RAW IS FOR HATERS

One of my readers, who undoubtedly enjoys jabbing at hornets' nests and setting fires, requests that I write a post about a Vegan diet plan called "raw till four", meaning that the victim consumes only raw foods till tea-time, and only afterwards enjoys cooked food. He provided a link to the blogpost of a pretty Dutchwoman who may have lost her marbles.

Sample daily menu:

Breakfast
Smoothie of eight bananas, plus some kind of healthfood sugar or sweetener, and water.

Lunch
Four pounds of fresh peaches and figs.

Dinner
Three pounds of potatoes, baked, and half a head of lettuce.

Eating like this, apparently, makes you a super fly.


Firstly, all of that needs chilipaste, and secondly, your bowels will have a field day. And apparently a plate of boiled brown rice as big as your head may be substituted for the potatoes.


Here's my own sample menu, being what I've eaten today.

Breakfast
Large strong coffee at home, with milk and sugar. Almond pastry at work.

Mid-day snack
Crackers with Sriracha.

Lunch
A small Italian cold cut sandwich, with Sriracha.
A drinkable yoghurt.

Dinnner
A mini quiche, with Sriracha.
Cheesy bread, with Sriracha.
Plus two butter cookies.

Note that yesterday was substantially the same except for dinner, that being curried mustard greens pepped up a bit with fatty pork, duck liver, fresh chilies, and Sriracha, served on top of toasted sourdough bread.

I had five or six cups of tea at work, and when I got home I fixed myself a cup of coffee first thing. Both days.

Honestly, I should have eaten a healthier dinner today, but there were no more vegetables in the crisper other than a week old tomato, a shriveled cucumber, and a packet of salt-pickled spicy turnip. And the only animal protein I have at present is Chinese Sausage. Plus canned pink stuff.
The nearest restaurants are Mexican (mmmm, Carnitas!), nouvelle Japonaise, Korean meat mountain, and donut. Oh, and some quasi Vietnamese that's so precious you'll imagine you're in Saigon.


I'll never look like that pretty Dutchwoman, so I'm not even going to try.


Not going to dabble in gender reassignment or veganismo.

Besides, I am slightly allergic to bananas.

I need a small bowl of ice cream now.





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THE CHILDREN

All day yesterday at work people were wishing me a "Happy Fathers' Day". Not because there is even one iota of evidence that I have offspring -- not a blessed one -- but because I look "fatherly".
At least I think that's what it was.
Fatherly, avuncular, sumpin'.

Well, I would have liked to have kids. Never could talk Savage Kitten into it when we were a couple. She had issues (her own childhood) and reservations (about either of our suitability as parents).

Personally, I think I should make a damned fine father.
As several people yesterday evidently also believe.


At the very least the kid would have a decent vocabulary, and be reasonably well informed on a number of subjects.


Plus also, one would hope, a decent human being.


With luck, a much better kid than I was.





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KOON YICK WAH KEE CURRY POWDER IN SAN FRANCISCO

Three years ago I mentioned that the curry powder I liked had disappeared from the shelves and could not be found anywhere: Koon Yick Wah Kee Curry Powder. Today, while I was at work, someone was looking for that product and found that post.


冠益華記咖喱粉

Unknown said...
Did you find the curry powder? It's the best curry powder I've used and I can't seem to find it anywhere.

If you did find it could you tell me where to purchase it?

Thank you

11:35 AM


Koon Yick Wah Kee Curry Powder is usually available at Gum Sing in SF Chinatown.

GUM SING MARKET [金城平價市場]
774 Pacific Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94133.
PH: 415-989-4836

It's a well-stocked grocery store just down from the intersection of Pacific and Stockton Street. Next to the New Asia Restaurant. The proprietors speak Cantonese, Mandarin, some dialect I cannot identify but can sort of understand, and English.

I've bought several jars of curry powder there in the past three years.



冠益華記食品廠

Curry powder isn't the only product of the esteemed company in Sai Kung, they also make several other good things for cooking. Including a chili sauce I really should try sometime soon.
And Shrimp Sauce.

Koon Yick Wah Kee Factory
26 Luk Mei Tsuen Road, Ho Chung Village, Sai Kung Peninsula, New Territories, Hong Kong.
冠益華記廠
新界, 西貢, 蠔涌, 鹿尾村26號。


This evening I prepared a stew with a variety of meats, and stalk mustard, to be eaten sloppily over thick sourdough toast. Plus garlic, ginger, chilies, shrimp paste, and Koon Yick Wah Kee Curry Powder.

