WHEN I'M MINDING MY BUSINESS

The first time I saw magpies was in a Chinese painting, so I knew what they looked like. The second time was at the edge of the airfield in Asia. Cheeky fellows. The third time was in England, several years ago. They were rambunctiously occupying the garden in Chingford. And I've heard that there is a type of magpie here in North America.
Haven't seen them. Crows, yes. Their kin.

The Oriental Magpie (喜鵲 'hei jeuk') is considered a bringer of luck, happiness, and teeth (it's complicated). It's smaller cousin, the Magpie Robin (鵲鴝 'jeuk keui') has no such baggage. It's smaller, more lively, and has a lovely tweet.

Jack told me that if I went into the woods to do my busines, I should be damn' quick about it, otherwise they'd come up and peck me there. What with being curious birds, often interested in bugs and other nasty wrigglesome things. Always hungry!

I should have told him my privates weren't nasty, and he had no business judging them thus, having never seen them or any other Caucasian testicles. Crazy old Fujianese fart!
But I held my tongue, as I am by nature a polite and diplomatic man.
And I respect my elders, even when they're drunk.

And there was a loo in the airside maintenance area anyway.

He was probably confused in any case.


Probably all the fumes he'd breathed in at the runway, it may have addled his brain. It seems like everything involved in aviation is high lead, or high brain rot chemicals, or volatile and corrosive to the interior organs. Aside from being hard and dangerous at close quarters. Wouldn't be surprised if the oysters he ate so often had worrisome levels of mercury.

Corvids are among the most intelligent of birds, and very likeable. They're very confident about their right to occupy the sidewalk, albeit pragmatic; you are bigger, so they'll amskoot when you get too close. But they know that you didn't want that chicken McNugget anyhow, and they found it, so it's theirs. Now move a little faster, biped, I'm hungry!
Go on, shoo!

For some reason they look guilty when stealing another bird's eggs.
Like they were caught out engineering a dastarly plot.
It's incredibly likeable behaviour.
Stupid pigeons.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

YOU WANT RANCH DRESSING WITH THAT?

Two people among my Facebook friends used to be married. To each other. They aren't anymore. One of them made a wonderful meal for her man on Valentine's Day, the other posted something about a superhero which I did not understand. A third friend posted a cartoon showing a young lady bashing the bejazus out of her man with flowers, screaming that instead she wanted pizza and tickets to the Slipknot concert, you mongoloid!

My as yet still imaginary next girlfriend would probably fall into that last category. But not Slipknot, which is an American heavy metal band from the Midwest, where life is grim, uncompromising, agro-industrial, filled with corn, and altogether not worth living.

They'll probably all vote for Nikki Haley there.
Quod erat demonstrandum.


Personally, I find a fondness for corn baffling. Yeah, um, it's okay. Both white bread Anglos and many Chinese Americans are in love with it, and Mexico can't imagine living without it. Myself, if I never had another drop of corn sweetener again I'd be perfectly fine.

And as for cooked corn with butter and or cayenne, I'm falling off the other side of the fence.

Having grown up elsewhere (we went overseas when I was two), there are some American tastes to which I just cannot cotton. Salads with gloop dressing. Corn. Mc Donalds.
Hazelnut frappucinos. Gum. Budweiser. Nickelback. Football. Yoko Ono.

On the other hand, things that I'm fond of frequently disgust people.
Sambal with everything. Mayo on my fries. Bitter melon.
Fish sauce. Nutmeg. Strong tea.
Herring.


I'll never get used to heavy metal.
You folks are just weird.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

VAST TRACTS OF LAND, DID YOU SAY?

Social media yesterday was awash with Valentine's shiznit. The purpose of which was, clearly, to make those of us who are presently single, myself included, nauseous as well as green with envy. It didn't work. Well, the green with envy part. The nauseated bit, yes. And it turns out that many people are better cooks than they are often given credit for.
Or maybe they practiced that dish in secret.

On the other hand, I'm fairly certain that the darling Asian American baby-goth lesbian on the bus late at night heading home with her girlfriend didn't cook. They probably went to a nice restaurant, spoon-fed each other, cooed over the candle light, and then took a walk in the darkened streets holding hands. Which sounds lovely, and I hope they had a fine time.

And I refuse to speculate about anything else they might have done or might do.
Not any of my business.


