A few days ago my roommate and I were discussing a fictional event in a movie about Queen Victoria, when the subject of male behaviour versus female behaviour came up.
It became apparent that we are not entirely on the same page.
She is at times a fiercely raging suffragette.
I am incapable of rejecting rigid conditioning.
This is not the first time we've had this conversation - many years ago she huffily informed me that she could open the door very well on her own thank you, and I cheerily responded that anyone that clever should always go through the door first - just to make sure she doesn't stab me in the back, or cripple me with a well-aimed kick.
Now, after you please.
She also has this odd idea that age counts for more than gender, and that somehow relative status plays some role in appropriate behaviour vis-a-vis the other person.
I disagree.
Gentlemen open doors for females and elderly people. Gentlemen offer their seats to ladies on the bus, even if the woman is considerably younger.
While it would indeed be rather ridiculous to offer one's seat to a spunky teenager, it is never the less courteous and proper to open doors for a female person of any age.
Pregnant people should always be offered a seat. So should parents with young children. So should middle-aged women, crumbly old men, and young girls who are carrying stuff.
It's as simple as that.
Status doesn't really enter into it. It does not matter that women are legally equal, or that they can pull their own weight.
Proper conduct is by no means merely maintaining the pretense that they are the weaker sex.
Rather, it's a question of one's own self-respect, and the continued smooth functioning of society.
Some things are done simply because they must be done.
There is no other choice.
And that, my dear, is why we cover our mouths when we yawn, shave every day of the week, and do not scratch our balls in public.
Now, if only I could persuade the young hoodlums on the bus to stop venting their crotches and sit up straight, life would be perfect.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
THE RECLUSE AT THE TOP OF THE BUILDING
As you know I’m spending more time at the office on weekends. Partly because I'm peevish, partly because I'm digesting the recent changes in my life.
Savage Kitten broke off our long-time relationship half a year ago. I've accepted that, and am moving on. But I still haven't fully come to terms with the fact that I am now a single man again.
It isn't the easiest thing to do. I haven't been a free agent in years.
How should I proceed? Women have changed since last I looked.
Aaaack.
It's nice and quiet here. I have a few pipes at my desk, in case I want to go outside for a long smoke break. Tins of tobacco. Tea. Aspirin.
A stuffed armadillo, a life-like plastic lizard, small wooden monkeys, and a cheerfully smiling Totoro-chan. Toys. Magazines. Rubber bands.
Plus books.
My cubicle is a home away from home.
BOOKS IN MY OFFICE LIBRARY
Subversion as Foreign Policy, by Kahin & Kahin.
The Abu Ghraib Investigations, by Public Affairs Reports.
Mahabharata, by Rajagoplachari.
Beyond Belief, by Elaine Pagels.
Book of J, by Harold Bloom and David Rosenberg.
Everyman's Talmud, by Abraham Cohen.
Webster's New Geographical Dictionary.
Complete Guide to Credit and Collection Law, by Winston & Winston.
2002 Supplement, Complete Guide to Credit and Collection Law, by Winston and Winston.
Head Hunting in the Solomon Islands, by Caroline Mytinger.
The Message of the Qur'ān, by Muhammad Asad.
Emes ve Emunah - A Sfas Emes Companion, by Nosson Chayim Leff.
Igrois Pinky - Responsa and Other Scholarly Writings of Rabbi Pinky Schmeckeldtein, SHLITA.
Dictionary of International Trade, by Edward G. Hinkelman.
Rand-McNally Premier World Atlas.
The I-Ching, by Wilhelm / Baynes.
The Roots of English, by Robert Claiborne.Dictionary of Word Origins, by John Aito.
Nederlands Etymologisch Woordenboek, by Jan de Vries.
Chinese Characters - Their origin, etymology, history, classification and signification, by Dr. L. Wieger, S.J.
558 Easy-to-use Chinese/English Dictionary of Words and Phrases, by Edward PH. H. Woo.
Far East New Epoch English-Chinese Dictionary - The Far East Book Company.
English/Chinese Dictionary of Accounting - Wan Li Book Company Ltd.
正草隶篆四体字典 ('jeng chou dai suen sei tai ji-din') - Shanghai Bookstore Press.
That last item requires a little explanation. It's a dictionary of script-styles, with the main emphasis on the lesser-sealscript variations of the characters, which is of primary use to both the philologist and the calligrapher, specifically the seal-carver.
Chinese seals are often highly individualistic, reflecting both the sense of line and balance of the artist as well as the taste and education of the person who commissioned the seal.
To clarify what I'm on about, here is a close up of several entries on page 141 - all characters have the hand radical on the left side.
The modern form of the character is at the top of each cell, intermediate and calligraphic forms in the middle, and the oldest versions at the bottom of the cell, showing the shapes standardized in the era before brushes where used.
At that time the script had moved beyond divinatory markings carved on tortoise shells and cow bones to rounded characters painted onto bamboo slats with a type of felt-tip - a reed with a wick leading to an attached ink reserve. Once the fine-tip brush was invented, certain curves were no longer easy to make, but writing speed was enormously improved. Inevitably more fluid forms of the characters developed, and the two script styles co-existed for several centuries before finally the brush versions became the official standard.
When the Loma Prieta earthquake happened I was working temporary jobs through an agency. Immediately after the quake business dried up somewhat, and making enough money became a struggle. One day a friend whose father is a talented calligrapher asked me to make him two seals.
I was carving them at a coffee shop the next day and five more people requested seals. Over the next year I carved a few hundred chops, mostly for Chinatown customers, although several commissions came from Caucasians and Japanese-Americans.
Here are two seals with which I marked ownership of the above mentioned dictionary:
Early work, but maybe not too bad. Rather like drafting.
Seals are used to sign one's name, to identify a collection of books and paintings, or even to assert authorship, authenticate documents, express a particular mood.
Many people have several seals - correct personal name, literary name, nicknames, studio and book room names, even quotes from favorite texts.
The material is not very expensive, if you don't want chicken blood, longevity mountain, or mutton fat - those stones are much more pricey, and the Japanese and Taiwanese buy the best ones. For daily signature purposes the Japanese use wood or ivory chops, but stone reflects the calligraphic ability of the craftsman much better.
Perhaps I should bring in some stones and carve on weekends.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Savage Kitten broke off our long-time relationship half a year ago. I've accepted that, and am moving on. But I still haven't fully come to terms with the fact that I am now a single man again.
It isn't the easiest thing to do. I haven't been a free agent in years.
How should I proceed? Women have changed since last I looked.
Aaaack.
It's nice and quiet here. I have a few pipes at my desk, in case I want to go outside for a long smoke break. Tins of tobacco. Tea. Aspirin.
A stuffed armadillo, a life-like plastic lizard, small wooden monkeys, and a cheerfully smiling Totoro-chan. Toys. Magazines. Rubber bands.
Plus books.
My cubicle is a home away from home.
BOOKS IN MY OFFICE LIBRARY
Subversion as Foreign Policy, by Kahin & Kahin.
The Abu Ghraib Investigations, by Public Affairs Reports.
Mahabharata, by Rajagoplachari.
Beyond Belief, by Elaine Pagels.
Book of J, by Harold Bloom and David Rosenberg.
Everyman's Talmud, by Abraham Cohen.
Webster's New Geographical Dictionary.
Complete Guide to Credit and Collection Law, by Winston & Winston.
2002 Supplement, Complete Guide to Credit and Collection Law, by Winston and Winston.
Head Hunting in the Solomon Islands, by Caroline Mytinger.
The Message of the Qur'ān, by Muhammad Asad.
Emes ve Emunah - A Sfas Emes Companion, by Nosson Chayim Leff.
Igrois Pinky - Responsa and Other Scholarly Writings of Rabbi Pinky Schmeckeldtein, SHLITA.
Dictionary of International Trade, by Edward G. Hinkelman.
Rand-McNally Premier World Atlas.
The I-Ching, by Wilhelm / Baynes.
The Roots of English, by Robert Claiborne.Dictionary of Word Origins, by John Aito.
Nederlands Etymologisch Woordenboek, by Jan de Vries.
Chinese Characters - Their origin, etymology, history, classification and signification, by Dr. L. Wieger, S.J.
558 Easy-to-use Chinese/English Dictionary of Words and Phrases, by Edward PH. H. Woo.
Far East New Epoch English-Chinese Dictionary - The Far East Book Company.
English/Chinese Dictionary of Accounting - Wan Li Book Company Ltd.
正草隶篆四体字典 ('jeng chou dai suen sei tai ji-din') - Shanghai Bookstore Press.
That last item requires a little explanation. It's a dictionary of script-styles, with the main emphasis on the lesser-sealscript variations of the characters, which is of primary use to both the philologist and the calligrapher, specifically the seal-carver.
Chinese seals are often highly individualistic, reflecting both the sense of line and balance of the artist as well as the taste and education of the person who commissioned the seal.
To clarify what I'm on about, here is a close up of several entries on page 141 - all characters have the hand radical on the left side.
The modern form of the character is at the top of each cell, intermediate and calligraphic forms in the middle, and the oldest versions at the bottom of the cell, showing the shapes standardized in the era before brushes where used.
At that time the script had moved beyond divinatory markings carved on tortoise shells and cow bones to rounded characters painted onto bamboo slats with a type of felt-tip - a reed with a wick leading to an attached ink reserve. Once the fine-tip brush was invented, certain curves were no longer easy to make, but writing speed was enormously improved. Inevitably more fluid forms of the characters developed, and the two script styles co-existed for several centuries before finally the brush versions became the official standard.
When the Loma Prieta earthquake happened I was working temporary jobs through an agency. Immediately after the quake business dried up somewhat, and making enough money became a struggle. One day a friend whose father is a talented calligrapher asked me to make him two seals.
I was carving them at a coffee shop the next day and five more people requested seals. Over the next year I carved a few hundred chops, mostly for Chinatown customers, although several commissions came from Caucasians and Japanese-Americans.
Here are two seals with which I marked ownership of the above mentioned dictionary:
Early work, but maybe not too bad. Rather like drafting.Seals are used to sign one's name, to identify a collection of books and paintings, or even to assert authorship, authenticate documents, express a particular mood.
Many people have several seals - correct personal name, literary name, nicknames, studio and book room names, even quotes from favorite texts.
The material is not very expensive, if you don't want chicken blood, longevity mountain, or mutton fat - those stones are much more pricey, and the Japanese and Taiwanese buy the best ones. For daily signature purposes the Japanese use wood or ivory chops, but stone reflects the calligraphic ability of the craftsman much better.
Perhaps I should bring in some stones and carve on weekends.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
PIPE SMOKING LADIES
Occasionally I visit my stats to see what lured readers to my blog. There are several search-criteria that come up fairly often: little virgins, bestiality, panties, big breasts.......
These are all quite baffling, as they are not the focus of this blog.
Little virgins here means matjes herring plump in their first year of life; bestiality refers back to snarky remarks I made about the Dutch and a lack of adequate legal protection for goats and horses in the Netherlands; panties is a Japanese fetish that I can sympathise with even though I myself have no fetishes whatsoever stop snickering dammit; and big breasts are far from my eye as I disapprove of mammaries of immodest dimension - they just seem so self-indulgent!
One other criterion crops up like clockwork:
PIPE SMOKING LADIES!
Unlike the others, this is not a fetish. That is to say, I doubt very much that some distant pervert in Kuwait or Pakistan is typing that in to his browser while feeling lucky.
More likely, it is actually a female pipe-smoker, trying to find out if there are others of her kind.
Indeed there are. You are not alone, ma'am.
But you are pleasingly unusual.
When I was still working at Druquer and Sons in Berkeley (a tobacconist once famous, now long departed), there were several women pipe smokers whom I knew. My boss at that time was a woman pipesmoker, with what must have been one of the most impressive collections of briar on the planet. Her taste was exceptional. In addition to her, there was a Japanese-American woman, a Philippina, and an elderly academic, as well as a politica in Washington who every month got a shipment of pipe tobacco. And others.
There are women pipe smokers, but they are not common. They are exceptional women.
It demonstrates an independent mind and thoughtfulness when a woman smokes a pipe.
It is baffling why there are so few of them.
Certainly the ability to appreciate the finer things in life is not limited by any means to men - though one could argue that a liking for nastiness and vulgarity IS more masculine. And pipes are not a male symbol; a well-shaped piece of briar, polished and nicely grained...... probably more feminine and civilized than the mini penis represented by cigarettes, or the emphatically phallic cigar.
[I've always thought smokers of big cigars a rather doubtful lot, by the way.]
But for some reason, the gentler sex has hesitated to pick up the pipe.
So those people who are searching on the internet for female pipe smokers must, almost by definition, not be looking for strange pornographic themes.
Rather, they are either anthropologists searching for ethnographic material, or they are female pipe-smokers themselves.
That latter category respect the habit, and no doubt wish that there were more like them.
Welcome. You found this blog by virtue of your strongmindedness.
Maybe you are new to pipesmoking?
Perhaps I can guide you..... if you will forgive the presumption.