It was mesmerizingly good.




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TASTES JUST LIKE GRITS AND LUTEFISK

Yesterday I mentioned the Arkansas Chicken Ranch Cannibal episode of the X-files to a coworker, along with how an all-American blonde whose name I've forgotten, in the International Sales Department, was creeped out by the explanation of Creutzfeldt–Jakob in New Guinea, years ago.
The blonde had never heard of it, and couldn't digest the info.
I was a weirdo who read too much.

I remarked that many people describe human flesh as being just like pork.
The suspicious question was, of course, how they knew.

This was in a discussion just before she went to lunch.

She came back from lunch to impart the data that no, it doesn't, it's more like chicken, and some cuts can be prepared just like the Sunday Roast. She had been reading up on cannibal cooking during her break. Avidly.


I applaud her investigative zeal. These are good things to know.


And probably especially useful in the case of a zombie apocalypse.


My folks never did a "Sunday Roast", it wasn't a custom of ours.


Sunday chicken neither. That's sort of a Southern thing, really.


Well in either case, it tastes just like human flesh, and all things considered one would rather sit down with a nice piece of pork and some veggies than Jeffrey Dahmer and a plate of boneless nuggets every week.


It's surprising how many cannibals have been institutionalized over the years in America. Many of them are from interior states, where people are more inbred and religious. That's probably not a coincidence.
It's all that damned lutefisk.
Or grits at every meal.
Scarred for life.

Happy Sunday.




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AS IT NEVER WAS

My exposure to the giddy world of nightclubs is minimal. The exciting environment shown in the movie 'Cabaret', the songs of Zhou Xuan, the strip clubs on Broadway near where I lived for a while, a few dives south of Market Street, and scenes in Shanghai Triad, which I saw the year it came out.

The only one of those that has any appeal is the gilded age of hot spots shown in Shanghai Triad, but voiced in the song repertoire of Zhou Xuan. One song I heard early on was 真善美 ('zhēn shàn měi'; truth, goodness, beauty), a sprightly tune cheerfully evoking cynicism and bitterness.
As sung by someone with a girlish voice.
It was lovely.


Two of the environments listed above are sad and skeevy. The dives south of Market, of course, are rife with drug-use and bad music, hard to say which is worse, the chemicals or the noise.

From what I've heard, the backstage world of the strip clubs is very similar.

Zhou Xuan (周璇) may have been aware of similar things. Pre-war Shanghai was, if anything, a little rough and rambunctious around the edges.


We tend to glamorize the past. In movies, nightclubs are shown as happy brightly lit places where stylish people are having fun. Only rarely is a hard undertone exposed, usually in murder mysteries and gangster flicks. San Francisco Broadway, with its row of depravity, of course boasts about the fifties with performances by comedians and singers who later became famous, plus poetry recitals, or kvells over jazzclubs long gone.
Carole Doda was an artist who pushed boundaries!
There was no killer piano.

The El Cid is now an innocent Hong Kong style restaurant.

For the rest, Broadway at night is sleaze in the flesh.

No fine dining, followed by a show.
Nor good music or performance.
The cutting edge of skeevy.



This ain't Casablanca.




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LET'S BE DENSE

Because Paul Donovan (economist at USB) was insufficiently nuanced in a remark over pork, he has been put on leave and forced to beg forgiveness from the Chinese public.


中國豬

His exact words regarding higher consumer prices in mainland China due to an epidemic among pigs were: "Does it matter? It matters if you are a Chinese pig. It matters if you like eating pork in China."

The Chinese internet, quite as quickly offended as American rightwing Christians, reacted with outrage. Precisely like they did when farmers solved a previous porcine disease problem by dumping the rotten pig carcasses in the Huangpu river (黄浦江) in 2013.

Oh wait, they didn't.

The Huangpu ("Whangpoo") had been a highway for pig carcasses for over ten years before that traffic reached a peak six years ago. Shanghai sources its drinking water from that river.


"It matters if you are a Chinese pig. It matters if you like eating pork in China."


China has many fine pig recipes, and the idea of eating pork while in China has immense appeal. Drinking their water, perhaps less so. Though boiling it for tea, which is served at all restaurants (unless the white tourist asks for ice water, very American) probably kills most of the pathogens. Please note that the water for ice-cubes is not boiled, and you may want to rethink that damned Coca Cola (可口可樂); have some tea instead.