My friend the bookseller and myself, being bachelors who are not involved with anyone, were unencumbered by the seasonal celebration of love, lust, dysfunction, vulgar commercialism, and excessive saccharine. We did our usual weekly jaunt into the steamy underbelly of this city, to discuss philosophy, pop culture, existential angst, cheese burgers, and why white twenty something marketing types shouldn't sing damn them.

When we began this tradition several years ago we were younger men. And both connected to a bookstore in North Beach. At that time it involved some quite enthusiastic drinking on occasion, but in the past few years I have become abstemious, though not a severe Protestant, and both of us are more responsible types than we were.

Cheese burgers have always been part of the plan.

As well as Jameson's Irish Whiskey.
He had some, I didn't.
Tea.



The rodent life in a certain alleyway became an observance a few years back when the city decided to beautify the place, because it was politically expedient and benefited the tourists. They left a big gaping trench which was sheer heaven for the rat population. Then, well over a year after they started, some bright Johnny in the health department must have realized that creating conditions for an outbreak of bubonic plague might, if it actually happened, end up being bad public relations AND damaging to the tourist trade.

They were very lively rats. Friendly too.
They'd run across my shoes.
Hundreds.

There were no rats evident last night. Possibly it was too cold.
Just white yupsters singing karaoke.
Damn them.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

IT'S STEW TIME!

As a man experienced in love, even though I haven't had any in a decade, I naturally have words of advice for the lovelorn and desperate on this holiday: give her a puppy, and go eat by yourself somewhere. Same for women. That way both of you will have a full meal, and come home to a creature that is happy to see you. It's simple, it's practical, and like every relationship it makes a mess of your social life.

The stupendous thing about Valentine's Day is that the rest of us can enjoy hearty grub and drinks in places with a bare bones ambiance, undisturbed by the swooning, cooing, sickening sounds, and sweaty crowds at beautiful romantic little restaurants with precious desserts, lovingly plated entrees, and exorbitant prices.

I'm thinking stew. Meat on the bone, potatoes, and glass of hearty red.
Any woman worth her metal is probably thinking the same.
And nowhere the smell of roses.

I'll probably go down to Chinatown, to a chachanteng for milk tea and a good meal. There will be no melting couples there, the tables do not have precious little vases with single red roses in them, no one down on bended knee making a proposal, and no soft and suitable music. It will be great. Unfortunately they don't do what you know as stew, and my other idea -- baked Portuguese chicken rice, suitable for one person with an appetite, or two people to casually share over the newspaper comics page -- is also not one of their specialties.

The problem with trying to paint baked portuguese chicken rice (焗葡國雞飯 'pou gwok kai faan') is that it's slopped with a mild curry sauce, then sprinkled with cheese before it's put under the broiler. So everything is a range of muddy orange, yellow, and pale warm brown. No actual recognizable anything. The chicken and potato chunks (there MUST be potato chunks) are hidden under an ochre-hued blanket. Shapeless and formless. The melted cheese further disguises the terrain.

Note that I've left out the shredded coconut and optional roasted chili peanuts, because they would only further muddle the picture.

If you see someone with two pipes on his table and cup of Hong Kong Milk Tea, waiting for his order to arrive, that will be me.


My imaginary next girlfriend, in case you were wondering, has a good appetite, likes spicy food, and would probably enjoy doing the crossword puzzle while smoking her pipe after lunch. Rattray's Old Gowrie (a broken flake) or Arango's Balkan Supreme, maybe.
I have a lovely unsmoked Peterson bent apple system which is suitable.
A no-nonsense shape, but just feminine enough.

When I saw it years ago I just had to acquire it, as it was perfect. But I never smoked it.
It wouldn't look right sticking out of my face. I am too angular and scowly.
It would look very happy with a woman.


If, like Rat and Pig in Stephan Pastis' comic strip Pearls Before Swine, you are celebrating 'Not Having Anyone Around To Constrain Your Freedom Day' by eating cold pizza alone, you too need to follow it with a pipe full of fine tobacco afterwards.

No sweetened flavoured mixtures.
Good stuff.


Take a walk around the neighborhood while doing so.
Avoid couples. Or people walking a puppy.
And anyone with roses.

==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

I COULD HAVE FROZEN MY TAIL OFF

Half a dozen years ago after snacking I passed an old fellow lying flat on his back at the intersection of Clay Street and Grant Avenue. At the time I regretted not being quite as fluent in Cantonese as one would have wished, given that the EMTs were unable to communicate very effectively. The only help I could have provided would have been to ask whether he liked his milk tea sweet or very sweet, and did he want hot sauce with his meal? More or less.
Also, a plastic bag (膠袋 'gaau toi'), for any groceries.

