Naturally I followed a link to an article on Jezebel. Which gave me some interesting reading, that, as a typical man, had me halfway between "ho-hum" and "get bent".
The gist of the article is that men are pigs. Men who object to the characterization that men are pigs are pigs. Men who kind of sort of sympathize with whatever point a women is making but then say something are pigs. And men who are not paying attention to the writer and all the women who agree with her are pigs.
All men are pigs.
Oink.
Missing the Point of Sexual Harassment Stories by a Mile, Scared Men Are Now Wary Of Being Alone With Women
[SOURCE: Harvey Weinstein sex story rant.]
The title is a hoot. And yes, I do know a few women who would agree with that premise, and get all righteously indignant. Such as the author and several commenters.
Quote:
"Men fear being accused of sexual harassment, because it would ruin their lives. Just take this quote from orthopedic surgeon Dr. Mukund Komanduri, who avoids women at work:
“I’m very cautious about it because my livelihood is on the line,” he said. “If someone in your hospital says you had inappropriate contact with this woman, you get suspended for an investigation, and your life is over. Does that ever leave you?”
Boo freaking hoo. You know what else doesn’t leave you? Being held back in your career because your manager is too scared to make eye contact with you because he’s afraid you’re gonna tell some story about how he harassed you. Or he might feel compelled to grab your boobies, and then he’d lose his job!"
End quote.
------Aimée Lutkin, Contributing writer at Jezebel.
The righteous reactions
"Take your tone deaf “but it’s so hard to be man” shit somewhere else."
-----Commenter
"So you and your male friends are gonna have to grow up, be adults, and learn how to interact with other human beings—yes, THE FEMALE ONES TOO."
-----Commenter
"I have a plan involving us relocating all the men to islands and just dropping off supplies via plane to keep that shit humane, but I worry that even without the men, women have internalized the lie that we are less valuable too much. Plus, then there won’t be any islands left for us."
-----Commenter
"May you always have the confidence of a mediocre white man."
-----Commenter
"My gut feeling is that many of these men are guilty of harassment themselves and are now panicking at the idea that they’re about to get busted."
-----Commenter
"I think a lot of guys are just genuinely clueless as to where “the line” is and are terrified they’re going to cross it because they don’t know any better, and their privilege allows them to be lazy enough to not educate themselves."
-----Commenter
"There are a lot of men having this reaction because they don’t want to re-examine how they behave with women. They’re not the problem, the rest of the world is."
-----Commenter
Ladies, I get it. You are hurt and angry. Oh!
Please have some chamomile tea.
And breathe deeply
You should know that eyes are glazing over, in the same manner as when cigar smokers talk about politics, or damned well anybody discusses sports. In fact, the only way I can stay awake when that happens is by mentioning those tight masculine buns covered in colourful arse-hugging shiny fabric, butchly pounding down the field.
Precisely like yoga pants.
Pig skin.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
Monday, October 09, 2017
MACANESE HASH
It's called 'minchi', which may or may not derive from the English word 'mince'. But it just as well could be called 'keema, seeing as the usual spicing is more or less Indian, albeit in an attenuated form.
Curry, cayenne, soy sauce, and Worcestershire.
免治 (澳門式肉碎飯)
['min chi' -- 'ou mun sik yiuk seui faan']
One pound of ground meat; pork, beef, lamb, or a mixture.
One large potato, peeled and cubed small.
One onion, chopped.
Two or three cloves garlic, minced.
A little ginger, minced.
Two TBS soy sauce.
Half TBS Worcestershire sauce (李派林喼汁 'lei paai lam kip chap').
Dash of fish sauce (魚露 'yü lou').
One TBS brown sugar.
Half Tsp. cayenne.
Pinch ground cumin.
Pinch five spice.
A grind of pepper.
A little yellow curry paste, or substitute curry powder.
Oil and rendered fat.
Lightly brown the minced onion in the skillet. Add the ginger and garlic, stir in, when fragrant add the spices and curry stuffs. Stir to incorporate, dump in the meat. When the meat is cooked add the soy sauce, Worcestershire, and sugar, mix very well, then remove from heat.
Fry the potato cubes till crisped and golden. Remove from heat, leaving oil in pan. Mix potato and meat. Chopped garlic chives (韭菜 'gau choi') or cilantro may be used to garnish.
Fry three or four eggs sunny side up in the oil, one for each person.
Serve with rice. The idea is a mound of cooked rice, the meat and potato mixture dumped over, and a fried egg on top. Plus fresh chilies and a squeeze of lime juice to brighten the taste.
Some people might add a chopped bellpepper or some okra (潺茄 'saan ke') to the meat while cooking, which is good too.
I simply use ground pork from a Chinese market, and fish sauce flatters pork immensely. With some briefly cooked bokchoy or sliced tomatoes and jiggers of hot sauce, it makes a splendid little lunch or dinner. I always adjust quantities to account for only one person, rather than the three or four who would be eating family-style if there were a family.
Which there isn't.
When there were still newspapers worth reading, this, plus coffee, made a splendid Saturday or Sunday afternoon.
Please note: not all kip chap is actually Leipaailam (Lea & Perrins) kip chap. There are some frightful American imitations on the market, which should be avoided at all costs.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Curry, cayenne, soy sauce, and Worcestershire.
免治 (澳門式肉碎飯)
['min chi' -- 'ou mun sik yiuk seui faan']
One pound of ground meat; pork, beef, lamb, or a mixture.
One large potato, peeled and cubed small.
One onion, chopped.
Two or three cloves garlic, minced.
A little ginger, minced.
Two TBS soy sauce.
Half TBS Worcestershire sauce (李派林喼汁 'lei paai lam kip chap').
Dash of fish sauce (魚露 'yü lou').
One TBS brown sugar.
Half Tsp. cayenne.
Pinch ground cumin.
Pinch five spice.
A grind of pepper.
A little yellow curry paste, or substitute curry powder.
Oil and rendered fat.
Lightly brown the minced onion in the skillet. Add the ginger and garlic, stir in, when fragrant add the spices and curry stuffs. Stir to incorporate, dump in the meat. When the meat is cooked add the soy sauce, Worcestershire, and sugar, mix very well, then remove from heat.
Fry the potato cubes till crisped and golden. Remove from heat, leaving oil in pan. Mix potato and meat. Chopped garlic chives (韭菜 'gau choi') or cilantro may be used to garnish.
Fry three or four eggs sunny side up in the oil, one for each person.
Serve with rice. The idea is a mound of cooked rice, the meat and potato mixture dumped over, and a fried egg on top. Plus fresh chilies and a squeeze of lime juice to brighten the taste.
Some people might add a chopped bellpepper or some okra (潺茄 'saan ke') to the meat while cooking, which is good too.
I simply use ground pork from a Chinese market, and fish sauce flatters pork immensely. With some briefly cooked bokchoy or sliced tomatoes and jiggers of hot sauce, it makes a splendid little lunch or dinner. I always adjust quantities to account for only one person, rather than the three or four who would be eating family-style if there were a family.
Which there isn't.
When there were still newspapers worth reading, this, plus coffee, made a splendid Saturday or Sunday afternoon.
Please note: not all kip chap is actually Leipaailam (Lea & Perrins) kip chap. There are some frightful American imitations on the market, which should be avoided at all costs.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
OLD FOSSIL AND VINEGAR
Of the fifteen people that I knew there, four acknowledged my existence. The others pretended that I was invisible. In some ways I can accept the behaviour of one of them -- bulky Filipino with some kind of chip on his fleshy shoulder, whatever the 'F' it is -- but that is just one person.
Why were the others so pissy?
The four that actually said 'hi', albeit in one case merely a grunt and a nod, work there. That is NOT reassuring.
The others saw me. They walked right past me. No note of recognition, no nod, no blink of anything that could even be remotely construed as any realization that someone they knew was there.
I rather wish that I had sold their kin into bondage. At least then they would have a reasonable excuse for being dicks. I could name them, but what is the point of that? Doing so would be tantamount to giving them more recognition than they extended.
This means that the Enxxxx Karaoke Lounge is no longer a possibility on Sunday night. And on Monday dickhead and bubble butt infest the place. Wednesdays, one of those two is there. Friday and Saturday are too busy. Sunday it's the a-holes who don't know me. Tuesday, because of prior commitments with a friend at a better dive, is not a possibility.
Thursday, one or two drinks, in friendly company.
But only if I am tolerant.
On Monday, at another place, after three days of work in Marin, a rational antisocial son of a bitch like myself might enjoy a drink. But several weeks ago when I went to the place on Polk nearest my apartment two gentlemen whom I have known for over a decade (one of whom is notabene a man of the cloth) were less than welcoming. So I shan't go there again.