From Wikipedia: "In March 2013, some 16,000 pig carcasses were found floating in the Huangpu River in Shanghai. Some of the pigs carried ear tags saying they were from Jiaxing, so that city in Zhejiang may be the source; One news agency indicates that dead pigs are often dumped into rivers in China to avoid the disposal cost."
[End cite.]

Now is the time to point out that many Hong Kong and other Chinese customarily use the first pouring of the hot tea to rinse their utensils at restaurants, because, of course, these were first "washed" in water.



但我真很喜歡豬！

Regarding Chinese pig dishes, I should mention that I am particularly fond of 梅菜扣肉 ('mui choi kau yiuk') and 酸菜白肉 ('suen choi paak yiuk'), as well as 榨菜炒五花腩 ('jaa choi chaau ng faa naam'), but will more often have 涼瓜豬肉 ('leung gwa chyu yiuk') and rice, because a full serving of five flower meat (五花腩 'ng faa naam'; "Chinese bacon") is a little hard to digest for the single diner. Another favourite, 蒸肉餅 ('jing yiuk beng'), is something I will cook at home far more often that order at restaurants, for rather similar reasons; it requires one or two vegetable sides to be a fully balanced meal. Sometimes at a tea-restaurant (茶餐廳 'cha chan teng'), in C'town I will order 炒肥肉凉瓜 ('chaau fei yiuk leung gwa') or 苦瓜豬肉炒麵 ('fu gwa chyu yiuk chaau min'), and for rare happy occasions I will prepare 蒸五花腩 ('jing ng faa naam') at home.

At roast meat restaurants (燒味店 'siu mei dim') I'll often order 豆腐火腩飯 ('dau fu fo naam faan') or 涼瓜燒肉飯 ('jit gwa siu yiuk faan').
Gotta have some veggies with the pork.

[Please Google image search all these dishes. Beauty!]


The pronunciation of all those scrumptious dishes is given in Cantonese above, because Mandarin speakers are far too busy catering to the kwailo (鬼佬) in the barbaric hinterlands to cook for normal people.
Besides, they might be culinarily impaired anyway.
So I'm not sure what food is called.


If I never touch another plate of 左宗棠雞 ('jo jung tong gai') again, it might be too soon.


PS: Dried oysters with hair vegetable and pork (好事發財 'ho si faat choi') is, customarily, a new year's dish among Cantonese folks, because the name is a clear double entendre in their language.
Far less so in the North.



Bon appétit!
Rinse your chopsticks



Lagniappe: Hong bak



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HERE NICE DOGGIE!

The old dog is already placed; it was, apparently, a perfect match. Some little old lady to the south of here. The new dog is "beautiful summer" (夏美 'natsumi'), and is a real charmer. Most of the dogs in the program have appealing personalities and are good around whiny elderly farts, children, and kvetchy sports fiends. I think to them we all smell similar.
Very few have been arse sniffers.

Usually when Rich brings them in, I ask if they are 'biscuit' dogs'. And after the first biscuit, the animal has me pegged as "source of food". If we run out of biscuits, I'll get reproachful and very intense looks, because to at least one person in the room, I have failed my purpose in life. Miserably!
I have not yet asked whether Natsumi can have a biscuit yet, and about the last hound I didn't ask at all. Because he was so small, I suspected he was not yet at full biscuit-hood. If you or I had to eat those biscuits, we would probably be grunting all the time, because of constipation.
Dogs have a sturdier digestion.


Huskies, despite their great intelligence and calm trusting behaviour around humans, are not good for the purposes of the program, because when they get bored or curious, they find ways to deal with that situation.
A husky would probably drag some helpless invalid across a busy street to investigate an appealing skunk, never mind the damned traffic and the frantic screaming. "The biped behind me is just being difficult, once we're there she'll love the gorgeous smell and the rabidity!"

Or she'd insist on stopping at the local McDonalds. "Those people inside are eating nice rotten stuff, why can't I? It's only fair!"

Huskies are naturally good at pulling.

They'll teach you how.


Even the healthiest of special needs persons will not thrive on a diet rich in skunks and fast-food. Unlike a teenager.


They are more intelligent than most blondes, despite the blue eyes.

Sorry, that was an opportunistic snide comment.

