citrus and chili chicken, sticky rice with peanuts, and a side of bacon and peppers curry.

I dare not open the door while doing that.

For one thing, the various stuffed creatures hanging around the apartment (her room, my room, and the common room) kick up a fuss when they smell meat, and start loudly worrying was it someone they know, who's missing, is that aunt Martha, will we be next. Time for a head count.
I have tried to assure them it just tofu, don't worry.
But they threaten to leave nevertheless.
Or strangle me in my sleep.
Pre-emptively.

For another, whenever I cook with chilies or chili paste, a certain person starts having serious trouble inhaling and exhaling properly, because the capsaicin becomes airborne .....

Cough cough cough.

I don't have that problem.

But she is fighting a respiratory thing. Why make it worse?


In case you're wondering, she also loudly asserts that she is cooking tofu whenever she does bacon, or porkchops, or chicken, or steak and eggs.
To the best of my knowledge she has never actually cooked tofu.
Honest, it's lots of tofu, sweet juicy delicious tofu!
Me they distrust, they believe her.

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ARABIC SONG

A musical curiosity from an earlier time: アラビアの唄 (Arabia no Uta). It's a jazz-tune from eighty years ago. Altogether stellar wake-up music.

Originally 'Sing Me A Song Of Araby' by Fred Fisher.


アダチ宣伝社 ～～ アラビアの唄

[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ImFJVsXGj4.]

Adachi Shinkansa, a musical enterprise started in 1994 by Adachi Hideya (安達ひでや) that performs Chindon (チンドン).


Here's Charan Po Rantan's rendition:

チャラン・ポ・ランタン ～～ アラビアの唄

[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Epz2keMWZMg.]

Charan Po Rantan are two sisters, Momo and Koharu (surname: Matsunaga 松永). Koharu plays the accordion. Momo always performs with a stuffed pig. Which you probably remember from the two or three videos you saw long ago of Minority Orchestra.

Think of their style as Roaring Klezmeratic.

Not entirely correct, but close.




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WHEN YOU SHOULD KINDLY KEEP QUIET

There are two subjects which automatically cause my gag-reflex when other people talk. It probably does the same for all sane individuals.
You too might vomit.

Infants and Jesus.

Either one of those is plenty nauseating, but if they are combined they are ten times as bad. Especially when the person speaking has that 'sincere tone' to his or her voice.


"I believe Jesus especially loves the sweet little babies!"


Oh shut up, you frightful excuse for a sentient being. You are talking twaddle, and you have forsaken everything that makes us civilized.
Have you no mercy?

Anytime someone mentions infants and Jesus, an angel is brutally hacked to death, puppies are drowned, and conversation goes on the dung heap.

Infants and Jesus.




Here's a picture of a butterfly offered in hopes that you will stop talking.

[https://www.britannica.com/animal/butterfly-insect]

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GLUTEN BODY

This blogger has, at times, mentioned gluten. The Roman Catholic Church has recently decided that the host cannot be gluten-free.
Which to this blogger is of no import whatsoever.
Even if he were a religious man.
Which he isn't.


Jimmy From Dallas has under a recent post bellyaching about the sad lack of edibles in my neighborhood late at night remarked that he really wishes to see a blogpost on the subject of the impermissibility of gluten-free body of Christ in celebration of mass and what I think of that.

See here: Gloop.


"Hosts that are completely gluten-free are invalid matter for the celebration of the Eucharist."


Sorry, that's not my monkey. Symbolic cannibalism must involve gluten. And that's okay. There's more to the Catholic Creed than catering to a bunch of precious food-hysterics in America.

If people wish to soil their diapers over what's in the tabernacle, that is entirely their own affair. Whether or not they hold by transubstantiation.



This blogger rarely associates with people who hold queer beliefs, be they religious types, food nuts, anti-vaxxers, mystics, vegans, paranoiacs, or reincarnationists.

All of the above are odious.