They can take the carrot out of the cave and wave it.
But I shall not be there to applaud.
Sorry, David.
I am getting old. I do not like most of you people anymore. You think too much of yourselves, and apparently I am too white to say "hello" to.
And far too un-hip as well.
And old.
This is a Facebook squawk, also a blogpost.
Because I am almighty pissy.
As well as white.
And old.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Why were the others so pissy?
The four that actually said 'hi', albeit in one case merely a grunt and a nod, work there. That is NOT reassuring.
The others saw me. They walked right past me. No note of recognition, no nod, no blink of anything that could even be remotely construed as any realization that someone they knew was there.
I rather wish that I had sold their kin into bondage. At least then they would have a reasonable excuse for being dicks. I could name them, but what is the point of that? Doing so would be tantamount to giving them more recognition than they extended.
This means that the Enxxxx Karaoke Lounge is no longer a possibility on Sunday night. And on Monday dickhead and bubble butt infest the place. Wednesdays, one of those two is there. Friday and Saturday are too busy. Sunday it's the a-holes who don't know me. Tuesday, because of prior commitments with a friend at a better dive, is not a possibility.
Thursday, one or two drinks, in friendly company.
But only if I am tolerant.
On Monday, at another place, after three days of work in Marin, a rational antisocial son of a bitch like myself might enjoy a drink. But several weeks ago when I went to the place on Polk nearest my apartment two gentlemen whom I have known for over a decade (one of whom is notabene a man of the cloth) were less than welcoming. So I shan't go there again.
They can take the carrot out of the cave and wave it.
But I shall not be there to applaud.
Sorry, David.
I am getting old. I do not like most of you people anymore. You think too much of yourselves, and apparently I am too white to say "hello" to.
And far too un-hip as well.
And old.
This is a Facebook squawk, also a blogpost.
Because I am almighty pissy.
As well as white.
And old.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, October 08, 2017
LET US DISCUSS THE SERIOUS THINGS
His daughter-in-law told me that his brother (her uncle-in-law) had returned to Macau, so he was playing far less mahjong. Yet the other night the sound of tiles could clearly be heard on the street outside his digs; one might suspect that he shares his brother's passion in equal measure.
Years ago I learned how to play mahjong, as one of my friends was married to a Filipina, and there would occasionally be a need for a spare player during the forty or fifty hour mahjong parties with lots of nice food.
Cigars, lumpia, pancit, sisig? What's not to like?
Indeed I shall play with you folks.
麻雀館
I think only his wife was capable of playing for fifty hours at a stretch. But including myself there were usually at least two stand-ins. Perhaps you can understand why I haven't played since leaving Southern California.
The rackety sound of tiles being shuffled always reminds me of tasty things to eat, and the place where I lived in North Beach when I came back from SoCal. There were at least three mahjong parlours on that alley, the clickitty clack clack clack was constant.
Other than in Chinatown, I had not heard it in this city.
Now it comes from an apartment building nearby.
Soon, perhaps, delicious smells.
Pato à cabidela, for instance, or galinha à Portuguesa. Capella, fry crab, or bacalhau. Minchi and eggs. But these would be exceptional. Probably just standard Hong Kong snackipoos, because unlike the Filipinos, Cantonese don't see serious mahjong as a time for equally serious noshing.
Still, the sound of moving tiles.
Life at a tilt.
Bafassa: a hunk of pork (shoulder or belly), simmered with stock, turmeric, and vinegar, till tender, then bunged into the oven to crust. After resting, the meat is sliced thick, and served with potatoes cooked in the simmering liquid left in the pan.
Arroz gordo: more or less a baked Portuguese-Chinese paella; broth-cooked rice with marinated pork and chicken cooked along with (on top), sometimes duck. With tomate e cebola, sliced chouriço cozido, plus peppers, raisins, croutons, and wedges of hard boiled egg.
Diabo: a brilliant red chicken or pork curry with soy eggs, simmered in a chili and nut-paste sauce with a touch of vinegar, and some oily mango achar added. Salty, sweet, spicy, tangy, flamingly hot.
I may want to re-learn the game.
At least to talk intelligently.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Years ago I learned how to play mahjong, as one of my friends was married to a Filipina, and there would occasionally be a need for a spare player during the forty or fifty hour mahjong parties with lots of nice food.
Cigars, lumpia, pancit, sisig? What's not to like?
Indeed I shall play with you folks.
麻雀館
I think only his wife was capable of playing for fifty hours at a stretch. But including myself there were usually at least two stand-ins. Perhaps you can understand why I haven't played since leaving Southern California.
The rackety sound of tiles being shuffled always reminds me of tasty things to eat, and the place where I lived in North Beach when I came back from SoCal. There were at least three mahjong parlours on that alley, the clickitty clack clack clack was constant.
Other than in Chinatown, I had not heard it in this city.
Now it comes from an apartment building nearby.
Soon, perhaps, delicious smells.
Pato à cabidela, for instance, or galinha à Portuguesa. Capella, fry crab, or bacalhau. Minchi and eggs. But these would be exceptional. Probably just standard Hong Kong snackipoos, because unlike the Filipinos, Cantonese don't see serious mahjong as a time for equally serious noshing.
Still, the sound of moving tiles.
Life at a tilt.
Bafassa: a hunk of pork (shoulder or belly), simmered with stock, turmeric, and vinegar, till tender, then bunged into the oven to crust. After resting, the meat is sliced thick, and served with potatoes cooked in the simmering liquid left in the pan.
Arroz gordo: more or less a baked Portuguese-Chinese paella; broth-cooked rice with marinated pork and chicken cooked along with (on top), sometimes duck. With tomate e cebola, sliced chouriço cozido, plus peppers, raisins, croutons, and wedges of hard boiled egg.
Diabo: a brilliant red chicken or pork curry with soy eggs, simmered in a chili and nut-paste sauce with a touch of vinegar, and some oily mango achar added. Salty, sweet, spicy, tangy, flamingly hot.
I may want to re-learn the game.
At least to talk intelligently.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
A GROUCH CROSSES THE STREET
She positively shrieked with delight. Piercingly, vibrantly. A surprising sound from someone barely over a foot tall, and the big smile on her face showed precisely how happy she was to see her older brother and her mom. I think the little girl may have been three or four years old, the brother about six. Shan't venture a guess as to their mother's age, nor the auntie who attended the child.
If one hits the intersection of Stockton and Clay Streets at the right time in the afternoon, it's awash with children. Normally I am a bit hesitant about being so close to our short little fellow Americans, because they are such uncontrolled little daemons at times -- especially troglodyte whelps from the prosperous and entitled suburbs -- but the tiny Cantonese exemplars are frequently better behaved than their white counterparts.
Who are frequently foul little cretins.
Little Cantonese girls are small, and probably harmless.
Unless they're hungry and swarming.
I do not have much experience with young humans.
If I did, I should need a cattle prod.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
If one hits the intersection of Stockton and Clay Streets at the right time in the afternoon, it's awash with children. Normally I am a bit hesitant about being so close to our short little fellow Americans, because they are such uncontrolled little daemons at times -- especially troglodyte whelps from the prosperous and entitled suburbs -- but the tiny Cantonese exemplars are frequently better behaved than their white counterparts.
Who are frequently foul little cretins.
Little Cantonese girls are small, and probably harmless.
Unless they're hungry and swarming.
I do not have much experience with young humans.
If I did, I should need a cattle prod.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, October 07, 2017
WHAT TO LOOK FOR
A meme going the rounds lists several male behaviours that tell a woman what kind of man to avoid. The list is totally predictable -- abusiveness, lies, drugs, and republicanism -- but misses the point. Likewise any article that similarly details female behaviour will also be rather pointless.
Anyone who needs that may not be able to think.
And should ab initio be shunned.
So, without further ado, here's my list.
TEN CRUCIAL WARNING SIGNS
1. If he or she uncovers any part of their anatomy and starts massaging it in a bar, they should be avoided. Especially if she then asks in a serious tone "are you threatened by my femininity?"
This happened sometime in the nineties, and I'm still repulsed. It may have contributed to my distaste for blondes and big breasts, I don't know.
2. If he or she puts a hand on your thigh and massages, it may be time to yell that you've devoted yourself to Jesus and stab him or her with a fork. Also in the nineties, and I regret not carrying a fork at the time.
I still don't habitually carry a fork with me.
3. If she comes to your hotel room at three o'clock in the morning and offers to commit indecent acts in return for drug money, you may want to start gibbering and gently close the door in her face.
Nineties, again. Residential hotel.
4. If a man calls you "little girl" and offers you candy. Although this one is perhaps doubtful when you are older than him, even more so when you are the same gender or have a beard. Insanity, in a safe (i.e., public) place, with sober witnesses, might be entertaining.