A husky would've found it funny.




Natsumi is, I believe, a retriever and labrador crossbreed. She has a calm and likeable temperament. A very nice creature.





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THE GILDED PAST; PRE JANUARY 2018

Sometimes there are pearls.

At 4:55 PM, Anonymous said…

Look, I really didn't have too much to say; however, you made excessive reference to this letterbox so I felt compelled to put something in it.

I want 500g of McClelland's British Woods.

End quote.


How sad! McClellands closed their doors a year and a half ago. British Woods was one of their finer pipe tobacco blends. It is long gone, and anybody selling old tins of any of the McClellands products is asking an arm and a leg. Like anonymous, I too rather want five hundred grams.
He (or she) has my deepest sympathy.


Five hundred of almost anything they made, except for their Hello Kitty tobaccos (aromatics). Despite my intellectual affection for McClellands Honeydew, erm, no.


Anonymous was probably reading this post, where a soulful poem by Andy Lau (劉德華 'lau tak waa') is mentioned.


I may incautiously have let on that Andy is on of my favourite artists.




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CURRIED STONE CLASS

As frequently happens I left the house too late for breakfast, or even lunch at a reasonable hour. Instead, I had my first food of the day closer to tea-time. Curried fish chunks with rice (咖喱石班飯 'gaa lei sek paan faan'). Some kind of grouper (石班魚 'sek paan yü") sliced into large collops, battered lightly and deep-fried, served with a curry sauce.
And a pile of cooked rice.

On my days off, I tend to fart around till long past the time for dim sum.

It doesn't sound quite healthy, and my doctor wishes that I would pay more attention to my diet. But fish is good, right? Bengalis consider fish to be a vegetable, ritualistically speaking. In the same category as cabbage.

Bengalis are not a factor in my life, but I'm opportunistically borrowing.

Curried fish is actually an ideal breakfast food.

Bengalis would agree.



Just so you know, the phrase "let's do lunch sometime" means bupkes. It translates to "I'll have lunch one of these days while reading your most recent social media post at a time which is convenient for me".



Largely then, due to my own tendency to not contact people for long periods, and because of my tastes, my meals tend to be lone affairs.

But at places where there are people. Because I am a social person.


ONE MAN, AND HIS PLATE OF CANTONESE FOOD

Besides, I'm going to smoke my pipe afterward, and people of refinement eschew tobacco and consider a pipe to be one of those reprehensible habits peasants have, or their great granddaddy had when he was killing natives and stealing their kangaroo pelts or settling the untamed frontier.

Let's do lunch sometime. I smell like a deceased relative.
It will be part of your cultural education.
Olfactory history project.
Credits.





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THINKING ABOUT FROGS

The main objection to mass pubic nudity that I can see is that I would inevitably write about it. And, forgive me for saying this, nobody really wants to see that anyway. You all look human.

We have impossible standards of beauty.

Which makes me wonder why we often depict the space alien visitors as symmetrical, naked, and grey.


When I examine myself in the mirror, at the very best there are only two of those three criteria, which reassures me that I am not from somewhere else. That's an experiment you can do at home, and you are encouraged to do so. It will also persuade you of the wisdom of limiting your nudity to your own quarters, even though somewhere there is buff beefcake.


Today will be noticeably cooler than yesterday, so the temptation to be reckless will be considerably less. I slept in my baggy boxers last night.
Later I will be wearing a similar pair when I go out for lunch. There is absolutely no way I'm strolling down Stockton Street nude.

You may rest assured, there will be much more clothing than just that.
Middle-aged men need pockets. Keys, lighter, matches on one side, coins watch and wallet the other side, notebook for neurotic jotting in the shirt pocket, plus elsewhere pipe cleaners, tobacco, briars, and tamper too.

Little boys also need pockets, because it's where you stash the chance-met frog for showing to your mom later.

[Did that once. She wasn't impressed.]

Hot weather does not make me disrobe. If you want that, please provide a table with a beverage, a place to sit, and an ashtray. If I'm comfortable and at ease I will exchange the restrictive clothing for the lounge chair, and then perhaps we can discuss Kant and Heidegger.
Please read up on both of those worthies.
About whom I know very little.
You can educate me.
It'll be fun.


Today's baggy boxers for just lounging about feature little grey octopuses. Octopodes. Space aliens.




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IT KLINKTS VERY BAD!