FRIENDLY ENCOURAGEMENT TO A WOMAN WHO LIKES PIPES
There is nothing unfeminine about your choice. Other than over-the-top freehands, which really do advertise mental problems, smoking a pipe is quite unslanted in any way. There are, however, a few things to keep in mind.
First of all, there is NO SUCH THING as a women's pipe. Those minutish thingummajigs sold as such are often not worth smoking, as taste and desirable smoking characteristics are the same irrespective of gender.
A normal size pipe made of old briar yields a good smoke, whereas a delicate little cup with froo-froo styling will be unsatisfactory even as a casual puffer.
You need a decent bore, a reasonable burning surface within the bowl, and enough wall to sustain the process. The only size-related consideration that might possibly affect your choice is that as a woman your jaws are probably smaller, but if the wood is ancient and the pipe well-made even that fades into insignificance.
A good pipe is surprisingly light weight.
Secondly, many tobacconists might steer you towards aromatics.
If it smells "nice", surely it must be 'feminine', yes?
Wrong. Is fruitcake feminine? Are charred meats necessarily male?
There are three basic blend-types, none of them is gender-specific.
1. Aged Virginias, pressed or blended, with or without Perique, which must be smoked slow to yield a sweet smoke with a bit of a nicotine wallop - good for later in the day, or at the end of two or three hours of homework.
2. Mild-medium mixtures, with just enough Oriental for complexity - satisfying and fragrant, yet not too tarry and eccentric to dominate the discourse.
3. Full English / Balkan, packing a goodly measure of Turkish leaf and Syrian, deeply satisfying and spicy. These lack the nicotine wallop of a Virginia blend.
Oh, of course there are also Burley blends, Cavendishes, and other popular types. But they aren't really honest smokes, and many of them have odd flavourings besides.
A woman who knows what she wants smokes a reputable tinned product, not a supermarket special, nor a drugstore blend, and certainly not a pineapple caramel strawberry abortion.
Real tobacco. No added flavourings and aromatics.
Fruity concoctions are, strictly speaking, pimp tobaccos that hairy men smoke around big-busted creatures in cocktail bars.
You've probably been to a tobacconist who tried to sell you a small pipe and a vanilla-peach Cavendish, who at the time was far too tickled by a sweet little girlie trying to smoke like the big boys to pay you any attention. You bought your first pipe, and he sold you something with a candy stench.
It was probably his best selling blend - but what he forgot to mention was that it was favoured by rancid old gits who imitate Hugh Hefner and Frank Sinatra. Hairy-chested sleaze-o-mats with gold chains and loud shirts.
Image over substance.
The advice you got about packing the tobacco and breaking-in the pipe was probably all wrong too.
RULE ONE: Smoke half or quarter bowls to start - you need to develop the carbon layer at the bottom of the bowl, and it will take you a while to get the hang of smoking, so in the meantime you should not over-extend yourself.
RULE TWO: Dry your tobacco out a little bit - if it's moist it will indeed keep better, but smoke worse.
RULE THREE: Pack lightly - it is easier to compact a bowlful by tamping than it is to correct a dense clump of leaf wedged in. Too tightly packed just cannot be satisfactorily undone.
RULE FOUR: Wait before smoking another bowl, both for your own sake as well as your pipe's. You want to enjoy the experience, rather than have it become a grim routine.
RULE FIVE: Keep an open mind - you will likely discover that you are not a one-mixture woman; many tobaccos can be enjoyed, there is no need to exclude some brands or obsessively favour others.
Don't be embarrassed. Many people will not take a female pipesmoker seriously, but other pipesmokers will not be thus. And given current tobacco laws, there is no need to cater to mass-tastes or common standards, nor attempt to desperately fit in.
That's what tattoos and weed are for.
Perhaps the most important advice to a beginning smoker is to start on someone else's pipe. An uncle or aunt who is willing to lend you a mellowed briar is a god-send, assuming that they had good smoking habits. Their pipe will smoke far sweeter, and more naturally, than a brand-new pipe, and will give you a much better idea about the pleasures of smoking, than the first experimental purchase that you are trying to break-in as a new pipe-smoker.
One of these days, as you read about Badger retiring to his study after feeding the field mice, you will find yourself reaching for the Comoy, and that tin of Samuel Gawith flake........
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
These are all quite baffling, as they are not the focus of this blog.
Little virgins here means matjes herring plump in their first year of life; bestiality refers back to snarky remarks I made about the Dutch and a lack of adequate legal protection for goats and horses in the Netherlands; panties is a Japanese fetish that I can sympathise with even though I myself have no fetishes whatsoever stop snickering dammit; and big breasts are far from my eye as I disapprove of mammaries of immodest dimension - they just seem so self-indulgent!
One other criterion crops up like clockwork:
PIPE SMOKING LADIES!
Unlike the others, this is not a fetish. That is to say, I doubt very much that some distant pervert in Kuwait or Pakistan is typing that in to his browser while feeling lucky.
More likely, it is actually a female pipe-smoker, trying to find out if there are others of her kind.
Indeed there are. You are not alone, ma'am.
But you are pleasingly unusual.
When I was still working at Druquer and Sons in Berkeley (a tobacconist once famous, now long departed), there were several women pipe smokers whom I knew. My boss at that time was a woman pipesmoker, with what must have been one of the most impressive collections of briar on the planet. Her taste was exceptional. In addition to her, there was a Japanese-American woman, a Philippina, and an elderly academic, as well as a politica in Washington who every month got a shipment of pipe tobacco. And others.
There are women pipe smokers, but they are not common. They are exceptional women.
It demonstrates an independent mind and thoughtfulness when a woman smokes a pipe.
It is baffling why there are so few of them.
Certainly the ability to appreciate the finer things in life is not limited by any means to men - though one could argue that a liking for nastiness and vulgarity IS more masculine. And pipes are not a male symbol; a well-shaped piece of briar, polished and nicely grained...... probably more feminine and civilized than the mini penis represented by cigarettes, or the emphatically phallic cigar.
[I've always thought smokers of big cigars a rather doubtful lot, by the way.]
But for some reason, the gentler sex has hesitated to pick up the pipe.
So those people who are searching on the internet for female pipe smokers must, almost by definition, not be looking for strange pornographic themes.
Rather, they are either anthropologists searching for ethnographic material, or they are female pipe-smokers themselves.
That latter category respect the habit, and no doubt wish that there were more like them.
Welcome. You found this blog by virtue of your strongmindedness.
Maybe you are new to pipesmoking?
Perhaps I can guide you..... if you will forgive the presumption.
FRIENDLY ENCOURAGEMENT TO A WOMAN WHO LIKES PIPES
There is nothing unfeminine about your choice. Other than over-the-top freehands, which really do advertise mental problems, smoking a pipe is quite unslanted in any way. There are, however, a few things to keep in mind.
First of all, there is NO SUCH THING as a women's pipe. Those minutish thingummajigs sold as such are often not worth smoking, as taste and desirable smoking characteristics are the same irrespective of gender.
A normal size pipe made of old briar yields a good smoke, whereas a delicate little cup with froo-froo styling will be unsatisfactory even as a casual puffer.
You need a decent bore, a reasonable burning surface within the bowl, and enough wall to sustain the process. The only size-related consideration that might possibly affect your choice is that as a woman your jaws are probably smaller, but if the wood is ancient and the pipe well-made even that fades into insignificance.
A good pipe is surprisingly light weight.
Secondly, many tobacconists might steer you towards aromatics.
If it smells "nice", surely it must be 'feminine', yes?
Wrong. Is fruitcake feminine? Are charred meats necessarily male?
There are three basic blend-types, none of them is gender-specific.
1. Aged Virginias, pressed or blended, with or without Perique, which must be smoked slow to yield a sweet smoke with a bit of a nicotine wallop - good for later in the day, or at the end of two or three hours of homework.
2. Mild-medium mixtures, with just enough Oriental for complexity - satisfying and fragrant, yet not too tarry and eccentric to dominate the discourse.
3. Full English / Balkan, packing a goodly measure of Turkish leaf and Syrian, deeply satisfying and spicy. These lack the nicotine wallop of a Virginia blend.
Oh, of course there are also Burley blends, Cavendishes, and other popular types. But they aren't really honest smokes, and many of them have odd flavourings besides.
A woman who knows what she wants smokes a reputable tinned product, not a supermarket special, nor a drugstore blend, and certainly not a pineapple caramel strawberry abortion.
Real tobacco. No added flavourings and aromatics.
Fruity concoctions are, strictly speaking, pimp tobaccos that hairy men smoke around big-busted creatures in cocktail bars.
You've probably been to a tobacconist who tried to sell you a small pipe and a vanilla-peach Cavendish, who at the time was far too tickled by a sweet little girlie trying to smoke like the big boys to pay you any attention. You bought your first pipe, and he sold you something with a candy stench.
It was probably his best selling blend - but what he forgot to mention was that it was favoured by rancid old gits who imitate Hugh Hefner and Frank Sinatra. Hairy-chested sleaze-o-mats with gold chains and loud shirts.
Image over substance.
The advice you got about packing the tobacco and breaking-in the pipe was probably all wrong too.
RULE ONE: Smoke half or quarter bowls to start - you need to develop the carbon layer at the bottom of the bowl, and it will take you a while to get the hang of smoking, so in the meantime you should not over-extend yourself.
RULE TWO: Dry your tobacco out a little bit - if it's moist it will indeed keep better, but smoke worse.
RULE THREE: Pack lightly - it is easier to compact a bowlful by tamping than it is to correct a dense clump of leaf wedged in. Too tightly packed just cannot be satisfactorily undone.
RULE FOUR: Wait before smoking another bowl, both for your own sake as well as your pipe's. You want to enjoy the experience, rather than have it become a grim routine.
RULE FIVE: Keep an open mind - you will likely discover that you are not a one-mixture woman; many tobaccos can be enjoyed, there is no need to exclude some brands or obsessively favour others.
Don't be embarrassed. Many people will not take a female pipesmoker seriously, but other pipesmokers will not be thus. And given current tobacco laws, there is no need to cater to mass-tastes or common standards, nor attempt to desperately fit in.
That's what tattoos and weed are for.
Perhaps the most important advice to a beginning smoker is to start on someone else's pipe. An uncle or aunt who is willing to lend you a mellowed briar is a god-send, assuming that they had good smoking habits. Their pipe will smoke far sweeter, and more naturally, than a brand-new pipe, and will give you a much better idea about the pleasures of smoking, than the first experimental purchase that you are trying to break-in as a new pipe-smoker.
One of these days, as you read about Badger retiring to his study after feeding the field mice, you will find yourself reaching for the Comoy, and that tin of Samuel Gawith flake........
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, February 12, 2011
WAYANG PURWA - WHAT THE CHARIOTEER KNEW
Late at night, north coast of Java. The air is still warm, but much cooler than it was during the day. The velvet darkness of night fades towards the far end of the courtyard, where the light of a lamp behind a taut white sheet glows friendly, attracting the eyes.
There are shadows.
The people in the courtyard are dressed neatly, some rather formally. A few are wearing dark green and brown patterned batik, but most of the women are somewhat more brightly clothed. The darker and plainer hues are old-fashioned, traditionally upper-class.
The children among the crowd are casually garbed, and seem perhaps more alive (or lively) because of it. A voice from beyond the screen gives a high pitched chant to a background of metallic instruments and subdued interlocking rhythms.
Imperceptibly the tempo speeds up, then with a sudden clangor the two people whom everyone has been waiting for make their appearance.
Those being a grossly fat short fellow with a pug nose and a humongous rump, and his gangly flabby son with a long proboscis.
KYAI LURO SEMAR, KYAI PETRUK
The dhalang introduces them.
“Here is Semar, the lowly servant, also known as Kyai Luro - the venerable elder. And indeed he is venerable, for he is the master of deep knowledge, and represents all things to all people, yet he is also entirely the opposite of those things. Does he seem old? Then he is young and full of life! Fat and misshapen? No, he is elegant, the most loveable of men! Coarse and rather dull? Far from it, he is the oldest of divine beings, older even than the heroes, the very first creation that sprung from the dream of the deity! Consigned to earth to serve his distant kin in disguise, he comes with his son Petruk, possessor of the impressively twitching nose."
To many Javanese, Semar and Petruk are much more important than any of the actual heroes of the play, for they speak the common language, and comment with sharpness and humour about events, throwing everything into focus. The obese dwarf Semar is in fact the preserver of their Island, whose presence predates Hinduism, far predates Islam. And though he and his family serve royal masters, who are the knights and gallants of the tales, Semar and his sons are the true owners of the narrative - without them there would be little excitement, scant humour, no clarity.
They are ugly and unrefined, but their misshapen forms hide their true natures.
Semar, Petruk, sad-hearted Nalagareng of the twisted leg, and, in Tjirebon, the third of Semar's sons, Sekar Pandan - whose neck is obscenely long because he got caught in a tree during his precipitous descent from Suryalaya - are the companions of royalty, true to themselves, forthright, and wise without pretense.