Medications, history of seizures, diabetes, gas gangrene?

Um, no idea. Now I'm somewhat better at all that.

Seizures: 癲癇發作 ('din haan faat jok').
Diabetes: 糖尿病 ('tong niu peng').
Gangrene: 壞疽 ('waai jeui').

The second one, in my experience, is a bit more widespread than the first, and vastly more common than the last. And if the last, I may have some bad news for you.

Amputation: 截肢 ('jit ji'). Immediately: 即刻 ('jik haak'), 趕快 ('gon faai'), 旋即 ('suen jik').
As a pipesmoker, I probably look authoritative and expert enough to get it done. But lab tests would be best, as old fellows crumpled on the pavement may be slightly out of it, and likely to agree to anything they are asked in order to get the nosy white person to go away.

Old sir, do you have gangrene? "Why yes, yes of course!" Venerable dotard, do you know that there's a long green reptilian tail sticking out of your trousers at roughly arse level?
"Why yes, yes of course!"

I was smoking this pipe at that time.

During colder weather, soup noodles are very gratifying. And if you also order a soy egg with it, which you will break up in the liquid, the yolk eventually falls apart and makes the last bit of broth creamy. So my lunch today was quite wonderful.

Afterwards, I smoked the pipe pictured above.
Nearly had seizures from the cold.
It's dangerous out there.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

CULINARILY HEADING UPRIVER

One of the best lines seen on the internet this morning is "I am an atheist but I am praying for something to go wrong here". What it was a comment underneath is immaterial as it is multi-applicable. You can say it in your mind in any number of circumstances. And it is quite likely that you have done so after several recent news conferences, sports contests, and cooking shows. Diddy is excited about dat!

[Uber hired Diddy for an ad. Diddy don't do jingles.]

And that explains, you must understand, ninety percent of US cuisine.
Mac 'n cheese, nachos, grits, chili with beans .....
Church suppers.

Something definitely went wrong there. Because of, or perhaps despite, a huge amount of prayer. Maybe it's the people. I don't know. I mostly eat by myself these days, which is a habit that I quite unwillingly fell into after the computer company. At the law offices people weren't very social (except for the Filippinas, but they were somewhat toxic), and at the toy enterprise I never felt the inclination much. Given a choice between work companions and food, mediocre food at that, it is natural to focus on food.

Sharing food is a sacrament.

The better the company, the more culinary eccentricity can be tolerated. And one must be selective about both of those things. One of the memes on the internet that speaks to me is the one that shows a facehugger alien constructed by combining spatchcocked roast turkey with crab legs at one end, with a sausage tail, as a suggestion for preventing people from ever asking you to cook for holidays again. It's reminiscent of the multi-legged fowl made from animal parts that a hostess on Hoarders presented to her relatives.

As a Brabander (by social environment during my childhood and adolescence), social eating is natural to me, even though I am not a social man. One of the extremely few people from Valkenswaard I'm still in any kind of contact with is a restaurateur whose business has been severely impacted by the pandemic. His food pictures from catering show gorgeous plating and arrangement of food he has prepared at client events. Luscious. The man is an artist.

When I cook, presentation sometimes takes a back seat so far from the wheel that it's left idling at the station. In 東坡肉 ('tung po yiuk'), which is a lovely dish prepared both at home and in fine dining establishments, named after the famous Song dynasty poet, the classic way of dishing it up is on a bed of lettuce or baby bokchoi to sop up the thicked juices. Additionally, many cooks will leave the whole green onions with which it is cooked for fragrance in the pot, and add to the dish by including whole black mushrooms before beginning the slow simmering. So it is both variegated and delicious looking.

In the painting above I have not done that.


Braised fatty pork belly, using ginger and a bucket load of sherry. Fine the way it is. A suitable side dish would be stalky mustard greens, and a simple broth with watercress, kind of an old fire soup (老火湯 'lo fo tong'). Plus rice. And, for me, sambal. It is not to be admired except by being eaten. The colours are dramatic enough, they speak for the themselves.