It's up to you, I'm not judging.
5. If you've seen someone drunkenly staggering home with two large pizzas, and their flabby gut hanging out, do not offer to share the pizza.
Pizza means more to them than you can imagine.
Gender is not important here.
Pizza is.
6. If someone hates your cat. It's not always the cat's fault.
Stop blaming the cat for everything.
7. When someone has an imaginary cat that they blame for everything.
8. Methamphetamine, energy drinks, and vaping.
9. Cars, cigars, and skeevy bars.
10. Jesus.
I am a useful man, and full of advice.
THINGS THAT ARE VERY GOOD
1. Talks to people instead of looking at a cellphone. This means he or she is socially adept, and probably capable of holding a conversation.
2. Smokes a pipe with non-perfumy tobacco. Always indicative of clean solid habits and thoughtfulness. Possible he or she is scholarly, but in any case they're capable of listening, what with their mouth being occupied.
He or she is a wise person whom you would do well to cultivate.
3. Drinks tea regularly. It helps flush toxins out of the system, keeps a person hydrated, and awakens one to the tasks ahead.
It's a very good habit.
4. Does not habitually sing karaoke. In nearly twenty years I was moved to sing at a karaoke bar only five times, which I and the very few witnesses still alive have regretted ever since. There were only two songs.
All my exes live in Texas, and 月亮代表我的心 。
It won't happen again, I promise.
5. Speaks foreign languages. This means that when they swear, it is less intelligible or likely to cause offense, and more educational too.
6. Understands Dutch. A very useful thing, that.
7. Bathes on a daily basis. This one is self-explanatory. Really, do I have to go into details? Men and women both are equally much more likable if they do not smell too funky. There is a reason that reformatories, British public schools, Catholic seminaries, and the Girls Scouts of the USA all insist that their victims take showers.
8. Is open to interesting food, and does not think ethnic cuisine begins and ends with pizza. So members of fraternities and sororities are right out, as are most Mid-Westerners.
9. Will never be an investment banker or programmer.
10. Good at making lists.
Relationships are a lot like 'The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin', with a dose of 'Monty Python’s Flying Circus' thrown in for good measure.
Sometimes a woman is like a Hungarian buying cigarettes.
Or a man's hovercraft is inexplicably full of eels.
Avoid Whoopie Cushions.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Anyone who needs that may not be able to think.
And should ab initio be shunned.
So, without further ado, here's my list.
TEN CRUCIAL WARNING SIGNS
1. If he or she uncovers any part of their anatomy and starts massaging it in a bar, they should be avoided. Especially if she then asks in a serious tone "are you threatened by my femininity?"
This happened sometime in the nineties, and I'm still repulsed. It may have contributed to my distaste for blondes and big breasts, I don't know.
2. If he or she puts a hand on your thigh and massages, it may be time to yell that you've devoted yourself to Jesus and stab him or her with a fork. Also in the nineties, and I regret not carrying a fork at the time.
I still don't habitually carry a fork with me.
3. If she comes to your hotel room at three o'clock in the morning and offers to commit indecent acts in return for drug money, you may want to start gibbering and gently close the door in her face.
Nineties, again. Residential hotel.
4. If a man calls you "little girl" and offers you candy. Although this one is perhaps doubtful when you are older than him, even more so when you are the same gender or have a beard. Insanity, in a safe (i.e., public) place, with sober witnesses, might be entertaining.
It's up to you, I'm not judging.
5. If you've seen someone drunkenly staggering home with two large pizzas, and their flabby gut hanging out, do not offer to share the pizza.
Pizza means more to them than you can imagine.
Gender is not important here.
Pizza is.
6. If someone hates your cat. It's not always the cat's fault.
Stop blaming the cat for everything.
7. When someone has an imaginary cat that they blame for everything.
8. Methamphetamine, energy drinks, and vaping.
9. Cars, cigars, and skeevy bars.
10. Jesus.
I am a useful man, and full of advice.
THINGS THAT ARE VERY GOOD
1. Talks to people instead of looking at a cellphone. This means he or she is socially adept, and probably capable of holding a conversation.
2. Smokes a pipe with non-perfumy tobacco. Always indicative of clean solid habits and thoughtfulness. Possible he or she is scholarly, but in any case they're capable of listening, what with their mouth being occupied.
He or she is a wise person whom you would do well to cultivate.
3. Drinks tea regularly. It helps flush toxins out of the system, keeps a person hydrated, and awakens one to the tasks ahead.
It's a very good habit.
4. Does not habitually sing karaoke. In nearly twenty years I was moved to sing at a karaoke bar only five times, which I and the very few witnesses still alive have regretted ever since. There were only two songs.
All my exes live in Texas, and 月亮代表我的心 。
It won't happen again, I promise.
5. Speaks foreign languages. This means that when they swear, it is less intelligible or likely to cause offense, and more educational too.
6. Understands Dutch. A very useful thing, that.
7. Bathes on a daily basis. This one is self-explanatory. Really, do I have to go into details? Men and women both are equally much more likable if they do not smell too funky. There is a reason that reformatories, British public schools, Catholic seminaries, and the Girls Scouts of the USA all insist that their victims take showers.
8. Is open to interesting food, and does not think ethnic cuisine begins and ends with pizza. So members of fraternities and sororities are right out, as are most Mid-Westerners.
9. Will never be an investment banker or programmer.
10. Good at making lists.
Relationships are a lot like 'The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin', with a dose of 'Monty Python’s Flying Circus' thrown in for good measure.
Sometimes a woman is like a Hungarian buying cigarettes.
Or a man's hovercraft is inexplicably full of eels.
Avoid Whoopie Cushions.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, October 06, 2017
TRUMP VICTORY OF THE WEEK
Presently, around ten percent of Puerto Ricans have electricity, and barely half have water. This represents a massive improvement over ten days ago, when fewer than ten percent had power, and less than half had water.
At this rate, in another year well over half of Puerto Ricans, if they survive, will have both power AND water.
Original by Emil August Goeldi (1859 - 1917). - E. A. Goeldi (1905) Os Mosquitos no Pará. Memorias do Museu Goeldi. Pará, Brazil. Figures 3 (left) 1 (middle) and 2 (right) of Plate 1 in the Appendix.,
Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5469706
Paper towels too.
It's bigly.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
At this rate, in another year well over half of Puerto Ricans, if they survive, will have both power AND water.
PRETTY PICTURE
Original by Emil August Goeldi (1859 - 1917). - E. A. Goeldi (1905) Os Mosquitos no Pará. Memorias do Museu Goeldi. Pará, Brazil. Figures 3 (left) 1 (middle) and 2 (right) of Plate 1 in the Appendix.,
Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5469706
Paper towels too.
It's bigly.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
THAILAND: A TROPICAL PARADISE
Today marks the forty first anniversary of the Thammasat University Massacre, when the Thai authorities, Buddhist activists, and lynch mobs organized by the clergy and royalists, attacked students, killing and raping hundreds. With the approval of King Bhumibol and Queen Sirikit.
The Thai government has steadfastly refused to address the grievances of relatives of those killed, or discuss the complicity of important people.
The son of one of the chief instigators is the current monarch.
Thais are, on the whole, amazingly adept at pretending to be an artistic, gentle, and peaceful nation. Despite this and other examples of their murderous and psychopathic nature.
During the boat people crisis it was Thais who attacked the vessels, killing hundreds of thousands, and raping the women before often throwing them overboard. That they could commit those blatant acts of piracy was due to the encouragement and participation of the Thai government and military, as well as the approval of King Bhumibol and Queen Sirikit.
A DESPICABLE PLACE
Thailand is known for forced prostitution, in which with the cooperation of officials and the military, young women and children from tribal areas and farming communities are bought and sold for the depravities of urbanites and foreign tourists.
And despite the involvement of members of the government in organized crime, thousand of people were extrajudicially killed in a supposed war on drugs in the early two-thousands.
More recently, thousands in the restive south of the country have been disappeared by the security forces.
Also, of course, human trafficking has been a constant.
With the participation of the authorities.
As well as "approval".
SOME LIGHT READING
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thammasat_University_massacre
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1973_Thai_popular_uprising
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nawaphon
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Gaurs
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnamese_boat_people
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_rights_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prostitution_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_trafficking_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Child_prostitution_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Racism_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corruption_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thai%E2%80%93Laotian_Border_War
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prayut_Chan-o-cha
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buddhism_in_Thailand
And:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crime_in_Thailand#Buddhist_monks
There is naturally much more.
Thailand is a wonderland.
Great food, though.