THE CATTLE PEN OF KURU
Wayang kulit (shadow theatre) for the most part retells the chapters of the Mahabharata, that being the conflict between the five Pandawa brothers (Yudistira, Bima, Ardjuna, Nakula, Sahadewa) representing the side of good, and their cousins the hundred Kurawa, who are NOT on the side of good. There is still a measure of virtue and righteousness on the other side, and there are flaws among the Pandawa and their host - nothing is black and white, and the tale is more complex than the mere premise. The only thing simple about it is that through trickery the Pandawa were cheated out of their inheritance, and spent several years wandering in exile.
Although Ardjuna and Yudistira are the ideal men in the stories, comparable to the knights of European tales, there are two other characters who are often much more admirable, because they are less than perfect - Bima the giant, second of the Pandawa brothers, and his half-demonic son Gatot-Katja, begotten of Hidimbi the ogress.
BIMA, GATOTKATJA
This being late at night, Gatotkatja is now at his most powerful. Unlike his father, he is somewhat less encumbered by rigid righteousness, but he is much more humble and likely to sympathize with others.
At the culmination of the epic, in combat on the field of Kuru, he is the fighter most feared by the Kurawa, and it is his death which Duryodana their king most fervently desires. Gatotkatja's distant kinsman Karna slays him at Duryodana's command by wielding the divine weapon which can only be used once - and thus loses the war for his own side, as there is now nothing that the Kurawa have to counter Prince Ardjuna.
Bima
Gatotkatja
Note: Both Bima and his son have an elongated claw-like middle finger, symbolic of momentous deeds.
The great war took place centuries ago, and all who were there have died, and been reborn, and died again. The warriors who perished on the battlefield, the survivors and their companions, the five Pandawa who after their victory finally travelled to the north seeking answers, King Yudistira and the faithful dog he would not enter Indralaya without. They are all gone.
Yet at times the heroes of that age live once more and their spirits come among their descendants. The shadow-play invites them back, and shows the audience how one is supposed to face life and conduct oneself; the story-teller wielding the puppets channels their vibrant intelligences and guides the forces unleashed by the performance.
This is séance, and totemic enactment. By reawakening the ancient champions, the present is changed and controlled.
Gallant Gatotkatja never really died - all you have to do is think of him, and there he is.
Later the audience will drift off, leaving only a few people still in the courtyard, drowsing while the dhalang chants the confrontation that is the focus of this particular tale. The side of good will win, significantly while most people are asleep and unaware. Only the players of the bronze instruments will hear the details and the significance of events.
At last, in the hour before dawn, the knights and their entourage triumphantly march back to Indraprasta. The music quickens: the master of the tale, voicing Semar, sings exultantly, and the slumbering few before the screen awaken and stretch.
The performance lasted all night; it ends when the dhalang chants the closing invocations, putting the spirits to rest and returning the sacred enclosure created by the play back to the world of men.
The incense that burned all night flares briefly at the final tip of the coil, then even that spark fades to white.
Wayang is entertainment, philosophy, exorcism, and a reforming of the world.
Plus wit, eloquence, and the representation of ideals.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly
:LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
There are shadows.
The people in the courtyard are dressed neatly, some rather formally. A few are wearing dark green and brown patterned batik, but most of the women are somewhat more brightly clothed. The darker and plainer hues are old-fashioned, traditionally upper-class.
The children among the crowd are casually garbed, and seem perhaps more alive (or lively) because of it. A voice from beyond the screen gives a high pitched chant to a background of metallic instruments and subdued interlocking rhythms.
Imperceptibly the tempo speeds up, then with a sudden clangor the two people whom everyone has been waiting for make their appearance.
Those being a grossly fat short fellow with a pug nose and a humongous rump, and his gangly flabby son with a long proboscis.
KYAI LURO SEMAR, KYAI PETRUK
The dhalang introduces them.
“Here is Semar, the lowly servant, also known as Kyai Luro - the venerable elder. And indeed he is venerable, for he is the master of deep knowledge, and represents all things to all people, yet he is also entirely the opposite of those things. Does he seem old? Then he is young and full of life! Fat and misshapen? No, he is elegant, the most loveable of men! Coarse and rather dull? Far from it, he is the oldest of divine beings, older even than the heroes, the very first creation that sprung from the dream of the deity! Consigned to earth to serve his distant kin in disguise, he comes with his son Petruk, possessor of the impressively twitching nose."
To many Javanese, Semar and Petruk are much more important than any of the actual heroes of the play, for they speak the common language, and comment with sharpness and humour about events, throwing everything into focus. The obese dwarf Semar is in fact the preserver of their Island, whose presence predates Hinduism, far predates Islam. And though he and his family serve royal masters, who are the knights and gallants of the tales, Semar and his sons are the true owners of the narrative - without them there would be little excitement, scant humour, no clarity.
They are ugly and unrefined, but their misshapen forms hide their true natures.
Semar, Petruk, sad-hearted Nalagareng of the twisted leg, and, in Tjirebon, the third of Semar's sons, Sekar Pandan - whose neck is obscenely long because he got caught in a tree during his precipitous descent from Suryalaya - are the companions of royalty, true to themselves, forthright, and wise without pretense.
THE CATTLE PEN OF KURU
Wayang kulit (shadow theatre) for the most part retells the chapters of the Mahabharata, that being the conflict between the five Pandawa brothers (Yudistira, Bima, Ardjuna, Nakula, Sahadewa) representing the side of good, and their cousins the hundred Kurawa, who are NOT on the side of good. There is still a measure of virtue and righteousness on the other side, and there are flaws among the Pandawa and their host - nothing is black and white, and the tale is more complex than the mere premise. The only thing simple about it is that through trickery the Pandawa were cheated out of their inheritance, and spent several years wandering in exile.
Although Ardjuna and Yudistira are the ideal men in the stories, comparable to the knights of European tales, there are two other characters who are often much more admirable, because they are less than perfect - Bima the giant, second of the Pandawa brothers, and his half-demonic son Gatot-Katja, begotten of Hidimbi the ogress.
BIMA, GATOTKATJA
This being late at night, Gatotkatja is now at his most powerful. Unlike his father, he is somewhat less encumbered by rigid righteousness, but he is much more humble and likely to sympathize with others.
At the culmination of the epic, in combat on the field of Kuru, he is the fighter most feared by the Kurawa, and it is his death which Duryodana their king most fervently desires. Gatotkatja's distant kinsman Karna slays him at Duryodana's command by wielding the divine weapon which can only be used once - and thus loses the war for his own side, as there is now nothing that the Kurawa have to counter Prince Ardjuna.
Bima
Gatotkatja
Note: Both Bima and his son have an elongated claw-like middle finger, symbolic of momentous deeds.
The great war took place centuries ago, and all who were there have died, and been reborn, and died again. The warriors who perished on the battlefield, the survivors and their companions, the five Pandawa who after their victory finally travelled to the north seeking answers, King Yudistira and the faithful dog he would not enter Indralaya without. They are all gone.
Yet at times the heroes of that age live once more and their spirits come among their descendants. The shadow-play invites them back, and shows the audience how one is supposed to face life and conduct oneself; the story-teller wielding the puppets channels their vibrant intelligences and guides the forces unleashed by the performance.
This is séance, and totemic enactment. By reawakening the ancient champions, the present is changed and controlled.
Gallant Gatotkatja never really died - all you have to do is think of him, and there he is.
Later the audience will drift off, leaving only a few people still in the courtyard, drowsing while the dhalang chants the confrontation that is the focus of this particular tale. The side of good will win, significantly while most people are asleep and unaware. Only the players of the bronze instruments will hear the details and the significance of events.
At last, in the hour before dawn, the knights and their entourage triumphantly march back to Indraprasta. The music quickens: the master of the tale, voicing Semar, sings exultantly, and the slumbering few before the screen awaken and stretch.
The performance lasted all night; it ends when the dhalang chants the closing invocations, putting the spirits to rest and returning the sacred enclosure created by the play back to the world of men.
The incense that burned all night flares briefly at the final tip of the coil, then even that spark fades to white.
Wayang is entertainment, philosophy, exorcism, and a reforming of the world.
Plus wit, eloquence, and the representation of ideals.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly
:LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, February 11, 2011
ABDOMINAL
Aside from the fact that that woman has one heck of an interesting sense of humour, there is one other major reason why despite our break-up I like having Savage Kitten still living with me.
No, it’s not the occasional unintended glimpse of skin – though that IS icing on the cake (I am, after all, quite pervy) – nor the fact that she has so few bad habits.
It’s the food thing.
For an American woman, she’s amazingly open minded about edibles. The fact that her parents were Cantonese may have had something to do with that. Though personally I think it’s an entirely self-cultivated virtue, seeing as her siblings are not nearly so broad in their culinary habits.
Most American-born people are negatively inclined towards such things as raw fish, rotten fish, dessicated fish, and totally putrid fish.
[Groene haring, bulatjong, da’ing, and trassi: Dutch raw herring, Indonesian style fermented fish condiment, hard dried fish, and thoroughly decomposed very salty shrimp-paste.]
But that’s not all.
In my mind’s eye looking around our kitchen: cans of coconut milk, matze meal, jars of gefilte fish, a bag of dried black mushrooms, a bag of mushroom fragments for soup, several cans of spam (in case there’s an earthquake), thick rice stick noodles, thin rice stick noodles, bean thread noodles, kong chai mien, little Italian spirals, udon, crinkly rice noodles, cod fish jerky, dried flounder, tinned eel, tinned dace, curry pastes, canned broth, century eggs, astragalus root (黄耆), rehmania (地黄), garlic, ginger, fermented black beans, glutinous rice flour, regular rice flour, corn flour, white flour, tapioca flour, black fungus, dried Chinese dates, powder chocolate, English hot chocolate, Mexican chocolate, wild honey, farm honey, several canisters and packets of tea, coriander seed, coriander seed powder, cumin seed, caraway seed (“shahi zeera”), mustard seed, fenugreek powder, fenugreek seeds, fennel seed, bay leaves, djarok parot, chiltepin, turmeric, saffron, stick cinnamon, powder cinnamon, nutmeg (whole and powdered), mace, five spice powder, tamo kuntji, langkuwas, sereh powder, dried trassi from Malaysia, star anise, kluwak nuts, kemiri nuts, Sichuan peppercorns, white pepper corns, black pepper corns, orris root powder, dried shrimp, Madagascar Vanilla, dried oysters, dried orange peel, dried tangerine peel, seaweed sheets, Texan long grain rice, Thai Jasmine rice, pudding rice, dried chile d’arbol, dried New Mexico chiles, dried guajillo, scallion biscuits, pickled lemon, lime oil-pickle, rice vinegar, white vinegar, dark vinegar, balsamic vinegar, etcetera.
Spare jars of chili paste and bottles of hot sauce, soy sauce, sherry, olive oil.
Irish whiskey, Scotch single-malt, Scandinavian Rye, and Genever.
Bottles of red wine (California and otherwise).
Yes, there’s stinky fish stuff in the refrigerator. Bottles, jars, packets. Plus a selection of other condiments.
Some of this stuff is NOT mine. But I know what to do with all of it.
If she were a rosy wasp American, none of this stuff would be there.
Instead, cans of tuna and boxes of hamburger helper. Which I do not know how to use.
I would return every night to the smell of either fresh cookies or lutefisk.
That, more than anything else, would probably turn me into an alcoholic.
NOTE: This obsessive mental tour of the pantry was prompted by a recent post on SEARCH FOR EMES.
In particular, this post: meat!astrophe:
Music. Evocative lyrics.
A little love song.
Play it. Loud.
You like.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
No, it’s not the occasional unintended glimpse of skin – though that IS icing on the cake (I am, after all, quite pervy) – nor the fact that she has so few bad habits.
It’s the food thing.
For an American woman, she’s amazingly open minded about edibles. The fact that her parents were Cantonese may have had something to do with that. Though personally I think it’s an entirely self-cultivated virtue, seeing as her siblings are not nearly so broad in their culinary habits.
Most American-born people are negatively inclined towards such things as raw fish, rotten fish, dessicated fish, and totally putrid fish.
[Groene haring, bulatjong, da’ing, and trassi: Dutch raw herring, Indonesian style fermented fish condiment, hard dried fish, and thoroughly decomposed very salty shrimp-paste.]
But that’s not all.