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THERE IS NO ART IN THIS ALLEY

When you wake up with He Slept On His Arms All Night by The Vacant Lot running through your head, and your news feed is filled with Trump JR's Russian celebrity adoption mess, Hawaiian lava, candy-flavoured Vaginal Glitter, and a marijuana medical emergency in Nevada, there can be only ONE possible conclusion: The Jews done it.
It's wrong, but no matter.


Is Vaginal Glitter really what America has on its mind?

And should your vagina ever "sparkle"?


Let me just mansplain here that vaginas can be plenty interesting without a woman needing to do anything demented, like starting a sweet Hello Kitty flavoured space alien yeast factory down there. And furthermore, glitterizing or vajazzling the body part in question is enough to make a rational person of either gender realize with a sudden shock that they've made several bad decisions that evening and it's time to return to Jesus.
Marijuana may have had something to with that.
But it was probably too much beer.


This blogger is a severe puritan, who firmly believes that American beer is anathematic piss, and vaginas should not reek of cheap candy. That latter belief is NOT long-held, though. Until his feed got filled with Vaginal Glitter, he paid little attention to such things. And though a vaginal absence does weigh on his mind, he isn't likely to make rash decisions involving gelatin, starch-based edible glitter, gum arabic, zea mays starch and vege- table stearate, Budweiser, lava, weed, and Donald Trump Junior.



IMPORTANT LIFE HACKS

Avoid any dealings with Trump Jr., stay away from Russian celebrities, do not step in hot lava, and abstain from pot you damned hippies. And above all, NEVER insert sparkly sh*t in your cooch.

I shouldn't have to say this.




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WALES: THE IMAGINARY PLACE

It turns out people profoundly fear the Welsh. According to famous dead British Restaurant critic A.A. Gill, the Welsh are "loquacious, dissemblers, immoral liars, stunted, bigoted, dark, ugly, pugnacious little trolls". As well as "gargoyle-visaged". In this he proved himself perhaps sympathetic to The Times, which in 1866 opined that "all the progress and civilization of Wales has come from England, and a sensible Welshman would direct all his endeavours towards inducing his countrymen to appreciate their neighbours instead of themselves", and "the Welsh language is the curse of Wales. Its prevalence, and the ignorance of English have excluded, and even now exclude, the Welsh people from the civilisation, the improvement, and the material prosperity of their English neighbours".

After reading that one is, perhaps, grateful for different ancestry.

But wait! It gets even better!


"Insanity prevails chiefly amongst the Welsh-speaking population ... "
---The western Mail

"Welsh (is an) appalling and moribund monkey language ... "
---Roger Lewis


[Source for all these quotes: Ten Attacks on Wales.]

What is truly flabberghasting is that A.A. Gill was a restaurant critic. Surely there cannot have been enough of an audience for something like that in all of Britain? And repeating that the fish was overcooked and the chips limp and greasy would have been unsurprising the second or third time, and predictable after the first four reviews.





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MISS WIGGLES AND A CRUSTACEAN

Sometimes you do things to irritate all the cigar smokers. Especially when they are discussing politics. Most of them are prosperous middle-aged individuals, well-insulated from harsh realities, and slavishly addicted to Fox News, Alex Jones, and Donald Trump's berserk views of reality.
Twitter is their chosen news source.


So you play stuff on youtube. Your own choice of something which is better listening. At the very least it makes their conversations surreal.


LIME IN THE COCONUT

[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4QSYx4wVQg.]


ROCK LOBSTER

[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NxSQYVFsBs.
Or see this version instead: Iraq Lobster.]


THE BAD TOUCH

[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xat1GVnl8-k.]