==========================================================================
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The Thai government has steadfastly refused to address the grievances of relatives of those killed, or discuss the complicity of important people.
The son of one of the chief instigators is the current monarch.
Thais are, on the whole, amazingly adept at pretending to be an artistic, gentle, and peaceful nation. Despite this and other examples of their murderous and psychopathic nature.
During the boat people crisis it was Thais who attacked the vessels, killing hundreds of thousands, and raping the women before often throwing them overboard. That they could commit those blatant acts of piracy was due to the encouragement and participation of the Thai government and military, as well as the approval of King Bhumibol and Queen Sirikit.
A DESPICABLE PLACE
Thailand is known for forced prostitution, in which with the cooperation of officials and the military, young women and children from tribal areas and farming communities are bought and sold for the depravities of urbanites and foreign tourists.
And despite the involvement of members of the government in organized crime, thousand of people were extrajudicially killed in a supposed war on drugs in the early two-thousands.
More recently, thousands in the restive south of the country have been disappeared by the security forces.
Also, of course, human trafficking has been a constant.
With the participation of the authorities.
As well as "approval".
SOME LIGHT READING
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thammasat_University_massacre
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1973_Thai_popular_uprising
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nawaphon
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Gaurs
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnamese_boat_people
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_rights_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prostitution_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_trafficking_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Child_prostitution_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Racism_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corruption_in_Thailand
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thai%E2%80%93Laotian_Border_War
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prayut_Chan-o-cha
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buddhism_in_Thailand
And:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crime_in_Thailand#Buddhist_monks
There is naturally much more.
Thailand is a wonderland.
Great food, though.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, October 05, 2017
THE CRYPT OF CONDIMENTS
Our refrigerator is out. That is to say, the fuse switch won't stay down (my landlord is having an electrician come tomorrow), and we have been given the use of the refrigerator in the apartment next door in the meantime. The apartment next door was until about a month ago occupied by a flibberty-gibbet who occasionally came back from Canada, had all kinds of stuff delivered to her San Francisco address, and largely did not understand the concept of locks & keys. She left her door wide open even when absent.
It is now a bare apartment, but with a brand new refrigerator.
We could've taken all of her stuff while she was gone.
If only we had thought about it at the time.
But we have too much stuff.
And didn't.
The refrigerator next door is smaller. This has meant that my condiment graveyard needed to be reviewed. Several jars of ancient Indian pickles, some dating from the last century. Out. Over a dozen large bottles, wine bottle size, of various hotsauces, the oldest dating from the era of the last computer company at which I worked, the most recent from a few months before the both of us (my apartment mate and I) stopped cooking for each other or sleeping in the same bed. Not that sleeping with another person is, strictly speaking relevant to hot sauce, but it marks the end of my cooking tasty things to eat for two, and consequently I've been rather casual about chili and vinegar combinations. Probably still edible, but why bother.
Pour out the gloop, and wash the bottles, as they may be useful again at some point. There was too much of it anyway.
A few peculiar chutneys. Out. A small jar of bush-paste (a super hot chili preparation that keeps for years, quite useful when traveling to England).
Emptied and washed. The contents were jam-like, with a gritty feel.
A condensed soy-sauce flavoured with spices.
A chili pepper vinegar for soup.
Pickled peppers.
When the circuit comes back on for that section of the apartment and we bring our stuff back from next door, the refrigerator will seem empty.
The mummies of an involved culinary life will be missing.
I grieve for them, and their lovely heat.
As well as the care it took.
Condiments!
At this very moment, after having dealt with all of that, my digits are burning all the way up to the elbow from the amount of chili washed out.
It is warm and tingling in my wrists and finger joints.
I must take care not to scratch my eyes.
Or touch any sensitive parts.
The key to next door is on her dresser.
I'll need it tomorrow morning.
The Sriracha is safe.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
It is now a bare apartment, but with a brand new refrigerator.
We could've taken all of her stuff while she was gone.
If only we had thought about it at the time.
But we have too much stuff.
And didn't.
The refrigerator next door is smaller. This has meant that my condiment graveyard needed to be reviewed. Several jars of ancient Indian pickles, some dating from the last century. Out. Over a dozen large bottles, wine bottle size, of various hotsauces, the oldest dating from the era of the last computer company at which I worked, the most recent from a few months before the both of us (my apartment mate and I) stopped cooking for each other or sleeping in the same bed. Not that sleeping with another person is, strictly speaking relevant to hot sauce, but it marks the end of my cooking tasty things to eat for two, and consequently I've been rather casual about chili and vinegar combinations. Probably still edible, but why bother.
Pour out the gloop, and wash the bottles, as they may be useful again at some point. There was too much of it anyway.
A few peculiar chutneys. Out. A small jar of bush-paste (a super hot chili preparation that keeps for years, quite useful when traveling to England).
Emptied and washed. The contents were jam-like, with a gritty feel.
A condensed soy-sauce flavoured with spices.
A chili pepper vinegar for soup.
Pickled peppers.
When the circuit comes back on for that section of the apartment and we bring our stuff back from next door, the refrigerator will seem empty.
The mummies of an involved culinary life will be missing.
I grieve for them, and their lovely heat.
As well as the care it took.
Condiments!
At this very moment, after having dealt with all of that, my digits are burning all the way up to the elbow from the amount of chili washed out.
It is warm and tingling in my wrists and finger joints.
I must take care not to scratch my eyes.
Or touch any sensitive parts.
The key to next door is on her dresser.
I'll need it tomorrow morning.
The Sriracha is safe.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
EVENLY SPACED SPLATTERS
Late lunch or early dinner yesterday at a restaurant where they know me. Quiet, before the rush of old folks happily discussing fish (they are Cantonese, so naturally fish is the most important thing to decide upon), and the only people there apart from the staff are Caucasians. I could have pretended to need the bathroom so that I could pass their tables to scope out what they had ordered -- being naturally curious -- but I could see a large platter of egg rolls arriving at one table already, and I was too busy reading the wall-specials anyway after telling the waiter what I wanted.
I had intended to get a spicy eggplant dish.
But I asked for something else.
Chinese walls have text.
Lots of it.
In addition to numerous names of dishes, some special some not, there were also a number of examples of calligraphy, probably done by old friends of the family. Regular evenly spaced characters with idiosyncrasies, where the brush in the hand offered an exciting possibility that had to be expressed. Sometimes a stroke terminates with a thin swoop into the next word or line, sometimes extra weight emphasizes a sense of balance. It's rhythmic, and a pattern of regular thick ends highlights a directionality. The eye is drawn in, and follows the strangers hand as it rolls down the sheet.
I know nothing about the scribe, but I imagine him.
Very likely he is rather like Chew-sook.
Short. Impish. Round headed.
And probably balding.
Possibly.
The last time anyone saw Chew-sook was before he and Ms. Wong had a falling out. It was after a two month visit from his Taiwan wife, nearly a year after his Malaysia wife had been in San Francisco, and also after the Hong Kong wife. For a man in his seventies, he still has an active and vibrant life.
I suspect that in addition to the wives and their living quarters overseas, he also maintains business interests in those places, and has already started sending grandkids to university there.
I know he sings opera; we've discussed a few favourites.
And he probably also practises calligraphy.
Chicken and mushrooms, rice.
Soup, tea, oranges.
Quietness.
I wandered down Commercial Street with my pipe afterward, till I saw someone I wished to avoid and cut over to Sacramento. Past the Embarcadero Centers, then over to the parrots in the park.
After finishing my smoke I caught the bus home.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I had intended to get a spicy eggplant dish.
But I asked for something else.
Chinese walls have text.
Lots of it.
In addition to numerous names of dishes, some special some not, there were also a number of examples of calligraphy, probably done by old friends of the family. Regular evenly spaced characters with idiosyncrasies, where the brush in the hand offered an exciting possibility that had to be expressed. Sometimes a stroke terminates with a thin swoop into the next word or line, sometimes extra weight emphasizes a sense of balance. It's rhythmic, and a pattern of regular thick ends highlights a directionality. The eye is drawn in, and follows the strangers hand as it rolls down the sheet.
I know nothing about the scribe, but I imagine him.
Very likely he is rather like Chew-sook.
Short. Impish. Round headed.
And probably balding.
Possibly.
The last time anyone saw Chew-sook was before he and Ms. Wong had a falling out. It was after a two month visit from his Taiwan wife, nearly a year after his Malaysia wife had been in San Francisco, and also after the Hong Kong wife. For a man in his seventies, he still has an active and vibrant life.
I suspect that in addition to the wives and their living quarters overseas, he also maintains business interests in those places, and has already started sending grandkids to university there.
I know he sings opera; we've discussed a few favourites.
And he probably also practises calligraphy.