In my mind’s eye looking around our kitchen: cans of coconut milk, matze meal, jars of gefilte fish, a bag of dried black mushrooms, a bag of mushroom fragments for soup, several cans of spam (in case there’s an earthquake), thick rice stick noodles, thin rice stick noodles, bean thread noodles, kong chai mien, little Italian spirals, udon, crinkly rice noodles, cod fish jerky, dried flounder, tinned eel, tinned dace, curry pastes, canned broth, century eggs, astragalus root (黄耆), rehmania (地黄), garlic, ginger, fermented black beans, glutinous rice flour, regular rice flour, corn flour, white flour, tapioca flour, black fungus, dried Chinese dates, powder chocolate, English hot chocolate, Mexican chocolate, wild honey, farm honey, several canisters and packets of tea, coriander seed, coriander seed powder, cumin seed, caraway seed (“shahi zeera”), mustard seed, fenugreek powder, fenugreek seeds, fennel seed, bay leaves, djarok parot, chiltepin, turmeric, saffron, stick cinnamon, powder cinnamon, nutmeg (whole and powdered), mace, five spice powder, tamo kuntji, langkuwas, sereh powder, dried trassi from Malaysia, star anise, kluwak nuts, kemiri nuts, Sichuan peppercorns, white pepper corns, black pepper corns, orris root powder, dried shrimp, Madagascar Vanilla, dried oysters, dried orange peel, dried tangerine peel, seaweed sheets, Texan long grain rice, Thai Jasmine rice, pudding rice, dried chile d’arbol, dried New Mexico chiles, dried guajillo, scallion biscuits, pickled lemon, lime oil-pickle, rice vinegar, white vinegar, dark vinegar, balsamic vinegar, etcetera.
Spare jars of chili paste and bottles of hot sauce, soy sauce, sherry, olive oil.
Irish whiskey, Scotch single-malt, Scandinavian Rye, and Genever.
Bottles of red wine (California and otherwise).
Yes, there’s stinky fish stuff in the refrigerator. Bottles, jars, packets. Plus a selection of other condiments.
Some of this stuff is NOT mine. But I know what to do with all of it.
If she were a rosy wasp American, none of this stuff would be there.
Instead, cans of tuna and boxes of hamburger helper. Which I do not know how to use.
I would return every night to the smell of either fresh cookies or lutefisk.
That, more than anything else, would probably turn me into an alcoholic.
NOTE: This obsessive mental tour of the pantry was prompted by a recent post on SEARCH FOR EMES.
In particular, this post: meat!astrophe:
Music. Evocative lyrics.
A little love song.
Play it. Loud.
You like.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, February 10, 2011
RED RED LIPS
For the past week I've been obsessing about food. Now, my loyal readers may scoff at this point, saying "dude, you've been blathering on about food as long as we've known you, what's 'new' about that?"
But the past several days have been somewhat extraordinary in that regard.
Yesterday I gibbered on for several pages about a fish-salad, finally concluding with a recipe for a cracker.
When I got back to my neighborhood, I tried to find red fermented beancurd at the local store.
Really, I should've known better. They don't have that kind of stuff.
No dried fish. No dried oyster. No red fermented tofu.
No bitter melon, no yard-long bean, no loofa, no po-gwa.
They're nice people, but they don't cater to that crowd.
For any of those things, I would have to cross the hill back to Chinatown. Except that the shops in Chinatown would've been closed by then.
What I really wanted to eat was 南乳扣肉 ('naam-yu kau yiuk') - fatty meat chunks braised with garlic, naam-yu, soy, rice wine, and star anise.
What I had instead was 臘味粉 ('laap mei fan') - rice-stick noodles with preserved piggy products. And small green vegetables on the side.
Plus hot sauce.
Half a jar.
Hot sauce is a substitute for a woman at the table.
Life is far too short for ennui.
Food is companionship.
I'm eating less.
It's okay.
Spicy.
Lah.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
But the past several days have been somewhat extraordinary in that regard.
Yesterday I gibbered on for several pages about a fish-salad, finally concluding with a recipe for a cracker.
When I got back to my neighborhood, I tried to find red fermented beancurd at the local store.
Really, I should've known better. They don't have that kind of stuff.
No dried fish. No dried oyster. No red fermented tofu.
No bitter melon, no yard-long bean, no loofa, no po-gwa.
They're nice people, but they don't cater to that crowd.
For any of those things, I would have to cross the hill back to Chinatown. Except that the shops in Chinatown would've been closed by then.
What I really wanted to eat was 南乳扣肉 ('naam-yu kau yiuk') - fatty meat chunks braised with garlic, naam-yu, soy, rice wine, and star anise.
What I had instead was 臘味粉 ('laap mei fan') - rice-stick noodles with preserved piggy products. And small green vegetables on the side.
Plus hot sauce.
Half a jar.
Hot sauce is a substitute for a woman at the table.
Life is far too short for ennui.
Food is companionship.
I'm eating less.
It's okay.
Spicy.
Lah.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
CHINESE NEW YEAR, PLAYING WITH YOUR FISH: LO HEI, SANG YI HING LUNG
As part of the ongoing celebration of Chinese New Year, I beg to inform you that today is the very best day to toss your crackers.
Or play with your fish. There are crackers involved, but they aren't the main focus.
餘陞 YÜ SING
Surplus (wealth) ascending.
In an ancient Chinese ritual invented 47 years ago in Singapore, a salad made of raw fish and various other ingredients is mixed and eaten by diners hollering auspicious wishes for the coming year. Raw fish, as you remember from a previous posting, is a homonym in Chinese for surplus and hence prosperity. This is often done on the first or second day that everybody is back in the office as a festive way of starting the business year.
It's still primarily a Singaporean thing (based on lucky puns that don't really work in Cantonese), but just like Christmas and Valentine's day, it is one of those foreign festival things which Chinese people have no problem adopting.
Baruch Hashem they aren't into green beer and river-dancing. Yet.
[No, I will NOT be explaining Saint Paddy's Day to my Chinese readers in another month. There are just some things which shouldn't spread any further.]
魚生 YÜ SANG
Lucky raw fish.
Ingredients:
Sashimi grade salmon.
Carrot.
Daikon radish.
Cucumber.
Pomelo or sweet grapefruit.
Japanese red pickled ginger.
Red bell pepper.
Green bell pepper.
Garnishes:
Pok cheui crackers.
Roasted or fried peanuts.
Toasted sesame seeds.
Lime wedges.
Freshly ground white pepper.
Pinches five spice and cinnamon powders.
For the dressing:
Quarter cup plum sauce.
Quarter cup olive oil or other mild cooking oil.
Two TBS vinegar.
One TBS sesame oil.
A little hot water.
[Double the dressing recipe as appropriate]
Slice the salmon thinly, and shred the vegetables. Peel, segment, and de-sac the pomelo.
You need roughly equal amounts of the various salad ingredients - the quantity of carrot is variable, so also obviously the pickled ginger and the pomelo.
Place the salad ingredients on a platter with the fish in the centre for the simple version, or on separate plates around a large mixing bowl for the more involved version.
Put the pok cheui crackers, peanuts, and sesame seeds in separate bowls.
Whisk the dressing ingredients, adding a little hot water to make it pourable.
撈起 LO HEI!
Tossing the fish.
The simple form is to assemble everyone around the table. Squeeze a little lime onto the salad ingredients for a fresh taste.
Mix the various components together, add the ground pepper, and cinnamon.
Then have everybody use their chopsticks to help toss the salad and incorporate the dressing while uttering good wishes.
Add the pok cheui crackers, peanuts, and sesame seeds last.
The more involved version has the 'master of ceremonies' present each ingredient to view before adding it to the platter in a particular order, with the other diners chanting the appropriate propitious phrase at every addition.
[Phrases: Carrot: 鴻運當頭 ('hong wan dong tau' - "great luck will be yours"). Daikon: 步步高升 ('bou bou gou sing' - "steady increases"). Cucumber: 青春常駐 ('cheng chun seung chu' - "enjoy permanent youth"). Ground Pepper: 大吉大利 ('taai kat taai lei' - "great luck and great profit"). Cinnamon Powder: 招財進寶 ('chiu choi jeun bou' - "beckon wealth and invite precious things"). Oil: 多多油水 ('doh doh yau soei' - "much more funds"). Peanut: 金銀满屋 ('kam ngaan mun ok' - "gold and silver fill the house"). Sesame: 生意興隆 ('sang yi hing lung' - "business prosperous and thriving"). Pok cheui crackers: 翩地黄金 ('pin dei wong kam' - "expeditious arrival of money"). Fish slices: 年年有餘 ('nien nien yau yü' - "surplus year after year"). Plum Sauce: 甜甜蜜蜜 ('tim tim mat mat' - "may everything be sweet and good"). Pomelo: 越碌越有 ('yuet lok yuet yau' - "more work more wealth").]
Then everyone uses their chopsticks to toss the salad as high as possible.
The more involved version really is a recipe for disaster. Might make you want to rethink the ancient tradition.
Perhaps next year, ceviche!
You'd have to give up on the auspicious puns and wordplays of the lucky phrases above, but you wouldn't be cleaning dried fish out of the chandelier for the next several months either.
And there's less chance of someone's chopsticks accidentally going up your nose, too.
It seems a small price to pay.
At this point, having digested the various possibilities, you may decide to do a simple version of this. After all, everyone needs prosperity, your business could use a bit of surplus, and communal totemic activities are both fun, and in some ways, sacramental.
Who knows, it might actually bring luck. It's festive!
Then it hits you.
What the heck are pok cheui crackers?!?
Well, they're similar to fried wonton skins.....
薄脆餅乾 POK CHEUI BENG GON
Brittle crispy biscuits.
Three cups all purpose flour.
[Or 1½ cups semolina flour and 1½ cups white whole wheat flour. ]
One cube red fermented beancurd (南乳 naam yu).
Half teaspoon salt.
Half teaspoon baking powder.
Half cup water, plus two tablespoons.
Put the flour in a large bowl, make a well in the flour, and add the red fermented beancurd, salt, baking powder and water. Mix in a circular motion to a smooth dough. Cover with a damp cloth and let rest for two hours or so.
Then dust your working surface with cornstarch, and roll out the dough to a flat sheet. Fold over, roll out again. Repeat once or twice more, rolling out very thin the final time. Cut the dough crosswise into thumb-size rectangles. Deep fry till crisp. Drain on paper towels.
They will keep for a couple of weeks in a tight tin.
As you will have noted, pok cheui crackers are like cow's ears.
Just better.
==========================================================================
詞彙 JI WOEI
Glossary .
As an aide to those wishing to learn Cantonese, here are definitions of the characters in this post in the order in which they occur:
餘 Yü: Surplus, excess. Enough. Left over. Remainder.
陞 Sing: To rise, ascend.
魚 Yü: Fish.
生 Sang: Alive. Living. To give birth to. Activity.
撈 Lo: To haul up, dredge.
起 Hei: Rise, raise; begin, start; risen; one of a class.
鴻 Hong: Goose; great, large; enormously.
運 Wan: Move, transport; fortunate, lucky.
當 Dong: Suitable, fitting, proper; should, ought.
頭 Tau: Head, first.
步 Bou: Step, pace; advance.
高 Gou: High, lofty, elevated.
升 Sing: To rise, ascend (same as 陞).
青 Cheng: Blue, green, black, young, fresh.
春 Chun: Spring.
青春 Cheng chun: youth.
常 Seung: Common, normal.
駐 Chu: Reside, occupy; to halt.
常駐 Seung chu: Resident, to be stationed.
大 Taai: Great, big, vast.
吉 Kat: Auspicious, propitious.
利 Lei: Gain, advantage, profit.
招 Chiew: Beckon, summon, invite.
財 Choi: Wealth, richness.
進 Jeun: progress towards, advance.
寶 Bou: Treasure, jewels: precious.
多 Do: Many, much; again.
油 Yau: Oil.
水 Soei: Water, liquid; money flowing, homonym for payments.
金 Kam: Gold; funds.
銀 Ngaan: Silver.
满 Mun: To fill, to be full up, replete.
屋 Ok: Residence, house.
生 Sang: Alive. Living. To give birth to. Activity.
意 Yi: Idea, meaning, thought; intend, anticipate.
生意 Sang yi: Doing business, engaged in commerce.
興 Hing: Flourish, prosper; excited.
隆 Lung: Prosperous, grand, intensive.
興隆 Hing lung: Prosperous, thriving.
翩 Pin: Speed aloft, fly fast.
地 Dei: Earth, land; intensifying particle.
黄 Wong: Yellow, golden hued.
金 Kam: Gold; funds.
年 Nien: Year.
有 Yau: To have; there is, there are.
餘 Yü: Surplus, excess. Enough. Left over. Remainder.
甜 Tim: Sweet.
蜜 Mat: Honey.
越 Yuet: Exceed, over, surpassed; Vietnam and Canton, etcetera.
碌 Lok: Record, write down; employ, utilize, hire.
越 Yuet: Exceed, over, surpassed; Vietnam and Canton, etcetera.
有 Yau: To have; there is, there are.
薄 Pok: Thin, slight, weak, stingy, poor.
脆 Cheui: Crisp, fragile, brittle.
薄脆 Po cheui: Thin and crispy.
餅 Beng: Cookie, cracker, biscuit, pastry.
乾 Gon: Dry; penetrating, generative principle.
餅乾 Beng gon: Biscuit, cracker.
字 Ji: Character, letter; word.
彙 Woei: Collect, compile; assembly; hedgehog. Also written 匯 and 滙.
字彙 Ji woei: Glossary, lexicon; vocabulary.
南 Naam: South, southern.
乳 Yü: Breast, teat, milk; dairy product; creamlike substances, tofu products.