Loud is not good. With karaoke that is important to remember. And those Mandarin speakers were loud. The two best things that can be said about that is that at least it wasn't Sweet Caroline (or Michael Jackson), and it drowned out the crazy man in the alleyway loudly punctuating and adjectivizing everything with "g---d daaaaaaaamn!"


One of the numbers was a long silly song with Lau Takwah (Andy Lau) cementing his reputation as the most gender-baffling man in Mandopop.
G---d daaaaaaaamn!

Artistic!


"We've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark out, and we're wearing sunglasses. Hit it!"


EARLIER:
Our friend at the burger joint had a migraine because of a vehicular mishap, and his coworker had helpfully cranked up the sound real loud, so he wouldn't miss any of the brassy Latin dance music. He was wearing sunglasses and was incapable of hearing or responding accurately.
Or remembering anything further than thirty seconds ago.

He forgot that there were three chicas in the bathroom.

It must have been a tight fit.

Thighs.


As an actor, Lau Takwah was stellar in several movies, but as a singer he wants to push his heart-throb magnetism as far as it will go. He's precious, dammit, and your seat WILL be wet after the concert!
He demands it. G---d daaaaaaaamn!

Man or woman, no difference. Wet!



Not being Chinese, I am not affected or bewitched by his voodoo. On the other hand, CHou Yunfat doing that segment from "Uncle Tong Courting Miss Autumn Fragrance" (唐伯虎點秋香 'tong baak fu dim chau heung') while sparring with his spinstress cousin using a halberd, oh jayzus.
G---d daaaaaaaamn!

Chow Yunfat always did have that Irish rapscallion look.
Devil may care, up to no good.
Charming.


Sure and we'll buy that bridge now, Mr. Chow.




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LOVELY TRAFFIC JAMS OF THE MIND

It is ho' yeet (好熱 'hou yit'). Everyone agrees. Too warm today by half.
Darn well sweltering. Which may affect some people's minds. One FB friend communicated that he was wandering the aisles at an air-conditioned Walgreens just waiting till they discovered him and asked him to leave, another discussed the ideal size and shape of icecubes.

This blogger, after spending all morning in his underwear, went down to Chinatown to pay a lab bill at the hospital (東華醫院 'tung waa yi yuen') followed by a nice bowl of lean pork and preserved egg congee. Those two items are not related, they're sequential. First bill. Then lunch. Ho' yeet!

Then an iced caffeinated beverage, after a smoke.



BOOMING BELLOWING BUSINESS

At the bakery where I ended up, the busdriver (巴士司機 'baa si si gei', 巴士佬 'baa si lou') was holding forth about a recent road accident in which he had been involved. He's no longer piloting a public transit vehicle, but he's still driving, now without the precautionary and restrictive oversight so necessary to a man of his temperament. No more bounds!
It was very exciting. Much of it unprintable.
The other guy was at fault.

Everyone listened with rapt attention. Couldn't do anything else, because there is no volume control. And it was evident that detailing the stupidity of the other driver in all ways was the reason he came there today.

We all rather like him. Despite his crotchety nature.



SWAMP LAKE

The Chinatown Tutu Man is back. His outfit is more eye-catching than ever. Sort of sex-gargoyle with just enough (barely any) modesty. A zesty fishnet body suit, ripped, combined with a little ruffled berry-pink skirt he must have stolen off one of the local tykes. At the corner of Walter Lum and Clay Street he was being carefully guarded by two policemen who probably never dreamed they'd be doing this while at the academy.

He was also holding forth. At the top of his lungs. Medication! No respect. G-d damn you, G-d damn you, G-d damn you! He hadn't done anything, and demanded his liberty.

I still had a full load in my pipe, and time to kill. And, like the headwaiter of a local restaurant, I am keenly interested in crazy screaming.

The cops looked bored. And apprehensive.
Sometimes people like that can bite.

I am glad he's resurfaced again. I value the eccentrics of this city, and wish them the best. And I look forward to the interpretive dance version of angry paranoid ranting. We must move forward, not backward, and upward, not forward; and always, twirling twirling twirling toward freedom!

You gotta have faith, man.
Support the arts.



He should be back at the end of the week, after observation, pills, and a bath. He'll be disturbing the peace once more before you know it.