Chicken and mushrooms, rice.
Soup, tea, oranges.
Quietness.
I wandered down Commercial Street with my pipe afterward, till I saw someone I wished to avoid and cut over to Sacramento. Past the Embarcadero Centers, then over to the parrots in the park.
After finishing my smoke I caught the bus home.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, October 04, 2017
THE NASAL TOURIST
One of the things that stays with you longest when you visit a place are the signature smells. And how sad it would be if what you remember best about San Francisco is the reek of marijuana and urine along Market Street and the many facets of Roman sewer from ancient plumbing under the streets in the financial district, which is strong and startling at very many intersections from Market Street north to Clay, especially eastwards of Sansome.
SWEAT SHOP MONKEY
Or, most robust of all, a computer programmer up for nearly two weeks on a project, who has consumed hot pockets, burritos from the truck, taco chips, fries, energy drinks, candy bars ... He's unwashed, unrested, and exuding all of that plus snack and soda spillage from his skin and clothes.
With any luck he's popped a few caffeine pills and is now next to you on a bus with his colleagues, as they drunkenly discuss the Giants and great big boobies, oh baby. It's a foetid pong from somewhere between wild-eyed curry-continental and the gluey processed cheese heartland that is the Mid West, with heavy doses of bad-boy body-spray, endocrine systems out of whack from not enough sleep and zero nutrition whatsoever for several weeks, and a mega serving of molokhia with friends at the secret Coptic church and eatery hidden beneath the underground parking garage.
Okay, that last is more than likely stream-of-consciousness. Still. Garlic and Redbull. It's a life-style. Most programmers are unlikable, whether they are named Rajbood from Hyderabad, Mahmood from Alexandria, or just John the pudgy dude from Ohio. It's that addiction to energy drinks and video games, it twists the mind. Almost as bad as a methamphetamine habit for screwing someone up physically and mentally.
We've got those people too.
Plus sweaty yoga freaks.
With putrid mats.
My point is that you want better memory smells of the city.
Wherefore I have some suggestions.
THE PERFUMED BOUDOIR
The diagonal path across Sue Bierman Park has some lovely floral reeks, from the various plants that profuse alongside. The smell of roasting coffee in North Beach, along with hints of patchouli (still used there and in a few small pockets elsewhere in the city) is especially nice in the morning.
If you wander around at the higher reaches of Nob, Telegraph, and Russian Hill you will encounter fewer crazy people, less dog poo, and many more patches of nasturtium, bougainvillea, lillies, and resinous wild herbs.
Golden Gate Park, during daylight hours, presents a rich palette of vegetal aromas, almost any area away from the wharf will lack that characteristic sour odour of discarded bread bowls and spilled chowder, late at night the magic aroma of grilled onions and bacon-wrapped hot dog along Mission Street may charm you (also elsewhere near bars on the weekend, after midnight), parts of the Presidio are riotous with fresh smells, and if you avoid Ocean Beach you may never nose a dead leviathan.
Eucalyptus in the panhandle.
The rose garden in the park.
Fresh garlic, Belden Alley.
Slowly cooking carnitas.
And please, smell your food, not your neighbor.
Unless you want to.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
SWEAT SHOP MONKEY
Or, most robust of all, a computer programmer up for nearly two weeks on a project, who has consumed hot pockets, burritos from the truck, taco chips, fries, energy drinks, candy bars ... He's unwashed, unrested, and exuding all of that plus snack and soda spillage from his skin and clothes.
With any luck he's popped a few caffeine pills and is now next to you on a bus with his colleagues, as they drunkenly discuss the Giants and great big boobies, oh baby. It's a foetid pong from somewhere between wild-eyed curry-continental and the gluey processed cheese heartland that is the Mid West, with heavy doses of bad-boy body-spray, endocrine systems out of whack from not enough sleep and zero nutrition whatsoever for several weeks, and a mega serving of molokhia with friends at the secret Coptic church and eatery hidden beneath the underground parking garage.
Okay, that last is more than likely stream-of-consciousness. Still. Garlic and Redbull. It's a life-style. Most programmers are unlikable, whether they are named Rajbood from Hyderabad, Mahmood from Alexandria, or just John the pudgy dude from Ohio. It's that addiction to energy drinks and video games, it twists the mind. Almost as bad as a methamphetamine habit for screwing someone up physically and mentally.
We've got those people too.
Plus sweaty yoga freaks.
With putrid mats.
My point is that you want better memory smells of the city.
Wherefore I have some suggestions.
THE PERFUMED BOUDOIR
The diagonal path across Sue Bierman Park has some lovely floral reeks, from the various plants that profuse alongside. The smell of roasting coffee in North Beach, along with hints of patchouli (still used there and in a few small pockets elsewhere in the city) is especially nice in the morning.
If you wander around at the higher reaches of Nob, Telegraph, and Russian Hill you will encounter fewer crazy people, less dog poo, and many more patches of nasturtium, bougainvillea, lillies, and resinous wild herbs.
Golden Gate Park, during daylight hours, presents a rich palette of vegetal aromas, almost any area away from the wharf will lack that characteristic sour odour of discarded bread bowls and spilled chowder, late at night the magic aroma of grilled onions and bacon-wrapped hot dog along Mission Street may charm you (also elsewhere near bars on the weekend, after midnight), parts of the Presidio are riotous with fresh smells, and if you avoid Ocean Beach you may never nose a dead leviathan.
Eucalyptus in the panhandle.
The rose garden in the park.
Fresh garlic, Belden Alley.
Slowly cooking carnitas.
And please, smell your food, not your neighbor.
Unless you want to.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
BETWEEN NOB AND TELEGRAPH
There used to be raccoons there, now there's something else. A long time ago an elderly furry couple lived on Nob Hill, we saw them once crossing at the light ahead and ambling up Hyde Street, checking each door and basement entryway, hop-scotching towards Washington Street.
They seemed comfortable in their pelts, and self-confident.
Long time residents, just looking for tasty garbage.
One of them had an unfortunate accident late one summer at Larkin Street and Clay. The other one was probably just as old, and may not have lived long after. Some raccoons mate for life.
I haven't seen any raccoons in several years, even the Chinatown trash-pandas seem to have disappeared from the radar.
But there are coyotes now.
At least one of them.
Maybe more.
We first saw the beast at Jones and Pacific several weeks ago in the middle of the night, heading uphill toward the north. And we were surprised, as wild canids are not a normal feature of the San Francisco urban environment.
The coyote is related to both dogs and North American wolves, and inter-type mating that produces mixed offspring is not uncommon. Most wolves have some coyote dna, and vice-versa.
Here in the city we have no wolves, but there are bucketloads of dogs.
There may be a connection. Causal, Casual, and carnal.
The happy possibility of canine sex.
Last night I saw a coyote at Pacific and Larkin Streets. It passed me, quite unconcerned with my presence, and only a about four or five yards away.
It stopped to look at me, I stopped to look back. Then it trotted up Clay toward Hyde.
It may be the same coyote. Or a different one.
But again, in the middle of the night.
Coyotes are opportunistic blighters.
But in a way, beautiful.
Canis latrans.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
They seemed comfortable in their pelts, and self-confident.
Long time residents, just looking for tasty garbage.
One of them had an unfortunate accident late one summer at Larkin Street and Clay. The other one was probably just as old, and may not have lived long after. Some raccoons mate for life.
I haven't seen any raccoons in several years, even the Chinatown trash-pandas seem to have disappeared from the radar.
But there are coyotes now.
At least one of them.
Maybe more.
We first saw the beast at Jones and Pacific several weeks ago in the middle of the night, heading uphill toward the north. And we were surprised, as wild canids are not a normal feature of the San Francisco urban environment.
The coyote is related to both dogs and North American wolves, and inter-type mating that produces mixed offspring is not uncommon. Most wolves have some coyote dna, and vice-versa.
Here in the city we have no wolves, but there are bucketloads of dogs.
There may be a connection. Causal, Casual, and carnal.
The happy possibility of canine sex.
Last night I saw a coyote at Pacific and Larkin Streets. It passed me, quite unconcerned with my presence, and only a about four or five yards away.
It stopped to look at me, I stopped to look back. Then it trotted up Clay toward Hyde.
It may be the same coyote. Or a different one.
But again, in the middle of the night.
Coyotes are opportunistic blighters.
But in a way, beautiful.
Canis latrans.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, October 03, 2017
MANDARIN DUCKS ALL THE WAY
"What's for dinner?" The question caught me by surprise, but when he indicated that my plastic bag had suggested food to-go, I understood. There wasn't a drop of English text on it. Instead, in Chinese, the name of the company and several of their products. What I had purchased was Eleutherococcus, Yunnan Baiyao, and Ping Wei Pin.