南乳: Naam yü: Red fermented tofu; tofu matured with rice-wine yeast.
春 Chun: Spring.
節 Jit: Festival, holiday; node, joint, section; classifier for segmented things.
春節 Chun jit: Spring festival, Chinese New Year.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Please note the two clickable links: 南乳 (red fermented bean curd) and 春節 (spring festival).
Or play with your fish. There are crackers involved, but they aren't the main focus.
餘陞 YÜ SING
Surplus (wealth) ascending.
In an ancient Chinese ritual invented 47 years ago in Singapore, a salad made of raw fish and various other ingredients is mixed and eaten by diners hollering auspicious wishes for the coming year. Raw fish, as you remember from a previous posting, is a homonym in Chinese for surplus and hence prosperity. This is often done on the first or second day that everybody is back in the office as a festive way of starting the business year.
It's still primarily a Singaporean thing (based on lucky puns that don't really work in Cantonese), but just like Christmas and Valentine's day, it is one of those foreign festival things which Chinese people have no problem adopting.
Baruch Hashem they aren't into green beer and river-dancing. Yet.
[No, I will NOT be explaining Saint Paddy's Day to my Chinese readers in another month. There are just some things which shouldn't spread any further.]
魚生 YÜ SANG
Lucky raw fish.
Ingredients:
Sashimi grade salmon.
Carrot.
Daikon radish.
Cucumber.
Pomelo or sweet grapefruit.
Japanese red pickled ginger.
Red bell pepper.
Green bell pepper.
Garnishes:
Pok cheui crackers.
Roasted or fried peanuts.
Toasted sesame seeds.
Lime wedges.
Freshly ground white pepper.
Pinches five spice and cinnamon powders.
For the dressing:
Quarter cup plum sauce.
Quarter cup olive oil or other mild cooking oil.
Two TBS vinegar.
One TBS sesame oil.
A little hot water.
[Double the dressing recipe as appropriate]
Slice the salmon thinly, and shred the vegetables. Peel, segment, and de-sac the pomelo.
You need roughly equal amounts of the various salad ingredients - the quantity of carrot is variable, so also obviously the pickled ginger and the pomelo.
Place the salad ingredients on a platter with the fish in the centre for the simple version, or on separate plates around a large mixing bowl for the more involved version.
Put the pok cheui crackers, peanuts, and sesame seeds in separate bowls.
Whisk the dressing ingredients, adding a little hot water to make it pourable.
撈起 LO HEI!
Tossing the fish.
The simple form is to assemble everyone around the table. Squeeze a little lime onto the salad ingredients for a fresh taste.
Mix the various components together, add the ground pepper, and cinnamon.
Then have everybody use their chopsticks to help toss the salad and incorporate the dressing while uttering good wishes.
Add the pok cheui crackers, peanuts, and sesame seeds last.
The more involved version has the 'master of ceremonies' present each ingredient to view before adding it to the platter in a particular order, with the other diners chanting the appropriate propitious phrase at every addition.
[Phrases: Carrot: 鴻運當頭 ('hong wan dong tau' - "great luck will be yours"). Daikon: 步步高升 ('bou bou gou sing' - "steady increases"). Cucumber: 青春常駐 ('cheng chun seung chu' - "enjoy permanent youth"). Ground Pepper: 大吉大利 ('taai kat taai lei' - "great luck and great profit"). Cinnamon Powder: 招財進寶 ('chiu choi jeun bou' - "beckon wealth and invite precious things"). Oil: 多多油水 ('doh doh yau soei' - "much more funds"). Peanut: 金銀满屋 ('kam ngaan mun ok' - "gold and silver fill the house"). Sesame: 生意興隆 ('sang yi hing lung' - "business prosperous and thriving"). Pok cheui crackers: 翩地黄金 ('pin dei wong kam' - "expeditious arrival of money"). Fish slices: 年年有餘 ('nien nien yau yü' - "surplus year after year"). Plum Sauce: 甜甜蜜蜜 ('tim tim mat mat' - "may everything be sweet and good"). Pomelo: 越碌越有 ('yuet lok yuet yau' - "more work more wealth").]
Then everyone uses their chopsticks to toss the salad as high as possible.
The more involved version really is a recipe for disaster. Might make you want to rethink the ancient tradition.
Perhaps next year, ceviche!
You'd have to give up on the auspicious puns and wordplays of the lucky phrases above, but you wouldn't be cleaning dried fish out of the chandelier for the next several months either.
And there's less chance of someone's chopsticks accidentally going up your nose, too.
It seems a small price to pay.
At this point, having digested the various possibilities, you may decide to do a simple version of this. After all, everyone needs prosperity, your business could use a bit of surplus, and communal totemic activities are both fun, and in some ways, sacramental.
Who knows, it might actually bring luck. It's festive!
Then it hits you.
What the heck are pok cheui crackers?!?
Well, they're similar to fried wonton skins.....
薄脆餅乾 POK CHEUI BENG GON
Brittle crispy biscuits.
Three cups all purpose flour.
[Or 1½ cups semolina flour and 1½ cups white whole wheat flour. ]
One cube red fermented beancurd (南乳 naam yu).
Half teaspoon salt.
Half teaspoon baking powder.
Half cup water, plus two tablespoons.
Put the flour in a large bowl, make a well in the flour, and add the red fermented beancurd, salt, baking powder and water. Mix in a circular motion to a smooth dough. Cover with a damp cloth and let rest for two hours or so.
Then dust your working surface with cornstarch, and roll out the dough to a flat sheet. Fold over, roll out again. Repeat once or twice more, rolling out very thin the final time. Cut the dough crosswise into thumb-size rectangles. Deep fry till crisp. Drain on paper towels.
They will keep for a couple of weeks in a tight tin.
As you will have noted, pok cheui crackers are like cow's ears.
Just better.
==========================================================================
詞彙 JI WOEI
Glossary .
As an aide to those wishing to learn Cantonese, here are definitions of the characters in this post in the order in which they occur:
餘 Yü: Surplus, excess. Enough. Left over. Remainder.
陞 Sing: To rise, ascend.
魚 Yü: Fish.
生 Sang: Alive. Living. To give birth to. Activity.
撈 Lo: To haul up, dredge.
起 Hei: Rise, raise; begin, start; risen; one of a class.
鴻 Hong: Goose; great, large; enormously.
運 Wan: Move, transport; fortunate, lucky.
當 Dong: Suitable, fitting, proper; should, ought.
頭 Tau: Head, first.
步 Bou: Step, pace; advance.
高 Gou: High, lofty, elevated.
升 Sing: To rise, ascend (same as 陞).
青 Cheng: Blue, green, black, young, fresh.
春 Chun: Spring.
青春 Cheng chun: youth.
常 Seung: Common, normal.
駐 Chu: Reside, occupy; to halt.
常駐 Seung chu: Resident, to be stationed.
大 Taai: Great, big, vast.
吉 Kat: Auspicious, propitious.
利 Lei: Gain, advantage, profit.
招 Chiew: Beckon, summon, invite.
財 Choi: Wealth, richness.
進 Jeun: progress towards, advance.
寶 Bou: Treasure, jewels: precious.
多 Do: Many, much; again.
油 Yau: Oil.
水 Soei: Water, liquid; money flowing, homonym for payments.
金 Kam: Gold; funds.
銀 Ngaan: Silver.
满 Mun: To fill, to be full up, replete.
屋 Ok: Residence, house.
生 Sang: Alive. Living. To give birth to. Activity.
意 Yi: Idea, meaning, thought; intend, anticipate.
生意 Sang yi: Doing business, engaged in commerce.
興 Hing: Flourish, prosper; excited.
隆 Lung: Prosperous, grand, intensive.
興隆 Hing lung: Prosperous, thriving.
翩 Pin: Speed aloft, fly fast.
地 Dei: Earth, land; intensifying particle.
黄 Wong: Yellow, golden hued.
金 Kam: Gold; funds.
年 Nien: Year.
有 Yau: To have; there is, there are.
餘 Yü: Surplus, excess. Enough. Left over. Remainder.
甜 Tim: Sweet.
蜜 Mat: Honey.
越 Yuet: Exceed, over, surpassed; Vietnam and Canton, etcetera.
碌 Lok: Record, write down; employ, utilize, hire.
越 Yuet: Exceed, over, surpassed; Vietnam and Canton, etcetera.
有 Yau: To have; there is, there are.
薄 Pok: Thin, slight, weak, stingy, poor.
脆 Cheui: Crisp, fragile, brittle.
薄脆 Po cheui: Thin and crispy.
餅 Beng: Cookie, cracker, biscuit, pastry.
乾 Gon: Dry; penetrating, generative principle.
餅乾 Beng gon: Biscuit, cracker.
字 Ji: Character, letter; word.
彙 Woei: Collect, compile; assembly; hedgehog. Also written 匯 and 滙.
字彙 Ji woei: Glossary, lexicon; vocabulary.
南 Naam: South, southern.
乳 Yü: Breast, teat, milk; dairy product; creamlike substances, tofu products.
南乳: Naam yü: Red fermented tofu; tofu matured with rice-wine yeast.
春 Chun: Spring.
節 Jit: Festival, holiday; node, joint, section; classifier for segmented things.
春節 Chun jit: Spring festival, Chinese New Year.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Please note the two clickable links: 南乳 (red fermented bean curd) and 春節 (spring festival).
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
HAKKA ON BROADWAY - LAMENT
Years ago the Mon Kiang (梅江飯店) on Broadway was a regular stop on my culinary perambulations. Unfortunately they are no longer the same restaurant at all, having changed hands, definitely changed style.
It is a very great loss.
[Mon Kiang was just below Stockton, opposite where Hing Lung is now, next to a place which sold dimsum to go. At that time it was far better than any other restaurant on Broadway between Columbus and Powell. Even the Golden Key, and most certainly that famous restaurant that all the white folks love - you know the one I mean.]
I particularly remember several delightful dishes that this Hakka institution used to feature - wine lees chicken, salty fried fatty pork, red fermented bean curd pork belly, salt-baked chicken, and pork-fat noodles, as well as for a while an absolutely stellar stuffed beancurd.
The odd thing is I started eating there before I spoke Chinese. Well, other than the standard mis-pronounced "ni hao" (howdy), "wo hsi-wang la de" (I like spicy), "hsieh hsieh ni" (thanks), and "tsai lai yi wan" (another bowl, please). None of which they understood.
I may have previously mentioned my ghastly accent in Chinese? In that day and age it was far far worse, even in textbook Mandarin (which I will still not admit to speaking, seeing as my pronunciation remains pretty darn futile).
[I could already write quite a bit, but there were (and still are) many characters that I knew the meaning of, but not the sound. Not all phonetic elements hold true, some aren't even close.]
I really wish I had been able to speak Cantonese then like I do now - I would've been able to ask them about their food, rather than merely guessing what they did, with what ingredients, and how.
I particularly miss their "plum vegetable knock meat" - 梅菜扣肉 (mui tsoi kau yiuk).
Unlike the ghastly rendition at so many Cantonese establishments, where the gravy is gloopy and murky, their version was juicy, tender, nicely sauced.......
I've been imitating it ever since.
Pork belly really needs to be treated carefully - the flesh should be melting, but the fat jellified rather than greasy in texture. Just the merest surface tension to the layers of yellow fat between the succulent meat. And the mui tsoi (梅菜 = actually salt-preserved Tientsin cabbage, used to accompany rich meats as a condimental ingredient) needs to be both rinsed and parched for optimum flavour. Rice wine is also an essential component to the dish.
All of these things come together best if the fat has not been allowed to pool, which is where pre-gilding and sealing the hunk of flesh comes in.
[I make a mean Tung Po Yiuk (東坡肉), by the way. Black mushrooms, scallion, ginger, sherry, and a touch of soy sauce - sealed claypot, very low heat. The same idea yields a superior pot-roast.]
I once ate at Mon Kiang with Manindra and Jones - they loved the place!
Even though they came from entirely different food backgrounds, the food was that good. They loved the fatty pork. They loved the chicken. They loved the mustard greens. The shrimp! The fried crunchy whatever the heck that was. They loved the preserved vegetable soup!
There was more love that evening than at a Valentine's orgy.
We ate and ate for over an hour.
We were younger then.
It was one of the few times I've been giddy on food alone.
The essence of Hakka cuisine (客家菜) is making the most out of fairly pedestrian ingredients by judicious use of flavourings like nam-yu (red-fermented beancurd), mui tsoi, chili peppers, wine lees, and even fresh herbs. But largely the entire spectrum of Chinese salt-cured and preserved ingredients.
Plus pigs-trotters and pork belly.
It's hearty, yet not unrefined. Good honest food, prepared in appetizing ways.
A bit salty at times....... as is suitable for hardworking folks with gusto.
Just have some more rice and hotsauce to balance the food.
They changed years ago. More than many restaurants, the old Mon Kiang is a restaurant I truly miss. Broadway is much the poorer for their departure.