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NOTHING TO SEE HERE, MOVE ALONG

All over the Bay Area, people are positively reveling in their perverse nudity. Especially bicyclists who wear helmets and shoes and nothing else. They're not worrying about 'things' being snagged, or any lack of comfort. Especially concrete dust from the ongoing Van Ness Avenue diggings that otherwise would get under your bra-straps.

Conversations with my apartment mate are an adventure.

I haven't ridden a bicycle in years, but she was urging me to take it up again. When I lived in the Netherlands I bicycled every day as means of getting from A to B, but San Francisco has hills, which are discouraging. Nudity -- which while in Holland I did not engage in on my bike -- would hardly be an inducement now. My appreciation for nudity has limits.
And as a male specimen, I do not have bra-straps.
Men's undies largely lack any straps.

To her, these are minor quibbles. No, she will not go naked cycling herself, because she claims that she has a bad sense of balance -- a lie; she moves gracefully and dangerously, and has won several medals doing something in martial arts -- but she says that as the adventurous man that I am, and (her words) an extrovert, nude bike riding should be a natural. Especially during this heat. She encourages me to do so. I might meet someone.


No.


When I go to Marin, I see more than enough people on bikes. And though they're clothed, nothing is left to the imagination. It's quite Brueghelian. With sports logos over pumping muscles (underneath the constantly shifting cellulite that is covered by skin-tight racing togs).

Personally, I've always thought that while traveling one should be fully dressed, and prepared for any eventuality.

Marin is more suited to exhibiting one's personal creases, bulges, sags, and bumps anyway, and aerodynamic spandex with little but synthetic chamois acting as the elastic interface between the cyclist's folding parts and the saddle (to prevent chafing) is very much the Marin clothing choice.


In San Francisco, we're more into ugly yoga pants.


Virtual nakedness, but with leopard spots.




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THE SECRET IS HEAT

When I come home after work in Marin, one of the first things I do is head into Facebook. News, kitten pictures, raccoons, updates. Let's see what the people I know are up to today, eh? Seeing as I do not have a cell-phone, at that time I've been out of contact, so to speak, for an entire day.
Apparently today, Monday the tenth, if they were in the Bay area, they were bitching about the heat.


So, three things:

IS IT HOT ENOUGH FOR YOU?!?
IT AIN'T THE HEAT, IT'S THE HUMIDITY!
I COULD BE NAKED RIGHT NOW. YOU DON'T KNOW.


When I got home, my apartment mate was flaked out all pooped on her bed, and there were roast duck and other yummy things to eat in the fridge. "Help yourself." And here I was wondering what to cook for dinner.
Didn't have to. Ate food cold. Had my coffee cold.
The only thing hot was the Sriracha.

Futsed around with a pipe afterwards (GBD shape 549, a bent bulldog) that was made for Benaderet's very many years ago.
Rim and top needed a little work.

Blended up a new batch of one of my own Virginia mixtures, should keep me happy till August. Recipe is a tightly guarded secret; only one man knows it, and we don't allow him on the same plane as himself.


Now planning to head out into the night for a last smoke.

I could be naked right now. You don't know.


In parts of India it is over a hundred.

There is mass nudity.

Just sayin'.





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PLEASE, NO BONGO DRUMS!

Because of the side-effects of one of my medications, I am distinctly not looking forward to the last few hours at work today. Amlodipine Besylate widens veins and arteries, and after several hours can make your feet and lower legs swell, or at least ache like topsy. Which, combined with hot weather, is a recipe for agony. Yesterday it had been in the nineties, and when I got back to SF in the evening I could barely walk.
Later the discomfort kept me awake.

It's going to be over ninety in Marin by tea-time today.

For most of the day, especially mornings, I can honestly say that I haven't felt quite so good in years, and I do not mind that my dreams are stranger and more intense. Last weekend I was running around a Korean hotel naked, looking for my woolen shirt. Exciting!

I've also been dreaming country western music recently, but that's because of the radio at work. Personally, I wouldn't have selected that station.
Technicolour, blue super heroes.
Who vibrate.


I don't really have any quibble with Amlodipine Besylate.


I would prefer mariachi music.




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HOLD ON TO YOUR GALL BLADDER!

This blogger works with perverts. I did not need to be exposed to either the shart song, or a little ditty from a man to a part of his own anatomy that begins "dear penis", and details certain things that would cause the eyes to open. And then that one of them has neurotic issues regarding certain condiments is also information that's not, strictly speaking, necessary.
Except if she's choosy about what she rubs herself all over with.
Still don't need to know, and spare me details.
Feminine skin care.