[Notes: Eleutherococcus senticosus pills (五加参片 'ng gaa sam pin') are a general system tonic, promoting vigour and strengthening the body's response to stress or infection; Yunnan Baiyao capsules (雲南白藥膠囊 'wun naam baak yeuk gaau-nong') stop internal bleeding, promote healing from wounds and physical trauma, are tonifying to the circulatory system and bone marrow, and, because one of the primary ingredients in the manufacture of Yunnan Baiyao is panax notoginseng (田七 aka 三七 'tin chat' or 'saam chat'), these are also a valuable general system tonic; Ping Wei Pin (平胃片) are "settle stomach pills", good for digestive disorders, such as the adult male might get if out drinking and consuming shitty food late at night, or after three days at work in Marin County eating crap from the convenience store for lunch.]
鴛鴦三大杯
Before heading out to Chinatown much earlier today, I strengthened my resolve with a nice hot cup of Mandarin Duck. After visiting my bank, I had a chilled glass of Mandarin Duck with my tasty lunch. Once I got home, another warm mug. Meaning that I had tea and coffee mixed, with a little evaporada for white and sweet, such a drink being called 'Mandarin Duck' in Cantonese (鴛鴦 'yuen yeung') because it represents an equal balance and a matching pair.
That's nearly six doses of caffeine between noon and now. I am wired to the fiery eye-balls. And there is no need for dinner till later, because I ate well, having had a plate of roast goose over rice on Grant Avenue.
My eyes glow and my head vibrates. I scared or startled an ancient person in Portsmouth Square quite inadvertently while cleaning my pipe. I did not mean to. He quivered, moaned, got up hurriedly, and left the park.
I only have that effect on neurotic elderly Cantonese.
Little Chinese tykes find me a curiosity.
And will gaze quizzically.
Did I mention 'wired'? Babies, I am positively flying!
The goose and the ducks were beautiful.
I will take a nap now.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
[Notes: Eleutherococcus senticosus pills (五加参片 'ng gaa sam pin') are a general system tonic, promoting vigour and strengthening the body's response to stress or infection; Yunnan Baiyao capsules (雲南白藥膠囊 'wun naam baak yeuk gaau-nong') stop internal bleeding, promote healing from wounds and physical trauma, are tonifying to the circulatory system and bone marrow, and, because one of the primary ingredients in the manufacture of Yunnan Baiyao is panax notoginseng (田七 aka 三七 'tin chat' or 'saam chat'), these are also a valuable general system tonic; Ping Wei Pin (平胃片) are "settle stomach pills", good for digestive disorders, such as the adult male might get if out drinking and consuming shitty food late at night, or after three days at work in Marin County eating crap from the convenience store for lunch.]
鴛鴦三大杯
Before heading out to Chinatown much earlier today, I strengthened my resolve with a nice hot cup of Mandarin Duck. After visiting my bank, I had a chilled glass of Mandarin Duck with my tasty lunch. Once I got home, another warm mug. Meaning that I had tea and coffee mixed, with a little evaporada for white and sweet, such a drink being called 'Mandarin Duck' in Cantonese (鴛鴦 'yuen yeung') because it represents an equal balance and a matching pair.
That's nearly six doses of caffeine between noon and now. I am wired to the fiery eye-balls. And there is no need for dinner till later, because I ate well, having had a plate of roast goose over rice on Grant Avenue.
My eyes glow and my head vibrates. I scared or startled an ancient person in Portsmouth Square quite inadvertently while cleaning my pipe. I did not mean to. He quivered, moaned, got up hurriedly, and left the park.
I only have that effect on neurotic elderly Cantonese.
Little Chinese tykes find me a curiosity.
And will gaze quizzically.
Did I mention 'wired'? Babies, I am positively flying!
The goose and the ducks were beautiful.
I will take a nap now.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
FOODING FOR SOCIAL MEDIA, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND
Food was implied if not actually mentioned prominently in the two previous posts, and it is a significant element in many of the essays on this blog.
I have a shocking confession: I have never photographed my lunch.
Or my breakfast, dinner, and mid-night snack.
Or even a beautiful cake.
I do not have a cell-phone, because I do not need one.
"But what if there's an emergency, like an earthquake or fire, or you're going to be late?"
If there's an emergency I'll deal with it then like a rational human being, either by handling the situation semi-calmly or screaming in a panic. In an earthquake they will not find my corpse under the rubble any faster if I took a selfie at the very moment the temblor struck, and if I am going to be late, either I'm actually going to be late -- you know that time is not effected by appropriate texts and selfies, don't you? -- or I'll head back to my place and call to forewarn whoever it is, assuming that they have a phone.
And I'll be five or ten minutes later than otherwise.
That's happened twice in the past five years.
For that I need a cell phone?
My coworker whined at me the other day that he could never text me to say that I should stop smoking those horrible aromatics which make him gag. Which, of course, I only smoke because they make him gag.
I like his pissy offended purism when I do that.
I never smoke tooty frooty pipe tobacco when he is not around, because it would be pointless.
I told him to try my landline number.
There is no message machine.
I have no twitter account. No insta-message. No snap-chat. No lunch or dinner apps. I never even had a MySpace page. I did have a dating profile for a while, but I nixed it a few years ago because I did not find what I was looking for (no takers, no nibbles, not even a peep). The only reason I have a Facebook page is because someone horrid in the grass roots group of which I am no longer a member posted photos that could only be seen on Facebook nine years ago. I unfriended that person six years ago.
Very few of them knew about food in any case.
I still do emojis the old fashioned way.
Semi colon, hyphen, parenthesis or D.
Roundness and yellow are implied.
Same blog for over a decade. It serves my need to "voice", even if no one clicks "like" or "laughing". I am Jeremiah howling in the wilderness.
I have changed considerably since it began.
Here a picture of roast goose (燒鵝). It is crispy-skinned and delicious.
一樂燒鵝 脆皮好吃:香港米其林一星中環美食推薦
Yat Lok (in HK, Central District). Michelin Guide, one star.
[No. 34-38, Stanley Street. Exit D2, MTR Central Station.]
The profile of the person who took the photo is here: Banbi -- about.
A scroll-through of that blogger's Facebook (美食旅遊) rather indicates that the person may be female, possible between twenty and fifty years of age, and likes salmon, cake, flowers, and sandwiches.
Which, honestly, is enough.
Nice food pix.
Like.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I have a shocking confession: I have never photographed my lunch.
Or my breakfast, dinner, and mid-night snack.
Or even a beautiful cake.
I do not have a cell-phone, because I do not need one.
"But what if there's an emergency, like an earthquake or fire, or you're going to be late?"
If there's an emergency I'll deal with it then like a rational human being, either by handling the situation semi-calmly or screaming in a panic. In an earthquake they will not find my corpse under the rubble any faster if I took a selfie at the very moment the temblor struck, and if I am going to be late, either I'm actually going to be late -- you know that time is not effected by appropriate texts and selfies, don't you? -- or I'll head back to my place and call to forewarn whoever it is, assuming that they have a phone.
And I'll be five or ten minutes later than otherwise.
That's happened twice in the past five years.
For that I need a cell phone?
My coworker whined at me the other day that he could never text me to say that I should stop smoking those horrible aromatics which make him gag. Which, of course, I only smoke because they make him gag.
I like his pissy offended purism when I do that.
I never smoke tooty frooty pipe tobacco when he is not around, because it would be pointless.
I told him to try my landline number.
There is no message machine.
I have no twitter account. No insta-message. No snap-chat. No lunch or dinner apps. I never even had a MySpace page. I did have a dating profile for a while, but I nixed it a few years ago because I did not find what I was looking for (no takers, no nibbles, not even a peep). The only reason I have a Facebook page is because someone horrid in the grass roots group of which I am no longer a member posted photos that could only be seen on Facebook nine years ago. I unfriended that person six years ago.
Very few of them knew about food in any case.
I still do emojis the old fashioned way.
Semi colon, hyphen, parenthesis or D.
Roundness and yellow are implied.
Same blog for over a decade. It serves my need to "voice", even if no one clicks "like" or "laughing". I am Jeremiah howling in the wilderness.
I have changed considerably since it began.
Here a picture of roast goose (燒鵝). It is crispy-skinned and delicious.
Source: https://banbi.tw/2016-01-07-875/
一樂燒鵝 脆皮好吃:香港米其林一星中環美食推薦
Yat Lok (in HK, Central District). Michelin Guide, one star.
[No. 34-38, Stanley Street. Exit D2, MTR Central Station.]
The profile of the person who took the photo is here: Banbi -- about.