Excerpt from a great and as yet unwritten novel:

"Miss Wiggles, could you step into my office, please? Thank you, please have a seat. Miss Wiggles, it has come to my attention -- by which I mean management's attention -- that you have been waging a jihad against the programmers, by playing music over the company intercom after hours. When they are all still there involved in computer games which they think we don't know about. They would have preferred sensitive Emo or Soft Pop, apparently, but you somehow locked the sound system down and played, among other things, and I shall now read from the list they gave me: the Internationale (in German), the March of the Preobazhinsky Regiment, La Marcia Dei Lagunari, several songs by the Sex Pistols, the theme song to Shaft, and Le Chant Du Depart. Plus Caramelldansen. Repeatedly, on permanent loop. No, miss Wiggles, it is NOT better than that insufferable happy Cuban crap that the manager plays on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Same damned six songs over and over. Guantanamera eight times a day. It IS different, but NOT any better. Other than Shaft and the Sex Pistols, it is all in foreign languages which they don't recognize.

They believe that you are a communist.
They are scared for their lives.
Please don't do it again."

"Miss Wiggles, what are you doing with that giant lobster?"

"Miss Wiggles, stop hitting my head."

"Miss Wiggles!"


Miss Wiggles firmly believes that that happy Cuban crap has got to stop. Seriously, the same six songs over and over again. It's enough to make you puke. Miss Wiggles is thinking in terms of narcocorridos, the songs in Japanese from the anime 'Azumanga Daioh', and Irish war music.
Plus she thinks the "programmers" are Fascists.

This blogger, naturally, sympathises completely with Miss Wiggles, and believes that she shows remarkable mental acuity and vigour.

We've really got to meet sometime.

We think alike.



She'd probably also have quite unprintable things to say about the cigar smokers in the lounge. So I shan't expose her to them until she's ready.




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COMFORT GLOOP

What the solitary badger wishes to eat after a long day of putting up with the cigar-smoking pickle heads at the lounge is chicken congee with fried peanuts and bits of fried wonton skins. Maybe with a skewer of grilled chicken livers on the side, despite a propensity to gout.
As well as a piping hot dough stick.

But this is San Francisco.

I'm hosed.


Not only are there no street vendors selling yummy freshly prepared nom-nom-nom till way past midnight in my neighborhood, but the programmers who live all over this neck of the woods wouldn't know good food if it came up and bit them in the gand.

Minced pork also can, as well as fresh fish poached in the heat of the rice porridge, chunks of roast duck. And everything is better with century egg.

Did I mention the programmers? Stupid white dudes from the rest of the country, and Indians who are by now utterly convinced that bland American food is poison.

Sometimes you can order fried batter squiggles for your congee.

In Malaysia, sambal, krupuk, and shallot chips.



What's available right now is a mighty fine Vietnamese sandwich, some very decent Mexican food, pretentious Japanese stuff, a Thai sit-down dinner, and heavy muck in the freezer of the local liquor store.
None of which appeals to me at this moment.



There's no käsespätzle either.



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EGG-NOGGING

The gibbon (Eurasmus) wishes to inform me that while I was out yesterday, strange things happened. Apparently the bug guy (Pierpont) and the she-sheep (Angus) had been jumping each other and egg-nogging like crazy. Both of them have reacted with outrage at this statement, and I do not wish to hear about such goings-on. Discussing it is quite unseemly.
I certainly haven't egg-nogged in years.
Whatever that actually means.

Eurasmus (the gibbon) has a rich inner life.
Sometimes he imagines things.
Stuff that didn't happen.

Besides, I trust that Angus will always act like a lady. Which means that if any egg-nogging took place -- not that I'm saying it did -- it would have been done in private.



I wonder what he means by "egg-nogging"? Most of the stuffed animals are extremely innocent, and still at a stage where certain things are unknown to them. Maybe he means holding hands. Or tickling. Perhaps even kissing each other on the cheek.

Which sounds rather sweet.


It's too early to think of ... you know, "that".




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CHASING THE ADMIRABLE EEL

Almost nothing says home to a Dutchman better than eel. Which, when smoke-cured, is one of the Netherlands traditional and beloved foods, much sneered at by American tourists. We now also have McDonalds for those types, so it is safe for Anglos from Bunfudgistan (the Midwest, the South, and large parts of both The Valley and the East Coast -- you are ALL 'bunfudge') to visit the Netherlands.