[This was after I shared with them the advice for men heading into late middle-age: Never ignore a hard-on, never pass-up on an opportunity to pee, and never ever trust a fart. One of the regular passengers on Golden Gate Transit three years ago would have benefitted from those words of wisdom, all three parts, but he was beyond caring.]

Enough. This is the woman who was told by one visitor that she looked like a Disney Princess, and asked by another when the baby was due. Disney Princess Man ranks highly, Pregnant Dude is rock-bottom.

Disney Princess Man is, as every one knows, crazier than a bedbug.
He has a rich inner life as a podiatrist and brainsurgeon.
Fighter pilot astronaut zen master gunsmith.
Former marine, presently a ninja.


He's also a Doctor of Divinity; if your divinity is ailing, he can help you.

My other coworker is jealous. He wishes he were a Disney Princess.


[He did not know that naked catgirl vampires in bondage are a thing. Now he does, and it inspires him. I just threw that out as a conversation starter, but he went ahead and googled it. He now fears me because I "know things".]


Fortunately, Disney Princess Man is not a member of the pipe club, which met today. All of whom are sane. Including the half a dozen or so who were missing in action. Ten total today, including myself eleven.

Disquisition by the expert on briar age, two Virginias, preserved meats, plus cheese, with hummus and pita. And several bottles on the table.

[There was also some lovely shortbread that one of the members had made. He brought it early, so that my colleagues and I could feast. Because the Disney Princess is dieting, I ate several pieces slowly in her line of sight. Ooh, yummy! Delicious! Ooh! Mmmmmmm!
All gone now!]

For part of that time I was in the back buffing stems.
I am a boring man, and have little to say.
My divinity is fine.


Besides, I didn't feel like sharing with them that if your gallbladder has been removed, you will become a toilet-hazard. Almost a natural disaster.
It's a datum I picked up recently, and I'm glad I've still got mine.
Conversations at work are informative.
Content rich.
Laden.

Mostly excited cigar smokers.

Giddy.

Maybe it's something about the shape or appearance that wigs them, but cigar smokers just can't stop talking about bodily functions.
Pipe smokers, at least, are normal.

TOBACCO INDEX


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MM, YUMMY, GREASE!

General rule of thumb: don't have an Anglo cook "tacos". The same reason why you don't ask a Mexican to make tuna salad. Worst of both worlds: both of those dishes on the same table.

There are some house parties to avoid.


And naturally one has to have 'reservations' about an English person doing curry, even though they claim they invented it.


There's an Anglo place for Burritos near where I work (driving distance) that is open on Sundays. Their carnitas are not inspired. Shan't mention their name or address. Still. Marin County. Filled with "white" people.

There's a reason those lard asses fall for crackpot diets.

Peculiar ideas about food.

Otherwise they'd eat bugs.




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MIND READING, CURRY

The ability of Youtube to figure out what I might watch does not disturb me, seeing as largely I am a man of clean habits, and confine my viewing to mediaeval war, in-depth foreign language discussions, small furry creatures, morris dances, and cooking.
So when among the welter of options Youtube suggested chicken and potato curry, naturally I clicked.


薯仔咖喱雞
SYÜ CHAI GAA LEI GAI

[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWozOTg_2Nk.]


That's not quite how I would do it, but I do not have so fully equipped a restaurant-style kitchen. There are limitations. But it is, as the culinary gentleman said, hou gaan-taan (好簡單). Simple. If you can quickly deepfry the potato to gild it, and ditto lightly for the chicken.

Potato chunks, chopped chicken, salt, sugar, oil, vegetables.
Curry paste, coconut milk, chili oil, cilantro.
And a teevee crew (optional).

I always make it more complicated: fish sauce, galangal, lemon grass, fresh chilies, kaffir lime leaf, plus this and that.


Sometimes I wish that my favourite tea restaurants in Chinatown were open late in the evening. Especially Saturdays.

Youtube knew that I was hungry.




'OR CHIEN'

I also got to see someone preparing a Teochew-style Oyster Omelette (潮州蠔仔煎蛋 'chiu jau ho jai jin daan'), and Hokkien Fried Prawn Mee (炒福建蝦麵 'chaau fuk kin haa min'). Which really got my appetite up.

PS. Remember, everything with sambal.

都幾滿意。




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