A scroll-through of that blogger's Facebook (美食旅遊) rather indicates that the person may be female, possible between twenty and fifty years of age, and likes salmon, cake, flowers, and sandwiches.
Which, honestly, is enough.
Nice food pix.
Like.
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LETTER BOX.
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Monday, October 02, 2017
HONG KONG RESTAURANTS
Someone asked about eating in the Special Administrative Region.
I had a few suggestions to offer.
In no particular order:
車仔麵之家
灣仔, 晏頓街1號 , A店。
CHE CHAI MIN JI KAA
Anton Street 1, shop A, Wanchai
Telephone: 2529 6313
Facsimile: 2520 1305
["Little cart noodles."]
新興食家
西環, 堅尼地城, 士美菲路, 8號, 地下, C號舖。
SUN HING RESTAURANT ('SAN-HING SIK-GAA')
Shop C, Ground floor, 8 Smithfield Road, Kennedy Town.
[Runny custard buns, siu mai, hargau.]
永興豆漿王
觀塘, 裕民坊40A號, 地下。
WING HING SOY MILK SHOP
Kwuntong, Yueman Square No. 40, Ground Floor.
[Fresh beancurd with syrup.]
金華冰廳
香港, 太子弼街47號, 地下。
KAM WAH BAKERY CAFE
47 Bute Street, ground floor,
Prince Edward (Mongkok), Kowloon, Hong Kong.
[Baked goods, toasted buns (both "pineapple" buns AND little piggy buns!).]
妹記生滾粥品
旺角, 花園街市政大廈4樓熟食中心11-12舖。
MUI KEE CONGEE
["Younger Sister's Freshly Boiled Congee Products"]
Shop no. 11-12, Fa Yuen Street Market, Municipal Services Building, Fourth Floor, Cooked Foods Centre
Mongkok, Kowloon, Hong Kong.
[Crispy fish skin rice porridge.]
彩龍酒樓
荃灣, 荃錦公路, 川龍村, 2號。
CHOI LUNG RESTAURANT
[In Tsuen Wan, along a hillside road overlooking everything. A bosky dimsum place.]
蓮香樓
中環, 威靈頓街160-164號。
LIN HEUNG TEA HOUSE
160-164 Wellington Street,
Central District.
[A raucous and totally excellent dim sum restaurant.]
勝香園
中環, 美輪街2號。
SING HEUNG YUEN
2 Mei Lun Street, Central District.
[Cheap, a neighborhood eatery, wonderful tomato soup. Expect outdoor seating, it's barely one step removed from being a street stall.]
肥姐小食店
香港, 九龍, 旺角, 登打士街 55號, 4A舖。
FAT SISTER SMALL EATS SHOP
Unit 4A, 55 Dundas Street, Mong Kok.
Kowloon, Hong Kong.
[Marinated offal on a stick. Add a squeeze of yellow mustard.]
鏞記酒家
中環, 威靈頓街 32-40 號。
YUNG KEE JAU KA
32-40 Wellington Street, Central
Hong Kong Island
[Famous, and famously expensive, roast goose.]
裕記大飯店
新界, 深井, 深康路 9號。
YUE KEE TAAI FAN DIEM
9 Sham Hong Road, Sham Tseng
New Territories, Hong Kong.
[Extremely good roast goose. Very affordable.]
深井陳記燒鵝酒家
新界, 深井, 青山公路, 深井村 63號, 地下。
SHAM TSENG CHAN KEE SIU NGOH JAU KA
Ground floor, 63 Sham Tseng Village, Castle Peak Road, Sham Tseng
New Territories, Hong Kong.
[Also extremely good roast goose. And likewise very affordable.]
沾仔記
中環, 威靈頓街 98號, 地下。
TSIM CHAI KEE NOODLE
Shop B, G/F Jade Centre, 98 Wellington Street, Central
[Beef brisket house special wonton noodles.]
群記清湯腩
大埔, 大明里 26號。
KWON KEE TSING TONG NAAM
No. 26 Dai Ming Lane, Taipo.
Tel: 2638 3071
In Taipo, centre of town, between Tai Gwong Lane (大光里) and Kwong Fuk Lane (廣福里).
[Beef brisket stock, soup noodles.]
大榮華酒樓
元朗, 安寧路2-6號, 2樓。
TAAI WING WAA RESTAURANT
2/F, Koon Wong Mansion, 2-6 On Ning Road, Yuen Long.
[Dim sum, poon choi (盤菜 or 盆菜), and old wife cakes from the bakery (老婆餅 'lo poh beng'). This time of year, famous mooncakes (月餅)]
唯珍上海麵家
佐敦, 白加士街125號, 地下。
WAI-TSAN SEUNGHOI MIEN KAA
125 Parkes Street, Ground Floor, Jordan, Kowloon.
Telephone: 2770 4763
[Pan-fried pork cutlets - either with noodles or rice, or on top of soup - and most especially the garlic chives pork dumplings.]
And most heartily recommended:
上海榮華川菜館
觀塘, 崇仁街 15號, 地下。
SEUNG HOI WING WAH CHUEN TSOI KOON
The Shanghai Wing Wah Szechuan Restaurant
Ground Floor, 15 Shung Yan Street, Kwun Tong.
Recommended dishes at Wing Wah:
豆沙窩餅 Fried Sweet Bean-paste Fold-overs. Very Shanghainese!
東坡肉 Tung-Po Pork (slow cooked long and fragrant, served over tender fresh baby bokchoi).
回鍋肉 Twice-cooked Pork - a superior version.
砂鍋雲吞雞 Clay Pot Wonton Chicken.
擔擔麵 Tan Tan Noodles. Superior, but something I'm particularly fond of.
酸辣湯 Hot and Sour Soup - extremely popular here.
紅燒獅子頭 Savoury Braised Large Meat Balls.
乾扁四季豆 Spicy Dry-fried Stringbeans.
八寶茶 Eight Treasure Tea (hot) - very popular.
糖醋魚柳 Sweet and Sour Willow-fish.
糖醋排骨 Sweet and Sour Spare Ribs.
紅油抄手 Red Oil Dumplings - a famous Szechuanese variation on wonton.
口水雞 Poached & Sauced Chicken.
花雕醉雞 Drunken Chicken (made with Fa Diu ricewine) - very highly recommended.
蒜泥白肉 Garlic Sauce Poached Pork (cold) - very old-fashioned and delicious.
奶油津白 Tientsin Cabbage in Cream Sauce garnished with Chinhua Ham - old school, excellent.
糖醋魚塊 Sweet and Sour Fish Chunks.
麻婆豆腐 Ma Po Toufu - an old stand-by.
雞絲粉皮 Chicken Shred Pale Ribbon Noodle.
宮保雞丁 Kung Pao Chicken - a safe standard.
ADDENDUM
What could be more Hong Kong than eating shrimp wonton noodle soup?
Especially in the world's highest commercial rent zone.
Simple, earthy, soul-satisfying.
Comfort food.
池記
銅鑼灣, 波斯富街84號, 地下。
CHEE KEI
84 Percival Street, Causeway Bay, Wanchai District.
[Beef noodle soup, "Swiss" wings, and the freshest thinnest skin shrimp wonton anywhere, with noodle soup (牛腩撈麵，瑞士雞翼，鮮蝦雲吞麵)。
Plus congee (粥). Plus other stuff -- oyster sauce stalky mustard (灼芥蘭), red oil three precious, suei gaau ... ]
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I had a few suggestions to offer.
In no particular order:
車仔麵之家
灣仔, 晏頓街1號 , A店。
CHE CHAI MIN JI KAA
Anton Street 1, shop A, Wanchai
Telephone: 2529 6313
Facsimile: 2520 1305
["Little cart noodles."]
新興食家
西環, 堅尼地城, 士美菲路, 8號, 地下, C號舖。
SUN HING RESTAURANT ('SAN-HING SIK-GAA')
Shop C, Ground floor, 8 Smithfield Road, Kennedy Town.
[Runny custard buns, siu mai, hargau.]
永興豆漿王
觀塘, 裕民坊40A號, 地下。
WING HING SOY MILK SHOP
Kwuntong, Yueman Square No. 40, Ground Floor.
[Fresh beancurd with syrup.]
金華冰廳
香港, 太子弼街47號, 地下。
KAM WAH BAKERY CAFE
47 Bute Street, ground floor,
Prince Edward (Mongkok), Kowloon, Hong Kong.
[Baked goods, toasted buns (both "pineapple" buns AND little piggy buns!).]
妹記生滾粥品
旺角, 花園街市政大廈4樓熟食中心11-12舖。
MUI KEE CONGEE
["Younger Sister's Freshly Boiled Congee Products"]
Shop no. 11-12, Fa Yuen Street Market, Municipal Services Building, Fourth Floor, Cooked Foods Centre
Mongkok, Kowloon, Hong Kong.