Cilantro, however, would not be amiss.
If I bought a bunch.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

CAUSE A RIOT

鹹魚茄子煲 ('haam yü ke ji pou') is a classic Cantonese dish which I am not very enthusiastic about getting my fellow Caucasians to love, reason being that many of them act goofy about eggplant already, and the dish smells a bit strange by our standards. When a rabbinic friend from the East Coast was in town several years ago he opined that something stank of skunk. "Yeah man, here in California we keep skunks as pets, and allow them in restaurants in lieu of guide dogs." He was inclined to believe me. California was a foreign place.

Things were unsettled here. Downright wrong at times.

By the way, either of the main ingredients in the name can be replaced with thick-sliced fatty pork for something equally delicious, and that may be added for extra oomph anyway.

It stands to reason that you cannot serve 鹹魚茄子煲 anywhere in the suburbs. Except perhaps Mountain View, which is largely Chinese. You need a sufficiency of Cantonese people for something like that.

Might cause a disturbance otherwise.


Salt fish and eggplant casserole.

Great with rice, and if you add sliced hot chilies on top, you won't need sambal. So we're assuming that folks at the table might be Cantonese from Malaysia, yes? Or S'pore, or Jakarta. Or Indies Dutchmen. Possibly a person of Italian ancestry I know.

Now, all of this came to mind because someone asked who was playing today, it being the superbowl. And given that I normally don't give a ratsass about the game anyway, and the SF team wasn't in it, I had no clue. My answer was "riot city against something Texas". Actually, that first indicates that I did know who one of the teams was. Philadelphia, where irrespective of the outcome fans will destroy civic property and set trash cans on fire. And even though it's presently after midnight and the game must be presumed to have ended, I haven't checked to see who won.

You are all winners, bunch of dingoes, every single one of you sportsfans.

Celebrate! Buds, hamberders, and a big BIG bag of Doritos.

Sleep late tomorrow; you deserve it.

'Murica! Freedom!



Neither my rabbinic friend nor I are sportsfans. But we both own sports-themed clothing celebrating the great achievements of orthodox yeshivoth. I'm wearing something with the respected name of one of the biggest kollels in the world right now, superimposed over a pigskin. Go team!

May the best team win.



PS.: Not relevant entirely, a recent article mentions that some of the favourite eateries of movie star Chow Yunfat are Yung Kee (鏞記酒家; Central District) for roast goose, Hoover Cake Shop (豪華餅店; Kowloon City) for dan taat, Saigon Pho (西貢真味越南粉專門店; Sai Kung) for noodle soup, Tim Choi Kee (添財記粥腸粉茶餐廳; Kowloon City) for congee and cheung fan, Tai Ping Koon (太平館餐廳; Sheung Wan) for chachanteng dishes, and Rainbow Seafood (天虹海鮮酒家) on Lamma Island for "very normal" fish dishes. This is all valuable information, though if you're not in Hong Kong it's rather beside the point when deciding where to eat.

Having seen most of Chow Yunfat's movies, I find it rather fascinating.
Please note that I do not model my dining habits on his.
But that would not be a bad idea.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

HOW ARE YOU ON FERMENTED FISH?

Two people were speaking Dutch on the bus. So I asked them where in the Netherlands they were from. It turns out that they were from Amsterdam, here on both business and pleasure, for a total of five weeks. Yes, they enjoyed San Francisco very much; it was a very liveable city. And no, I did not recommend any places in Chinatown, because I realized that prefacing recommendation with several pages of explanation would be counterproductive.


Chachantengs, for instance. Those are restaurants that serve what might be seen as a Canto reinterpretation of white trash food, French toast like no Frenchman or American has ever seen, dolled-up insta noodles, old favourites, and strange dishes much divorced from any real origin. Plus quick versions of some Cantonese food. And, in America, for tourists, sweet and sour pork, kung pao something, and spring rolls. Plus Hong Kong Milk Tea, of course.

Chachantengs originated from the "ice rooms" (冰室) in the fifties. A kind of eatery that was more casual and affordable with dishes that were easy, semi-occidental, and interesting.


Another good example would be the dumpling phenomenon. Do you want Northern steamed dumplings, Cantonese won ton, or dimsum? With or without other stuff, and if other stuff, then what other stuff? Also, dried flounder used as a soup flavouring, and chives.

Dumpling are immensely important. Except that Caucasians don't think so.


Boba tea. Yeah, um. Not much a fan of indigestible tapioca balls myself, but you can also get it with fruit added, and jelly sguiggles. In all cases you're channeling for a teenage Hello Kitty fangirl in her twenties or thirties, her boyfriend who needs to buy her an expensive designer handbag, and a white person of either gender and any age with tattoos. Plus variations and combinations of all of those, as well as a single middle aged pipesmoker who inexplicably wants something sweet and refreshing but feels uncomfortable around this crowd, okay?