[The restaurant that is in that location now goes by the same English name, but the Chinese name is something else entirely: 住家食方 (jiu-ga sik-fong) - "residential food place". They deal in take-out dishes at the lower end of the scale, and have nothing on the menu that even remotely qualifies as Hakka food. The term 食方 (sik-fong) does not have connotations of civilized eating, being a rather casual and slangy term. 'Diner' is probably the closest approximate in English.]
We need another Hakka restaurant in Chinatown, dammit!
There's apparently a Hakka place out in the avenues. Cabrillo at forty-fifth.
It's supposed to be good.
Wanna go?
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
It is a very great loss.
[Mon Kiang was just below Stockton, opposite where Hing Lung is now, next to a place which sold dimsum to go. At that time it was far better than any other restaurant on Broadway between Columbus and Powell. Even the Golden Key, and most certainly that famous restaurant that all the white folks love - you know the one I mean.]
I particularly remember several delightful dishes that this Hakka institution used to feature - wine lees chicken, salty fried fatty pork, red fermented bean curd pork belly, salt-baked chicken, and pork-fat noodles, as well as for a while an absolutely stellar stuffed beancurd.
The odd thing is I started eating there before I spoke Chinese. Well, other than the standard mis-pronounced "ni hao" (howdy), "wo hsi-wang la de" (I like spicy), "hsieh hsieh ni" (thanks), and "tsai lai yi wan" (another bowl, please). None of which they understood.
I may have previously mentioned my ghastly accent in Chinese? In that day and age it was far far worse, even in textbook Mandarin (which I will still not admit to speaking, seeing as my pronunciation remains pretty darn futile).
[I could already write quite a bit, but there were (and still are) many characters that I knew the meaning of, but not the sound. Not all phonetic elements hold true, some aren't even close.]
I really wish I had been able to speak Cantonese then like I do now - I would've been able to ask them about their food, rather than merely guessing what they did, with what ingredients, and how.
I particularly miss their "plum vegetable knock meat" - 梅菜扣肉 (mui tsoi kau yiuk).
Unlike the ghastly rendition at so many Cantonese establishments, where the gravy is gloopy and murky, their version was juicy, tender, nicely sauced.......
I've been imitating it ever since.
Pork belly really needs to be treated carefully - the flesh should be melting, but the fat jellified rather than greasy in texture. Just the merest surface tension to the layers of yellow fat between the succulent meat. And the mui tsoi (梅菜 = actually salt-preserved Tientsin cabbage, used to accompany rich meats as a condimental ingredient) needs to be both rinsed and parched for optimum flavour. Rice wine is also an essential component to the dish.
All of these things come together best if the fat has not been allowed to pool, which is where pre-gilding and sealing the hunk of flesh comes in.
[I make a mean Tung Po Yiuk (東坡肉), by the way. Black mushrooms, scallion, ginger, sherry, and a touch of soy sauce - sealed claypot, very low heat. The same idea yields a superior pot-roast.]
I once ate at Mon Kiang with Manindra and Jones - they loved the place!
Even though they came from entirely different food backgrounds, the food was that good. They loved the fatty pork. They loved the chicken. They loved the mustard greens. The shrimp! The fried crunchy whatever the heck that was. They loved the preserved vegetable soup!
There was more love that evening than at a Valentine's orgy.
We ate and ate for over an hour.
We were younger then.
It was one of the few times I've been giddy on food alone.
The essence of Hakka cuisine (客家菜) is making the most out of fairly pedestrian ingredients by judicious use of flavourings like nam-yu (red-fermented beancurd), mui tsoi, chili peppers, wine lees, and even fresh herbs. But largely the entire spectrum of Chinese salt-cured and preserved ingredients.
Plus pigs-trotters and pork belly.
It's hearty, yet not unrefined. Good honest food, prepared in appetizing ways.
A bit salty at times....... as is suitable for hardworking folks with gusto.
Just have some more rice and hotsauce to balance the food.
They changed years ago. More than many restaurants, the old Mon Kiang is a restaurant I truly miss. Broadway is much the poorer for their departure.
[The restaurant that is in that location now goes by the same English name, but the Chinese name is something else entirely: 住家食方 (jiu-ga sik-fong) - "residential food place". They deal in take-out dishes at the lower end of the scale, and have nothing on the menu that even remotely qualifies as Hakka food. The term 食方 (sik-fong) does not have connotations of civilized eating, being a rather casual and slangy term. 'Diner' is probably the closest approximate in English.]
We need another Hakka restaurant in Chinatown, dammit!
There's apparently a Hakka place out in the avenues. Cabrillo at forty-fifth.
It's supposed to be good.
Wanna go?
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
INDONESIAN MUSLIMS BURN DOWN TWO CHURCHES
Javanese sometimes demonstrate that they are not quite as gentle and civilized as they would like you to believe.
Or at the very least that they have an entirely different playbook than the rest of us.
"More than 1,000 Muslim protesters have stormed a courthouse and burned two churches in central Java, Indonesia. The attacks in Temanggung happened after a Christian man was sentenced to five years in jail for distributing leaflets deemed insulting to Islam."
SOURCE:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-12393075
MESSAGE TO THE GOOD PEOPLE OF TEMANGGUNG
You know, there ARE mosques in the Western World too. But here people of your faith are a minority. A tolerated minority. Even though some of those tolerated Islamic types in Europe and the United States have nevertheless made clear that they think all non-Muslims are scum, and have frequently voiced wholehearted approval for terrorism and the killing of infidels - by which they mean us.
Not infrequently, resident Islamic types say venomously insulting things about our faiths, and offer fulsome praise for horrific violence against non-Muslims.
Yet no matter how morally lacking they prove themselves, even those Muslims are still tolerated.
As long as they can't actually be connected to criminal acts, or support and funding for Islamic murderers, we tolerate them.
You should study the meaning of toleration.
I know you have a word for it in your language - "toleransi" - but judging by the fact that you had to borrow it from the Dutch, you may not actually grasp the concept........
We'd like it if you at least made an effort to figure it out.
If you can't understand what is implied in being tolerant, there are several mosques in the Bay Area which will gladly explain the idea.
I'm sure that the Indonesian Consulate at 1111 Columbus Avenue can provide you with contact names, addresses, and phone numbers for those mosques - they'll be delighted to hear from you. Also, they should have some thoughts about what you lot have recently been up to.
If the Indonesian Consulate doesn't have a complete listing of Bay Area mosques, don't worry, I can probably provide one.
Just let me know.
Don't ask me about "tolerance", though.
I'm not at all sure I still remember what it means.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Or at the very least that they have an entirely different playbook than the rest of us.
"More than 1,000 Muslim protesters have stormed a courthouse and burned two churches in central Java, Indonesia. The attacks in Temanggung happened after a Christian man was sentenced to five years in jail for distributing leaflets deemed insulting to Islam."
SOURCE:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-12393075
MESSAGE TO THE GOOD PEOPLE OF TEMANGGUNG
You know, there ARE mosques in the Western World too. But here people of your faith are a minority. A tolerated minority. Even though some of those tolerated Islamic types in Europe and the United States have nevertheless made clear that they think all non-Muslims are scum, and have frequently voiced wholehearted approval for terrorism and the killing of infidels - by which they mean us.
Not infrequently, resident Islamic types say venomously insulting things about our faiths, and offer fulsome praise for horrific violence against non-Muslims.
Yet no matter how morally lacking they prove themselves, even those Muslims are still tolerated.
As long as they can't actually be connected to criminal acts, or support and funding for Islamic murderers, we tolerate them.
You should study the meaning of toleration.
I know you have a word for it in your language - "toleransi" - but judging by the fact that you had to borrow it from the Dutch, you may not actually grasp the concept........
We'd like it if you at least made an effort to figure it out.
If you can't understand what is implied in being tolerant, there are several mosques in the Bay Area which will gladly explain the idea.
I'm sure that the Indonesian Consulate at 1111 Columbus Avenue can provide you with contact names, addresses, and phone numbers for those mosques - they'll be delighted to hear from you. Also, they should have some thoughts about what you lot have recently been up to.
If the Indonesian Consulate doesn't have a complete listing of Bay Area mosques, don't worry, I can probably provide one.
Just let me know.
Don't ask me about "tolerance", though.
I'm not at all sure I still remember what it means.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
FERMENTED TOFU
According to several culinary writers, fermented tofu is in the same league regarding taste and mouthfeel as cheese.
This is because of the breakdown of proteins during the processing. Just like cheese.
Methinks they’re blowing it out of their ear, and may never have even tasted fermented tofu.
A comparison has even been made with blue cheese.
Okay………
I challenge anyone to serve 南乳 at their next gallery opening along with the paté and chardonnay.
Let's see what the reaction is.
[南乳 (red fermented tofu): naam yu - literally translates as 'southern titty', but 乳 also means a fermented tofu product.]
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
This is because of the breakdown of proteins during the processing. Just like cheese.
Methinks they’re blowing it out of their ear, and may never have even tasted fermented tofu.
A comparison has even been made with blue cheese.
Okay………
I challenge anyone to serve 南乳 at their next gallery opening along with the paté and chardonnay.
Let's see what the reaction is.
[南乳 (red fermented tofu): naam yu - literally translates as 'southern titty', but 乳 also means a fermented tofu product.]
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, February 07, 2011
THEY MIGHT HAVE BEEN GIANTS
It seems that I missed out on something stupendous yesterday. While I was quietly hiding at the office, a contest was being fought between two sports teams representing the highest aspirations of the entire country.
I must be out of touch..... I thought that the big game was three months ago between some local team and a bunch of crackers. Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?
The Financial district is very peaceful on Sundays. Especially when everyone is watching the game. Wouldn't you want to be in a quiet neighborhood on a sunny day?
Makes me wish they showed sports on television more often. I really don't miss people.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I must be out of touch..... I thought that the big game was three months ago between some local team and a bunch of crackers. Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?
The Financial district is very peaceful on Sundays. Especially when everyone is watching the game. Wouldn't you want to be in a quiet neighborhood on a sunny day?
Makes me wish they showed sports on television more often. I really don't miss people.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
PAKISTANI WIDOW COMMITS ANTI-YANK SUICIDE
The BBC reports that the widow of a Pakistani who died recently in a gun-battle with an American diplomat in Lahore killed herself, fearing that the American would go free and never be brought to justice.
Am I supposed to feel sorry for her?
Her husband, Mohammad Faheem, and some other swine-humping heathen, bit the bullet last month when they attempted to whack an American attached to the consulate in that Panjabi dung-heap.
Why do we even have a consulate there? Instead of diplomatic representation in Lahore, we should bomb the city flat. They want us dead, they regularly demonstrate against us, burn our flag, scream venom against us, and swear horrible Paki vengeance for whatever it is that they think we may have done. Lahore, perhaps second to Peshawar, is the scene of anti-American demonstrations more than any other place in the known universe.
It is a cesspool - its inhabitants subhuman, diseased, and vile beyond measure.
Since Ranjit Singh's day, the city has reverted to a barbarism and depravity unknown anywhere else. Shumaila Faheem's husband represented that rabid and unreasoning primitivism as much as anyone. Touching and charming indeed that she loved the man - but he did not deserve to live, and neither did she. There is nothing redeemable about Pakistanis. Whenever I walk past Shalimar on Polk Street, I spit.
Same for every other filthy Paki dabba in San Francisco.
Truly, I can feel NO sympathy with that people, or their society.
Yes, there are exceptions - I can list them by name (there are that few) - but as a group I despise Pakistanis more than Lebanese (dog-humping quislings), Saudis (flea-bitten bigots and pedarasts), Iranians (vile unwashed flatulent sadists), Turks (rapists and brigands), and even Bengalis (cowards, fools, and spreaders of venereal disease).
"The way my husband was shot, his killer should be shot in the same fashion"
------Shumaila Faheem
I consider the average Palestinian human, as much as Moroccans and Egyptians. Don't trust them, but they're my equals. Even the Turks are arguably human.
But there is absolutely no way a Pakistani counts as much. Since Jinnah (rot his shrivelled loathsome soul) kicked the bucket, they have excelled at becoming even more despicable than anyone ever thought possible.
Inbred diseased rat-brained self-gratifying syphilitic cancer-spreading troglodytes.
The clap, yaws, scabies, brain fungus, lice and other bloodsucking pests, and ambulating cultural crotch-rot.
I hope that Raymond Davis goes free. If he doesn't, we should raid the police station where he's held, kill everyone there, and then bomb Lahore to a smoking wasteland.
Bugger, Lahore, bugger Islamabad, bugger the entire Pakistani nation, and bugger their vakil-class leadership.
America zindabad, Pakistan mardabad.
Kol Lahawr-main unt-ki-chowt hai, kol Pakistan haramzadeh.
Pigs, dogs, heretics, and heathens.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Am I supposed to feel sorry for her?
Her husband, Mohammad Faheem, and some other swine-humping heathen, bit the bullet last month when they attempted to whack an American attached to the consulate in that Panjabi dung-heap.