Fortunately, there are two Pacific anguilles that make us happy here in SF. Both are, unsurprisingly, available in Asian markets. The Japanese eel (日本鰻), called "white eel" (白鱔 'baak sin') in Cantonese, is a popular item, what is locally known as 'wong taai' (黃帶 "yellow sash") is somewhat less prized, somewhat more abundant, and stands up very well to Dutch or Belgian cooking techniques.


熱愛的白鱔煲仔飯
"Hotly beloved eel claypot rice"

The Japanese Eel is a very Hong Kong ingredient, and also deservedly popular in Toishan, but it is rare to see it on a menu over here.
Yet it is delicious, and should be demanded more.

It is exceptionaly good in claypot rice, which is parboiled rice finished in a pre-heated claypot -- contact with the blistering ceramic surface will "crust" the rice -- with the juices from the meats which are layered over to steam along dripping through and adding yet one more layer of flavour.


Claypot rice, whatever the zesty addition, is a delightful restaurant dish. It can be made with preserved meats, chicken and salt fish, pork patty and salt fish, eggplants, pork, seafood ... and eel (白鱔煲仔飯 'baak sin po chai faan'). Two common combos in Hong Kong are "eel and spare ribs claypot rice" (白鱔排骨煲仔飯 'baak sin pai gwat po chai faan') and "eel and sausage claypot rice" (白鱔臘腸煲仔飯 'baak sin lap cheung po chai faan'). Glossy chicken and eel claypot rice is also a good choice.
黃鱔滑雞煲仔飯 ('wong sin gwat gai po chai faan').

If you cannot eat with other people, and yet want something special, order claypot rice. Even by yourself it is festive. There will be left-overs.
Breakfast!


Again, all this is very simple: soak the rice for an hour or so and parboil it, pre-heat the claypot, dump in the rice, layer chunks of fish and meat on top, add some slivered ginger, cover with the lid and put on a low flame for about twenty minutes, and remove the vessel from the heat. Bring to the table piping, uncover, and drizzle in some soy sauce.

Exact quantities of everything are variable.

Most meaty ingredients benefit from dressing with a little soy sauce, oyster sauce, ricewine, cornstarch, garlic, sugar, and salt, before being placed on the rice. When using mashed salted blackbeans, marinate for an hour. For meats (chicken, pork), you may wish to nuke them in the microwave before placing on top of the rice to make sure they're cooked, although traditionally they would be done as long as the rice in the same pot.

Chopped green onion, black mushrooms, and cubes of deepfried tofu (豆卜 'tau puk') can be added for the last bit of cooking


香港九龍東皇冠假日酒店

The Crown Plaza is known for their clay pot rice with eel and black bean sauce (豉汁油錐煲仔飯 'si jap yau cheui po chai faan'), see this lovely Facebook photo. Suitable for two.

Crown Plaza Hong Kong Kowloon East
Tong Tak Street
Tseung Kwan O, Hong Kong.
Right above the MTR Station and a shopping mall.

Tseung Kwan O (將軍澳 "General's Bay") is on the other side of Sai Kung Peninsula (西貢半島) from most of Kowloon, where Junk Bay used to be.
It's been newly developed, partially filled.


Other popular eel dishes:

豉椒白鱔煲仔飯 ('si jiu baak sin po chai faan')
Black bean and peppers eel claypot rice.

豉汁蒸白鱔 ('si jap jeng baak sin')
Black bean steamed eel.

清蒸白鳝 ('ching jeng baak sin')
Clear steamed eel.

蒜仔白鳝 ('suen jai baak sin')
Garlic eel.

燒白鱔 ('siu baak sin')
Barbecued eel.



If you wish to prepare eel at home, you will need a plank with a nail sticking out. Bash the eel on the head to stun or kill him, jam the head onto the nail (the beast should be belly side up), slit the fish lengthwise, and remove the guts. It can be skinned, but it need not be. Rinse.
Then proceed as per your recipe.




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