Red bean ice?


Egg tarts, flaky charsiu turnovers, and the textural contribution of pork floss. Not even going to try to explain this to anyone. I've seen enough people enter Chinese bakeries and stare for ten minutes at the pastries, before deciding that they don't want anything, their existentials are in crisis no, and I need my momma! Can I use Apple Pay for one almond cookie?

Either you're adventurous, and can pay with cash, or not.


Dried fish. Dried shrimp. And dried oysters.

Hot sauce, fried chili oil, Sriracha.
Condiments?

Many Dutch are willing to explore, but not everybody is at the same starting point. If they're Indies Dutch, they may have already left the gate in some respects. Or not. A bus ride is not enough time to establish that. And not all Dutch are into varied foods in any case.

They may have been like all those Dutch tourists in Thailand; desperate for French fries, mayo, and a frikandel speciaal. With chopped onions.

Gehakte ui, alstublieft.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

FIRST DATE RESTAURANT

According to Yelp and a few other sources, L'Ardoise is THE most popular first date restaurant. And photos of the interior show it as having a romantic glow and ambiance.
I have no doubt that the food is also rather good. French bistro style in an intimate atmosphere. The reviews are excellent. It's definitely worth your while.

Yessir, not going to go there.

One of my favourite spots has a brusque efficient waitress, splendid roast duck, and clean tables. With windows looking out at traffic and the occasional seedy North Beach denizen.

Another fave has quick service, set lunches, great milk tea, and bottles of Sriracha.


Nothing says intimate and worthwhile better than having the same taste in condiments and caffeinated beverages. I can well imagine someone with floppity hair and spectacles making subtle and rather discreet nummy sounds as she tucks in, adding another splootch of red pepper sauce, the afternoon sunlight gleaming off the rims of her glasses ...
She just can't help it; this is fun!

The restraint and correct behaviour required at a fancy restaurant wich serves classic French food, and has, nota bene, an actual wine list, seems rather contra-romantic. Wreathe your beautiful smile in crab fragments and smears of garlic butter instead.

No one EVER has to wash their face at a French restaurant.

They just don't inspire people the same way.




No, I don't have anyone in mind, nor a likely candidate. But if I ever do, she'll have rather similar tastes and sensibilities. It would be pointless otherwise.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

GEORGIA IS UNFAIR TO BABOONS

Someone whose opinion I respect informed me that my brilliant picture of Marjorie Taylor Green as a screaming baboon was probably horribly unfair to baboons. To which I protested that when baboons are acting roaringly belligerent, it's not because they are deliberately acting like white trash, but they're just posturing as a way of communicating.
Probably territorial rights or something.
This is MY mound of termites!

And one has to make an exception for American Christians, bless their hearts. They're just not very bright. Why, most of them are too darn stupid to wear a mask in crowded places, seeing as they know, positively know, that Covid is just a liberal plot, darnit.

That there has been a twenty plus percent increase in cardiac arrests and an equal rise in myocarditis among the twenty to forty year olds who have had Covid is not an issue.
Most of them don't have καρδιές anyway. Faugh and forsooth!

You won't find cardio anything in the bible!

Or Shakespeare!

See, baboons have kardies and brains, and look where it got them!
They're still stuck over in Africa, fat lot of good that is!
They could have been in Georgia by now.

Also, baboon is a choice.
Like pronouns.
Liberals!



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

JUST LOOKING AT THE HEADLINES

In order, the states which hell will freeze over before I ever vist those poxy inbred regressive shitholes this morning: Mississippi, Georgia, Tennessee, Florida, Montana, Idaho, North Carolina, Texas, Arkansas, Colorado. These are all very Christian places.
I am beginning to have a slight dislike of Christians.

A quick visit to the internet added Iowa.

Also filled with Christians.


Casserole country!


There's a car parked on the street outside with Idaho plates. I'm guessing they're refugees. Probably couldn't stand all the Christians and their casseroles. It is only a matter of time before frito pie and canned tuna meet, and it will most likely happen in Idaho. They're probably still shell-shocked. Traumatized. Cowering in a basement.
And muttering "the horror, the horror".
Waking up screaming.