Why do we even have a consulate there? Instead of diplomatic representation in Lahore, we should bomb the city flat. They want us dead, they regularly demonstrate against us, burn our flag, scream venom against us, and swear horrible Paki vengeance for whatever it is that they think we may have done. Lahore, perhaps second to Peshawar, is the scene of anti-American demonstrations more than any other place in the known universe.
It is a cesspool - its inhabitants subhuman, diseased, and vile beyond measure.
Since Ranjit Singh's day, the city has reverted to a barbarism and depravity unknown anywhere else. Shumaila Faheem's husband represented that rabid and unreasoning primitivism as much as anyone. Touching and charming indeed that she loved the man - but he did not deserve to live, and neither did she. There is nothing redeemable about Pakistanis. Whenever I walk past Shalimar on Polk Street, I spit.
Same for every other filthy Paki dabba in San Francisco.
Truly, I can feel NO sympathy with that people, or their society.
Yes, there are exceptions - I can list them by name (there are that few) - but as a group I despise Pakistanis more than Lebanese (dog-humping quislings), Saudis (flea-bitten bigots and pedarasts), Iranians (vile unwashed flatulent sadists), Turks (rapists and brigands), and even Bengalis (cowards, fools, and spreaders of venereal disease).
"The way my husband was shot, his killer should be shot in the same fashion"
------Shumaila Faheem
I consider the average Palestinian human, as much as Moroccans and Egyptians. Don't trust them, but they're my equals. Even the Turks are arguably human.
But there is absolutely no way a Pakistani counts as much. Since Jinnah (rot his shrivelled loathsome soul) kicked the bucket, they have excelled at becoming even more despicable than anyone ever thought possible.
Inbred diseased rat-brained self-gratifying syphilitic cancer-spreading troglodytes.
The clap, yaws, scabies, brain fungus, lice and other bloodsucking pests, and ambulating cultural crotch-rot.
I hope that Raymond Davis goes free. If he doesn't, we should raid the police station where he's held, kill everyone there, and then bomb Lahore to a smoking wasteland.
Bugger, Lahore, bugger Islamabad, bugger the entire Pakistani nation, and bugger their vakil-class leadership.
America zindabad, Pakistan mardabad.
Kol Lahawr-main unt-ki-chowt hai, kol Pakistan haramzadeh.
Pigs, dogs, heretics, and heathens.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, February 06, 2011
CHAR SIU BUNS ON JACKSON STREET
It seems like everybody who visits Chinatown has only ONE thing on their mind: charsiu buns.
Which is a bit odd, perverse even. There is so much more there to stuff your face with, why do they only go for this one thing?
My guess is that they don't really know anything else. Most Americans judge an entire cuisine by one signature dish, which in their limited view outranks all others.
[Gross generalization here, and yes I do know that YOU are different - feel free to tell me precisely how much so in the comments.]
Whether it's Thai, Italian, Indian, or Mexican, people almost always order their favourite. They had the same thing last time (actually the last ten times), they don't want anything else, and experimentation might force them to eat stuff they don't like.
If they really wanted something else, they'd go to a different ethnic restaurant.
Fortunately, with Chinese food, there are several things they KNOW they like: Sweet and Sour Pork, Chicken Chowmein, Chop Suey, Fried Rice, Mongolian Beef, Kung Pao Shrimp...............
[Sweet and Sour Pork: 咕嚕肉 ('gu lou yiuk'). Chicken Chowmein: 雞丁炒麵 ('kai ding chou min'). Chop Suey: 雜碎 ('jaap suei'). Fried Rice: 炒飯 ('chau fan'). Mongolian Beef: 蒙古牛肉 ('mang gu ngau yiuk'). Kung Pao Shrimp: 宮保蝦球 ('gong bou haa kau').]
......... and charsiu bao!
[叉燒包!]
TEA TIME SNACK IN C-TOWN
I often wander around the neighborhood looking for something different to eat, or a new place to try.
But this afternoon I went to one of my favourite tried-and-true places, because with a mild hang-over I wasn't feeling very adventurous.
園林點心735 Jackson Street
San Francisco, CA 94133.
415-399-0888
The two nicest things here are the fresh shrimp rice-sheet noodle and the charsiu (!) flaky turnovers, especially when they're piping hot, fresh out of the kitchen.
[Fresh shrimp rice-sheet noodle: 鮮蝦腸粉 ('sin haa cheung fan'). Charsiu flaky turnover: 叉燒酥餅 ('cha siu so peng').]
That's not what I had this time - chose a few things I hadn't eaten there before. Thoroughly enjoyed my meal.
But the best part of teatime was the constant stream of people coming in and asking worriedly whether they had charsiu buns. An entire white family, seven fat people. Several Chinese-Americans from the avenues with chunky offspring. A disapproving white couple. One hungry Swedish girl. A Philippino family with two chubbalicious teenage daughters. Some more white people. Plus a pudgy hippy.
"Do... do... do... you have... CHAR SIU BUNS?!?"
[Catch in the throat, anxious whimper, fevered quiver.]
I have never tried their charsiu buns. If I do, I will probably order a bun in a whisper, then scurry furtively back to my den on the other side of the hill.
I may even try to sound like a Southerner and drawl, in the hope that I will not be recognized.
Yes, they have charsiu buns. They're not crazy, they know those things sell like hot cakes.
The tourists get them bronzed for Aunt Mabel back in Poughkeepsie.
A perfect memento!
If you want to eat them with a semblance of secretive privacy, please note: 雅坐上樓 ('elegant seating upstairs'). No one will watch you, and you can do with your buns whatever you wish. There are bottles of sweet and sour sauce on the tables for your convenience.
But you are much better off downstairs at one of the sticky communal tables, seeing the fresh stuff that comes out of the kitchen.
Wait for the charsiu turnovers, then snatch-buy several. They're covered with sesame seeds, and just pure flaky goodness.
I'm going to have to go there earlier to snag the 煎堆 when they're fresh out of the hot fat. They're probably excellent.
STOP GUESSING, AH YEE!
叉燒包就得嘅喇!
Watching the aunties behind the counter facing the customers was rather bittersweet.
One plaintively tried to interest the outsiders in other offerings - "you try wutaogok, lobogau, siumai.... very GOOD!!!". The other one, with equal optimism, attempted to figure out what they might want - "noodle, potsticker, springroll?"
Upon seeing blank looks of incomprehension they would patiently start explaining what these things were, only to be cut off by "charsiu buns charsiu buns charsiu buns, you got charsiu buns yes charsiu buns we want charsiu buns!"
I hear the charsiu buns are quite good. They also have wonton noodle soup, various hot dishes, and fruity milk-tea with tapioca balls. Their cheung fan is excellent.
Locals seem to like the place.
One other thing - they used to serve everything from the take-out counter on flimsy paper plates.
Now they have sturdy Hello Kitty plastic ware.
I'm totally cool with that.
Table condiments: Soy sauce. Chili paste. And something labeled 'sweet and sour sauce'.
食咗飽了, six bucks only. Very affordable.
HOUSE OF DIM SUM: 735 Jackson Street, San Francisco.Many non-Asians on Yelp hate the House of Dim Sum, but given that they say crappy things about every other joint in Chinatown and wouldn't know decent food if it came up and bit them, you might as well ignore what they say. It's called 'yelp' for a reason.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Which is a bit odd, perverse even. There is so much more there to stuff your face with, why do they only go for this one thing?
My guess is that they don't really know anything else. Most Americans judge an entire cuisine by one signature dish, which in their limited view outranks all others.
[Gross generalization here, and yes I do know that YOU are different - feel free to tell me precisely how much so in the comments.]
Whether it's Thai, Italian, Indian, or Mexican, people almost always order their favourite. They had the same thing last time (actually the last ten times), they don't want anything else, and experimentation might force them to eat stuff they don't like.
If they really wanted something else, they'd go to a different ethnic restaurant.
Fortunately, with Chinese food, there are several things they KNOW they like: Sweet and Sour Pork, Chicken Chowmein, Chop Suey, Fried Rice, Mongolian Beef, Kung Pao Shrimp...............
[Sweet and Sour Pork: 咕嚕肉 ('gu lou yiuk'). Chicken Chowmein: 雞丁炒麵 ('kai ding chou min'). Chop Suey: 雜碎 ('jaap suei'). Fried Rice: 炒飯 ('chau fan'). Mongolian Beef: 蒙古牛肉 ('mang gu ngau yiuk'). Kung Pao Shrimp: 宮保蝦球 ('gong bou haa kau').]
......... and charsiu bao!
[叉燒包!]
TEA TIME SNACK IN C-TOWN
I often wander around the neighborhood looking for something different to eat, or a new place to try.
But this afternoon I went to one of my favourite tried-and-true places, because with a mild hang-over I wasn't feeling very adventurous.
園林點心735 Jackson Street
San Francisco, CA 94133.
415-399-0888
The two nicest things here are the fresh shrimp rice-sheet noodle and the charsiu (!) flaky turnovers, especially when they're piping hot, fresh out of the kitchen.
[Fresh shrimp rice-sheet noodle: 鮮蝦腸粉 ('sin haa cheung fan'). Charsiu flaky turnover: 叉燒酥餅 ('cha siu so peng').]
That's not what I had this time - chose a few things I hadn't eaten there before. Thoroughly enjoyed my meal.
But the best part of teatime was the constant stream of people coming in and asking worriedly whether they had charsiu buns. An entire white family, seven fat people. Several Chinese-Americans from the avenues with chunky offspring. A disapproving white couple. One hungry Swedish girl. A Philippino family with two chubbalicious teenage daughters. Some more white people. Plus a pudgy hippy.
"Do... do... do... you have... CHAR SIU BUNS?!?"
[Catch in the throat, anxious whimper, fevered quiver.]
I have never tried their charsiu buns. If I do, I will probably order a bun in a whisper, then scurry furtively back to my den on the other side of the hill.
I may even try to sound like a Southerner and drawl, in the hope that I will not be recognized.
Yes, they have charsiu buns. They're not crazy, they know those things sell like hot cakes.
The tourists get them bronzed for Aunt Mabel back in Poughkeepsie.
A perfect memento!
If you want to eat them with a semblance of secretive privacy, please note: 雅坐上樓 ('elegant seating upstairs'). No one will watch you, and you can do with your buns whatever you wish. There are bottles of sweet and sour sauce on the tables for your convenience.
But you are much better off downstairs at one of the sticky communal tables, seeing the fresh stuff that comes out of the kitchen.
Wait for the charsiu turnovers, then snatch-buy several. They're covered with sesame seeds, and just pure flaky goodness.
I'm going to have to go there earlier to snag the 煎堆 when they're fresh out of the hot fat. They're probably excellent.
STOP GUESSING, AH YEE!
叉燒包就得嘅喇!
Watching the aunties behind the counter facing the customers was rather bittersweet.
One plaintively tried to interest the outsiders in other offerings - "you try wutaogok, lobogau, siumai.... very GOOD!!!". The other one, with equal optimism, attempted to figure out what they might want - "noodle, potsticker, springroll?"
Upon seeing blank looks of incomprehension they would patiently start explaining what these things were, only to be cut off by "charsiu buns charsiu buns charsiu buns, you got charsiu buns yes charsiu buns we want charsiu buns!"
I hear the charsiu buns are quite good. They also have wonton noodle soup, various hot dishes, and fruity milk-tea with tapioca balls. Their cheung fan is excellent.
Locals seem to like the place.
One other thing - they used to serve everything from the take-out counter on flimsy paper plates.
Now they have sturdy Hello Kitty plastic ware.
I'm totally cool with that.
Table condiments: Soy sauce. Chili paste. And something labeled 'sweet and sour sauce'.
食咗飽了, six bucks only. Very affordable.
HOUSE OF DIM SUM: 735 Jackson Street, San Francisco.Many non-Asians on Yelp hate the House of Dim Sum, but given that they say crappy things about every other joint in Chinatown and wouldn't know decent food if it came up and bit them, you might as well ignore what they say. It's called 'yelp' for a reason.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
CHINESE NEW YEAR - TWO WEEKS OF EXPLOSIONS
You’ve paid off all your debts, cleaned the house, had a wonderful dinner with the family, and set fire to explosive devices – now what?
Here it is, four days later, and you still got ten or eleven days to go. How long is this thing anyway?
SPRING FESTIVAL 2011 春節
1st. day (Thursday Feb. 3rd. 2011): Stay away from meat, and also avoid tofu. The first because doing so today contributes to a long life (or so it is believed), the second because tofu is white, which is the colour of mourning. Distribute red envelopes. And set fire to more explosives.
2nd. day (Friday Feb. 4th. 2011): 開年飯 Honour the ancestors, be kind to dogs, and send your wife off to visit her parents. Then have a great family meal to start the year.
Set off more explosives.
3rd. day (Saturday Feb. 5th. 2011): 赤狗日 Today is a good day to stay inside, but you might as well go visit your wife's parents - even though for some reason you and her dad aren't on the best of terms. It's a crimson dog day. Explosives?
4th. day (Sunday Feb. 6th. 2011): Did you visit your wife's kinfolk yesterday? No? Maybe you should do it today. Force yourself to smile. You can set off explosives later.