Maybe I should welcome my new neighbors. Drop by dressed like Marjorie Taylor Greene, bearing a casserole. It will make them feel right at home.

First pipe of the day while taking a walk. There are five (!) discarded Christmas trees in the neighborhood. Folks, the second week of February is too late to get rid of it, even if you need to decorate for the Superbowl. You made a commitment! You have to keep it till midsummer, when it's fully dried out and you can take it apart with a hacksaw (so that you can dispose of it in the recycling bin). I did that one year, now it's your turn. It's the law!

Take one of them back to Idaho when you leave.
Surprise your kin folk with it.
Souvenir!



UPDATE 11:40 AM:
Add Utah.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

THAT BOWL OF RICE STICK NOODLES

The broth was excellent, the meat chunks cooked just right. She really enjoyed the bowl of noodle soup, and picked up small mouthfulls of rice stick deftly with her chopsticks. Then she lifted the bowl to her lips, properly with both hands, and with reverence supped the last of the broth. She set the bowl down, and placed her chopsticks across the bowl. Finished. Good.

She had eaten alone, as sometimes old people do. There may not be anyone in their lives to eat with. A loss, perhaps, or their friends have other commitments that day. It happens.

Most of the customers were not there by themselves.
Well, except for a busdriver in a corner.

There were several tables of three or four people, many two person tables. I'd arrived during their busiest time and waited a bit for a table, but as soon as one came free I was ushered to eat. Placed my order -- "si tsan, m-koi" (set lunch number C) -- and within moments milk tea and soup were delivered to my table. As well as the bottle of Sriracha.

Out of the corner of my eye I sensed the old lady slumping.
There was a fleck of cilantro on her chin.
Her eyes were closed.

Over the next several minutes, others noticed too. As did the waitress. Fortunately she was just dozing, as one might after a good meal. She woke up gently, finished her tea, and paid. Several tables must have breathed a sigh of relief. Politely and inaudibly. I did.

As did also the totally imaginary other person at my table, because I don't really like dining by myself. She doesn't say much, what with being non-existent. Just enjoys her meal. Sometimes it's imaginary chicken, sometimes the porkchop.

I think next week she'll have noodles.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

REPRESENTING: MARJORIE TAYLOR GREENE

One photo stands out from all the others taken during yesterday's State Of The Union. It shows some trailertrash yowling at cars on East 15th. Street in Oakland. While soliciting bidniz. You kind of expect Wayne Brady to come rolling by in a S.U.V. to choke a bitch.

Oh, I'm sorry, that's not some ordinary slag, that's the honourable representative from Georgia's 14th. congressional district, acting precisely like you would expect from the deodorized armpit of Republicanistan. A good solid Christian.
An example for all Christian women.
In Georgia.

The solid Christians of North West Georgia, Jesus's own country, where white is right, can justly be proud of their congressional representation, shown here snappily dressed in the best pimp stylin' seventies hippie fashion. It's quite a statement. Bold.

Precisely what you want your daughters to grow up to be.
And your sons.


In North West Georgia.
Flounce, bitches!



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

AIN'T SEEN A FORTUNE COOKIE IN SO LONG ...

An article in SF Gate touts several Chinatown culinary destinations as the places to go. Totally 'it'. Most of those are not, strictly speaking, for the local residents, and one of them is a nasty dump. I shan't detail my thoughts about them. I'm just mighty glad that swarms won't be invading my turf. Yesterday's lunch was at a place where the food is good, the Hong Kong Milk Tea excellent, the staff recognize me, they have bottles of Sriracha, and there were no other non-Chinese. Today's lunch will be at a different place with the same conditions.

No, I do not know how their sweet and sour pork is. Or the kung pao.
Or General Tso's meat options. They have egg rolls.
Egg rolls are totally totemic.

It's a given that much of the food Cantonese people like for some reason will not appeal to many white folks. Steamed pork patty with salt fish, for instance, is an easy choice for someone from there, and an insurmountable obstacle for someone from Kansas.

To be perfectly honest, American-borns and folks from the north probably don't have much or any affection for it either, seeing as it's a low-brow home-cooking thing and doesn't impress them. The first mentioned probably have it occasionally when they visit their parents or aunties, the northerners eschew Canto salt fish and other fermented seafoods.

And European tourists, who of course know absolutely everything there is to know about fine dining, have never heard of it. So it's probably déclassé peasant muck.

Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up.
You're upset now.