5th. day (Monday Feb. 7th. 2011): Stay home. The only person who should visit anyone should be Second Older Brother Kwan (關二哥). Set off tons of explosives to attract him.
6th. day (Tuesday Feb. 8th. 2011): Visit the temple, see friends, have fun. More explosives.
7th. day (Wednesday Feb. 9th. 2011): 人日 You're officially a year older. Act like it. Oh, and also go have raw fish salad with everyone, it means that you'll get rich (撈起, 生意興隆). It probably won't work, but heck, good food, good company - why not? Explosives.
8th. day (Thursday Feb. 10th. 2011): Have another 'Open The Year' feast - whole family sik faaaan!
Explosives.
9th. day (Friday Feb. 11th. 2011): Time to visit a temple again, the Tien Gong Miu (天公廟) this time, 拜神拜神.
Hey, how about some explosives?
10th day (Saturday Feb. 12th. 2011): Well, now is a good time to go out for dimsum with all your homies. There are some really great places. You could do that tomorrow also.
And what the heck, set off explosives.
11th. day (Sunday Feb. 13th. 2011): Food. Friends. Explosives.
12th. day (Monday Feb. 14th. 2011): Some white person's holiday. Oh, and more food, friends, explosives.
13th. day (Tuesday Feb. 15th. 2011): It might be a good idea to eat simple food today, nothing fancy. Rice porridge, for instance. Honour Second Older Brother Kwan. Incense, and later, explosives.
14th day (Wednesday Feb. 16th. 2011): Make sure you have enough food for tomorrow - sweet things, fun foods. But don't overindulge. Set off those explosives you confiscated from the boy.
15th. day (Thursday Feb. 17th. 2011): 元宵節 Lantern festival. Glutinous rice dumplings filled with bean paste or lienyong in syrup. Make eyes at somebody nice. Stay up all night, what the heck.
Darn kid, hid some more explosives! We know what to do with those, don't we?
16th. day (Friday Feb 18th. 2011): Wake up late. Rush to work. Cheer yourself up later by setting off some explosives.
17th. day (Saturday Feb. 19th. 2011): Stay out of Chinatown, it's filled with Caucasians from the suburbs and far too crowded. Parade, 金龍 and the Saint Mary's Drum and Bell Corps.
The wait-staff at your favourite restaurants? Stressed out by everyone demanding sweet and sour pork, egg rolls, fried rice, kung pao chicken.......... and explosives.
There's probably a great Vietnamese restaurant out in the Sunset you haven't tried yet, why not take the wife and kids and have a good time?
AFTERTHOUGHT:
紅屑 Years ago, before two illegal fireworks factories blew up and killed several people, the noise in Chinatown and North Beach was much more impressive; authorities were rather lax about enforcement in those days.
For several weeks before and a full month after the first day of New Years the sound of firecrackers was nearly constant, deafening, and columns of smoke rose above the roofs. If you walked on Pacific, or in the alleyways, the red underfoot would be thick as autumn leaves, dense drifts of cheery crimson scrap. It was good to be alive.
白果 One year autumn had been particularly mild, and 春節 was in January - the gingko trees in front of 平園 had only recently started shedding their leaves, the pale gold and the bright red mixed and mingled, covering the street.
黄葉 Since then I've associated the beautiful yellowed gingko leaves with new year and the detritus from firecrackers, even though that colourful confluence is rare, and the explosions have also been far less impressive.
When the trees are finally bare and the ground is hidden, it will be new year.
大家恭喜發財, 萬事如意!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Here it is, four days later, and you still got ten or eleven days to go. How long is this thing anyway?
SPRING FESTIVAL 2011 春節
1st. day (Thursday Feb. 3rd. 2011): Stay away from meat, and also avoid tofu. The first because doing so today contributes to a long life (or so it is believed), the second because tofu is white, which is the colour of mourning. Distribute red envelopes. And set fire to more explosives.
2nd. day (Friday Feb. 4th. 2011): 開年飯 Honour the ancestors, be kind to dogs, and send your wife off to visit her parents. Then have a great family meal to start the year.
Set off more explosives.
3rd. day (Saturday Feb. 5th. 2011): 赤狗日 Today is a good day to stay inside, but you might as well go visit your wife's parents - even though for some reason you and her dad aren't on the best of terms. It's a crimson dog day. Explosives?
4th. day (Sunday Feb. 6th. 2011): Did you visit your wife's kinfolk yesterday? No? Maybe you should do it today. Force yourself to smile. You can set off explosives later.
5th. day (Monday Feb. 7th. 2011): Stay home. The only person who should visit anyone should be Second Older Brother Kwan (關二哥). Set off tons of explosives to attract him.
6th. day (Tuesday Feb. 8th. 2011): Visit the temple, see friends, have fun. More explosives.
7th. day (Wednesday Feb. 9th. 2011): 人日 You're officially a year older. Act like it. Oh, and also go have raw fish salad with everyone, it means that you'll get rich (撈起, 生意興隆). It probably won't work, but heck, good food, good company - why not? Explosives.
8th. day (Thursday Feb. 10th. 2011): Have another 'Open The Year' feast - whole family sik faaaan!
Explosives.
9th. day (Friday Feb. 11th. 2011): Time to visit a temple again, the Tien Gong Miu (天公廟) this time, 拜神拜神.
Hey, how about some explosives?
10th day (Saturday Feb. 12th. 2011): Well, now is a good time to go out for dimsum with all your homies. There are some really great places. You could do that tomorrow also.
And what the heck, set off explosives.
11th. day (Sunday Feb. 13th. 2011): Food. Friends. Explosives.
12th. day (Monday Feb. 14th. 2011): Some white person's holiday. Oh, and more food, friends, explosives.
13th. day (Tuesday Feb. 15th. 2011): It might be a good idea to eat simple food today, nothing fancy. Rice porridge, for instance. Honour Second Older Brother Kwan. Incense, and later, explosives.
14th day (Wednesday Feb. 16th. 2011): Make sure you have enough food for tomorrow - sweet things, fun foods. But don't overindulge. Set off those explosives you confiscated from the boy.
15th. day (Thursday Feb. 17th. 2011): 元宵節 Lantern festival. Glutinous rice dumplings filled with bean paste or lienyong in syrup. Make eyes at somebody nice. Stay up all night, what the heck.
Darn kid, hid some more explosives! We know what to do with those, don't we?
16th. day (Friday Feb 18th. 2011): Wake up late. Rush to work. Cheer yourself up later by setting off some explosives.
17th. day (Saturday Feb. 19th. 2011): Stay out of Chinatown, it's filled with Caucasians from the suburbs and far too crowded. Parade, 金龍 and the Saint Mary's Drum and Bell Corps.
The wait-staff at your favourite restaurants? Stressed out by everyone demanding sweet and sour pork, egg rolls, fried rice, kung pao chicken.......... and explosives.
There's probably a great Vietnamese restaurant out in the Sunset you haven't tried yet, why not take the wife and kids and have a good time?
AFTERTHOUGHT:
紅屑 Years ago, before two illegal fireworks factories blew up and killed several people, the noise in Chinatown and North Beach was much more impressive; authorities were rather lax about enforcement in those days.
For several weeks before and a full month after the first day of New Years the sound of firecrackers was nearly constant, deafening, and columns of smoke rose above the roofs. If you walked on Pacific, or in the alleyways, the red underfoot would be thick as autumn leaves, dense drifts of cheery crimson scrap. It was good to be alive.
白果 One year autumn had been particularly mild, and 春節 was in January - the gingko trees in front of 平園 had only recently started shedding their leaves, the pale gold and the bright red mixed and mingled, covering the street.
黄葉 Since then I've associated the beautiful yellowed gingko leaves with new year and the detritus from firecrackers, even though that colourful confluence is rare, and the explosions have also been far less impressive.
When the trees are finally bare and the ground is hidden, it will be new year.
大家恭喜發財, 萬事如意!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, February 04, 2011
GRELZAKIAN TOAD CULT
For several years, whenever some religious dingbat demanded to know what creed I confessed, I would assert that I was a member of the Grelzakian Toad Cult. It usually threw them for a loop.
Had I said Jewish, I would’ve been firmly requested to either stop killing Christ, or find Jezus as my personal friend dammit blasted heathen burn in hell. Or something.
[Besides, I never converted. So I can't really claim that cloak.]
If I admitted that the number of free-range Calvinists in the family woodpile precluded any other deviant Christic sects as a matter of clan pride, and darnwell guaranteed theological dissent in every generation – especially against all other versions of the magic zombie shtuss - I would’ve sowed more angry confusion among my listeners than Bill O’Reilly and Sarah Palin combined.
[Many not of the rigid Dutch faith cannot understand the pickiness inherent therein - most English-speaking protestants are simple people incapable of grasping nuance. It's sad.]
Verbally embracing skepticism as a rock of faith to which to cleave, with a tendency toward Talmud-Torah, and a habit of sneering unpleasantly at the entire New Testament as the moronic gibbering of Mediterranean maniacs and dress-wearing men – plus Documentary Hypothesis, the Book of J, and Jacob Neusner – no, that didn’t seem called for.
People who demand to know a person’s religion usually simply want to attack something close to the breast.
A simple answer that confuses them and shuts them up is required.
GRELZAKIAN TOAD CULT!
Oddly, this puts me on the same page as a huge number of Scandinavians and Baltic types. As well as some Japanese people, and a human duck.
All of whom take Bayonne, New Jersey, as their Vatican.
Which is believed to be the home of ultimate Grace.
[Mister Bud Grace, that is. The supremely wise and talented artist who draws the comic strip Ernie, called ‘Piranha Club’ since 1998.]
The Grelzakian Toad Cult is the religion that Zerblat the frog-alien practices. We know this from the episode when he married the beautiful human female who subsequently gave birth to hundreds of frog-human polliwogs. Apparently frog-aliens are fantabulous lovers. We don't know the details of their amplexus with other species (such as humans), but we can pretty well imagine it (because we have dirty minds).
Data about the Grelzakian Toad Cult, especially as it exists among Terran adherents, is also unknown.
It involves amphibians.
Like with all cults, there is secrecy.
Bite the frog.
THE OMNISCIENT BUD GRACE
You'll have to ask Bud Grace if you want more information.
We don't know, only Bud knows.
To help you hunt him down, here's a recent picture.
Please note: his skin is distinctly green.
Feel free to blame mr. Grace for ANY Grelzakian plots to take over the world.
About which we know nothing.
Ribbit.
[No blerfniks were harmed in the writting of this post.]
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Had I said Jewish, I would’ve been firmly requested to either stop killing Christ, or find Jezus as my personal friend dammit blasted heathen burn in hell. Or something.
[Besides, I never converted. So I can't really claim that cloak.]
If I admitted that the number of free-range Calvinists in the family woodpile precluded any other deviant Christic sects as a matter of clan pride, and darnwell guaranteed theological dissent in every generation – especially against all other versions of the magic zombie shtuss - I would’ve sowed more angry confusion among my listeners than Bill O’Reilly and Sarah Palin combined.
[Many not of the rigid Dutch faith cannot understand the pickiness inherent therein - most English-speaking protestants are simple people incapable of grasping nuance. It's sad.]
Verbally embracing skepticism as a rock of faith to which to cleave, with a tendency toward Talmud-Torah, and a habit of sneering unpleasantly at the entire New Testament as the moronic gibbering of Mediterranean maniacs and dress-wearing men – plus Documentary Hypothesis, the Book of J, and Jacob Neusner – no, that didn’t seem called for.
People who demand to know a person’s religion usually simply want to attack something close to the breast.
A simple answer that confuses them and shuts them up is required.
GRELZAKIAN TOAD CULT!
Oddly, this puts me on the same page as a huge number of Scandinavians and Baltic types. As well as some Japanese people, and a human duck.
All of whom take Bayonne, New Jersey, as their Vatican.
Which is believed to be the home of ultimate Grace.
[Mister Bud Grace, that is. The supremely wise and talented artist who draws the comic strip Ernie, called ‘Piranha Club’ since 1998.]
The Grelzakian Toad Cult is the religion that Zerblat the frog-alien practices. We know this from the episode when he married the beautiful human female who subsequently gave birth to hundreds of frog-human polliwogs. Apparently frog-aliens are fantabulous lovers. We don't know the details of their amplexus with other species (such as humans), but we can pretty well imagine it (because we have dirty minds).
Data about the Grelzakian Toad Cult, especially as it exists among Terran adherents, is also unknown.
It involves amphibians.
Like with all cults, there is secrecy.
Bite the frog.
THE OMNISCIENT BUD GRACE
You'll have to ask Bud Grace if you want more information.
We don't know, only Bud knows.
To help you hunt him down, here's a recent picture.
Please note: his skin is distinctly green.
Feel free to blame mr. Grace for ANY Grelzakian plots to take over the world.
About which we know nothing.
Ribbit.
[No blerfniks were harmed in the writting of this post.]
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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GRITS AND TOFU
Like most Americans, I have a list of people who should be peacefully retired from public service and thereafter kept away from their desks,...