We can all agree on steamed fish, yes? Simple, elegant, perfectly juicy ..... Well, folks from the Great American Heartland won't order it, because fish isn't their thing. And that's alright too, nothing wrong with having some food-related hang-ups (deepseated psychological issues), it's what makes our country great. You are all special.


You'll be pleased to know that you can easily find ketchup in Chinatown. Yellow mustard, thousand island, and ranch, well maybe those are a bit harder. And sadly there is no blue cheese dressing anywhere, seeing as bufallo wings aren't a neighborhood favourite.

Which is odd. Overcooked meat nuggets with a sticky coating?
That's like kung pao and General Tso combined!
The apogee of scrumptious.
Gourmet!



Now, lest you think me an unbearable snob, I should mention that for very many years when I worked in the Financial District I would every week or so enjoy a hot dog for lunch.

Bread and hot animal protein; sheer heaven. And of course I also like cheese-burgers.
A tasty savoury juicy handful of dripping cholesterol, oh my.

The best versions of Kung Pao Chicken and General Tso's that I ever had were in Berkeley, by the way, near the university. Berkeley is food-heaven.

They also have the best tofu, in Berkeley.

It's yummers.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

DESANTIS IS THEIR GOD

No, of course I didn't watch the state of the union speech. Or Sarah Huckabee Sanders' bullshit response. Life is too short to hear positive poofle OR weird paranoid MAGA shiznit afterwards. And I'm sure I'll hear all about it over the next few days anyhow, if the rightwing can forget, for a moment, about balloons, sexualized m&ms, racist discrimination directed at pudgy middle-aged entitled white people, and other teacup storms. Oh, and big balloons.
In relation thereto, let me point out that the balloon was white, and we shot it down!
It was filled with gas or hot air, like a Republican.
Oh, the humanity!

Poof!

What I did see on teevee was LeBron James being lauded. Along with clips of his greatest hits. A very talented athlete, with excellent timing and a sound knowledge of geometry. Normally I don't bother watching anything sports-related, but I sat in awe.

It was much better than the balloon footage.
Again, it was a white balloon.
Symbolic.

There were only three rats in Spofford this evening when I walked through, but they were relaxed, not as jumpy and tense as the rats there usually are. I doubt that the unbalanced Caucasian individual stumbling through noticed them, although one of the residents returning home certainly did, and chased two of them out of his doorway. It was several moments before they reappeared.

Maybe next time I should bring them cookies. I like rats. My fellow Caucasians on the whole not so much. I bet I could train the rats to wear their masks when out on the public street. Caucasians, doubtful. They are mostly Karen or Kevin. Or Sarah Huckabee Sanders.
And Tucker "dumbnuts" Carlson.


The karaoke bar was nearly empty when we entered. Soon afterwards it was aswarm with customers. Fortunately it took them a long time to decide which dulcet Abba or Eagles song they would assay, and in the gap we got to see Andy Lau on screen doing his weird stuff.

The bookseller, upon sniffing his fingers, remarked that they smelled of barbecue sauce.
We agreed it was a masculine smell. In the same league as cigars and motor oil.
Kind of butch and all-American, like meth cooking in the trailer.
This pursuant a deodorant ad on the television.



There were more white people enjoying maskless freezums on the bus back over the hill. Most of the people you will see not wearing masks are white people expressing their freezums. Infectious freezum is infinitely precious for white people.

It's what mom, the flag, and apple pie is all about.
Freezums! Murica!



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

OSMANTHUS FOREST, WEIGHTY CONGRATULATIONS, FOG FOOD

Noodles for breakfast are not, by American standards, a very common choice. But when the weather is cold and damp, it's a decision that makes complete sense. Especially when the meat broth (gravy) contains warming substances such as cinnamon, ginger, star anise, and sichuan peppercorns. Bear in mind that in HK there are plenty of places that serve Kuilin Noodles, many of which open for breakfast, and cold and damp by their standards is mid sixties Fahrenheit, with rain showers. The nearest place to Shek Kong is in Yuen Long.

The whole thing can be assembled at home, but it is far better to find a restaurant which serves it, that opens early. The closer you are to an actual Chinese community the more likely that is. Out in Kansas you're probably hosed. Kansas, in this instance, is everything between the Oakland hills and the East River. Why there are people there is a mystery.

Here in San Francisco, the nearest place (重慶小面) is across the hill in Chinatown. It does not open till 11:30, so breakfast at the crack of dawn (anytime before eight in the morning) is not an option. And they close at eight in the evening, so late night snacking isn't possible either. Somebody has got to speak to them about that.

Add sliced meat and crispy meat, a soy egg, peanuts, and sour pickled bamboo shoot.

Plus chili flakes, chopped scallion, and minced garlic. Omit the pickled green beans.

Soy eggs (滷蛋) are available at some food counters. Long simmered in soy sauce, water, sugar, and a few aromatics.


CHUNG HENG, MOU DOU CHOI

This is not a restaurant review, and the painting above is not based on anything Chong Qing Xiao Mian serves. Nevertheless they are worth keeping in mind for your noodle fix when you are in the area. They are a good reliable restaurant. Closed on Tuesday.
As you can tell from the name, noodles are their thing.
Mostly Sichuan dishes.
雾都菜


Instead of Kuilin Noodles with all the add-ons, I'm probably going to head over to a chachanteng later for something with bittermelon after visiting my bank.

桂

Seeing as the locals in C'town are mostly Canto, the hours for Hong Kong food are much better. Still, nearly everyhting closes by nine in the evening.

Walk afterwards.
Pipe.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

THE HONOURABLE TURD FROM MISSISSIPPI

You know I like to do unflattering portraits of public figures, but in the case of the fellow below, reality is horrible enough that it would be pointless.

And goddammit, it's getting to the point where whenever I hear an 'elsewhere in America' accent', I want to grab a baseball bat. What IS it with those people?!?!

For the record, these are all shithole states: Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Virginia, West Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.


Senator Joel Carter Jr. was born in Jackson, Mississippi.
He is, as you would expect, a Christian.


Not all tourists from elsewhere in America should be fiercely clubbed to death like baby harp seals. Some of them are actually nice people. Not many, but you would not want to whack someone who didn't deserve it, would you?



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

MALFUNCTIONING POETRY

A lovely visual internet meme has a mis-translation that speaks to many people: "please wait patiently for the failure of the sytem". Because we know it's all just a matter of time. Of course it originally meant something else, the person doing the translation went kind of awry in his or her hasty copy-paste.

All of us at The Ministry For Silly Walks need this on our desks.
It will save time immensely, and make our jobs easier.

It's almost Hungarian Phrase Book level.
Reminiscent of French-taunting.
And eels.

外国人来华工作许可

系统故障，请耐心等待

[Traditional characters: 外國人來華工作許可系統故障，請耐心等待 。]

The actual meaning in the language in which it was written (probably Serbo-Croation): "The work permit system for foreigners in China is malfunctioning, please be patient." But to be perfectly honest, I prefer the mis-translation, in which the original text would have been:
請耐心等待系統故障。

外國人來華工作許可系統故障 ('ngoi gwok yan loi waa gung jok heui ho hai tung gu jeung'), 請耐心等待 ('ching noi sam dang doi').

請耐心等待系統故障 ('ching noi sam dang doi hai tung gu jeung').


Practice sentence you should memorize: 我嘅氣墊船裝滿晒鰻魚 ('ngo ge hei dim suen jong mun saai maan yü'); "my hovercraft is (entirely) full of eels".
It's bound to come in handy.



AFTERWORD: WHAT TO DO WITH ALL THOSE EELS

For approximately two pounds of skinned and boned eels, you will need three TBS sherry or rice wine, three TBS soy sauce, one TBS fragrant dark vinegar, One to one and a half TBS cornstarch, Half a TBS sugar, two stalks green onion, plus a few cloves of crushed garlic, and a little less minced ginger. As well as a rasher of bacon, cut into large pieces.
Or two. I prefer two.

Rinse the eels under the tap.

Heat a saucepan of water with one of the green onion stalks and a hefty dash rice wine or sherry to boiling. Dump in the eels, let it come back to boil, and turn off the heat.
Drain and rinse with cold water.

Cut the eels into appropriate chopstickable pieces. Chop the remaing green onion.

Stir the cornstarch with two or three TBS. water to dissolve. Stir the sugar into the soy sauce, rice wine, and vinegar.

Drizzle a little oil into the pan. Saute the bacon, garlic and ginger very briefly, toss in the eel, stirfry briskly with a toss or two. Add the soy sauce and sugar combination plus the cornstarch water. Cook till the sauce is velvety, add a brief grind of pepper.
Decant, and garnish with the chopped green onion.

Serve with rice and a sambal.

薑蔥鰻魚



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================