[Crispy fish skin rice porridge.]
彩龍酒樓
荃灣, 荃錦公路, 川龍村, 2號。
CHOI LUNG RESTAURANT
[In Tsuen Wan, along a hillside road overlooking everything. A bosky dimsum place.]
蓮香樓
中環, 威靈頓街160-164號。
LIN HEUNG TEA HOUSE
160-164 Wellington Street,
Central District.
[A raucous and totally excellent dim sum restaurant.]
勝香園
中環, 美輪街2號。
SING HEUNG YUEN
2 Mei Lun Street, Central District.
[Cheap, a neighborhood eatery, wonderful tomato soup. Expect outdoor seating, it's barely one step removed from being a street stall.]
肥姐小食店
香港, 九龍, 旺角, 登打士街 55號, 4A舖。
FAT SISTER SMALL EATS SHOP
Unit 4A, 55 Dundas Street, Mong Kok.
Kowloon, Hong Kong.
[Marinated offal on a stick. Add a squeeze of yellow mustard.]
鏞記酒家
中環, 威靈頓街 32-40 號。
YUNG KEE JAU KA
32-40 Wellington Street, Central
Hong Kong Island
[Famous, and famously expensive, roast goose.]
裕記大飯店
新界, 深井, 深康路 9號。
YUE KEE TAAI FAN DIEM
9 Sham Hong Road, Sham Tseng
New Territories, Hong Kong.
[Extremely good roast goose. Very affordable.]
深井陳記燒鵝酒家
新界, 深井, 青山公路, 深井村 63號, 地下。
SHAM TSENG CHAN KEE SIU NGOH JAU KA
Ground floor, 63 Sham Tseng Village, Castle Peak Road, Sham Tseng
New Territories, Hong Kong.
[Also extremely good roast goose. And likewise very affordable.]
沾仔記
中環, 威靈頓街 98號, 地下。
TSIM CHAI KEE NOODLE
Shop B, G/F Jade Centre, 98 Wellington Street, Central
[Beef brisket house special wonton noodles.]
群記清湯腩
大埔, 大明里 26號。
KWON KEE TSING TONG NAAM
No. 26 Dai Ming Lane, Taipo.
Tel: 2638 3071
In Taipo, centre of town, between Tai Gwong Lane (大光里) and Kwong Fuk Lane (廣福里).
[Beef brisket stock, soup noodles.]
大榮華酒樓
元朗, 安寧路2-6號, 2樓。
TAAI WING WAA RESTAURANT
2/F, Koon Wong Mansion, 2-6 On Ning Road, Yuen Long.
[Dim sum, poon choi (盤菜 or 盆菜), and old wife cakes from the bakery (老婆餅 'lo poh beng'). This time of year, famous mooncakes (月餅)]
唯珍上海麵家
佐敦, 白加士街125號, 地下。
WAI-TSAN SEUNGHOI MIEN KAA
125 Parkes Street, Ground Floor, Jordan, Kowloon.
Telephone: 2770 4763
[Pan-fried pork cutlets - either with noodles or rice, or on top of soup - and most especially the garlic chives pork dumplings.]
And most heartily recommended:
上海榮華川菜館
觀塘, 崇仁街 15號, 地下。
SEUNG HOI WING WAH CHUEN TSOI KOON
The Shanghai Wing Wah Szechuan Restaurant
Ground Floor, 15 Shung Yan Street, Kwun Tong.
Recommended dishes at Wing Wah:
豆沙窩餅 Fried Sweet Bean-paste Fold-overs. Very Shanghainese!
東坡肉 Tung-Po Pork (slow cooked long and fragrant, served over tender fresh baby bokchoi).
回鍋肉 Twice-cooked Pork - a superior version.
砂鍋雲吞雞 Clay Pot Wonton Chicken.
擔擔麵 Tan Tan Noodles. Superior, but something I'm particularly fond of.
酸辣湯 Hot and Sour Soup - extremely popular here.
紅燒獅子頭 Savoury Braised Large Meat Balls.
乾扁四季豆 Spicy Dry-fried Stringbeans.
八寶茶 Eight Treasure Tea (hot) - very popular.
糖醋魚柳 Sweet and Sour Willow-fish.
糖醋排骨 Sweet and Sour Spare Ribs.
紅油抄手 Red Oil Dumplings - a famous Szechuanese variation on wonton.
口水雞 Poached & Sauced Chicken.
花雕醉雞 Drunken Chicken (made with Fa Diu ricewine) - very highly recommended.
蒜泥白肉 Garlic Sauce Poached Pork (cold) - very old-fashioned and delicious.
奶油津白 Tientsin Cabbage in Cream Sauce garnished with Chinhua Ham - old school, excellent.
糖醋魚塊 Sweet and Sour Fish Chunks.
麻婆豆腐 Ma Po Toufu - an old stand-by.
雞絲粉皮 Chicken Shred Pale Ribbon Noodle.
宮保雞丁 Kung Pao Chicken - a safe standard.
ADDENDUM
What could be more Hong Kong than eating shrimp wonton noodle soup?
Especially in the world's highest commercial rent zone.
Simple, earthy, soul-satisfying.
Comfort food.
池記
銅鑼灣, 波斯富街84號, 地下。
CHEE KEI
84 Percival Street, Causeway Bay, Wanchai District.
[Beef noodle soup, "Swiss" wings, and the freshest thinnest skin shrimp wonton anywhere, with noodle soup (牛腩撈麵，瑞士雞翼，鮮蝦雲吞麵)。
Plus congee (粥). Plus other stuff -- oyster sauce stalky mustard (灼芥蘭), red oil three precious, suei gaau ... ]
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
RACIST, AND DAMNED PROUD OF IT!
While yanking out a nostril hair I suddenly realized that the reason a certain person now pretends I do not exist and no longer responds to my cheerful greeting whenever we meet is that the poor bastard probably thinks that I am a frightful racist. Which of course I am.
He's Filipino, and I've said thoroughly nasty things about Filipinos.
Among other things I called them vulgar consumerites or arrogant illiterate snobs.
Most recently, I called their society "vicious, rotten, and depraved".
In this post: "we are better than Asia".
But please, read everything I've ever said about the place by following this link: The Philippines. There are over a score of essays in that string, which may not have been as complimentary as merited.
Isang 'hamster' ina mo, at amang mo mabaho tulad ng mga 'elderberries'!
Further examples of bigotry: I am on record as describing Pakistan as sodden with dumbasses and jihadis, India as 'Rape-i-Stan', Vietnam and Cambodia as malarial bogs, all of South East Asia as periodically murderous, especially to their minorities .....
Pestilential trash heaps.
I've also said unpleasant things about the Chinese.
And the Japanese. And Koreans.
And all of Europe.
Belgians, ugh!
If I haven't made a shitty and entirely truthful remark -- or several such, which are all well-deserved -- about your nationality or ethnic group, it is because I haven't gotten around to you yet. You may not have made much of an impression in any case.
KURIPOT, ANG TAO ILOKANO ...
Visayans speak miserable Tagalog, but believe that their "yaya-katulong" English is better than anyone else's. Conversely, Manileños speak a florid English filled with words they don't really know the meaning of, and think other Filipinos are provincial and ignorant.
Which they are.
Batangueños are foolhardy, backwards, and given to murderous rages, the Bikolanos are indolent, unwashed, and stink of coconut grease, people from Bohol are overly religious and superstitious, practically idiots.
Caviteños are short-tempered and violent, Cebuanos have truly abysmal musical tastes, Davaoans are all egotistical drunkards, Ilokanos are cheap miserly bastards, Ilongots are quite incapable of dealing with money, Moros are all traitors, Panggalatoks are fussy cooks (but not very good -- don't hire them for kitchen work), tribals have tails, and the less said about the entire south, the better.
And all of them, without exception, from the northernmost tip of Luzon to the sea between Mindanao and the Sangihe Archipelago in Indonesia, are convinced that Caucasians are as smelly as dogs, and just come to the Philippines for sex and shopping.
Talaga, yan.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
He's Filipino, and I've said thoroughly nasty things about Filipinos.
Among other things I called them vulgar consumerites or arrogant illiterate snobs.
Most recently, I called their society "vicious, rotten, and depraved".
In this post: "we are better than Asia".
But please, read everything I've ever said about the place by following this link: The Philippines. There are over a score of essays in that string, which may not have been as complimentary as merited.
Isang 'hamster' ina mo, at amang mo mabaho tulad ng mga 'elderberries'!
Further examples of bigotry: I am on record as describing Pakistan as sodden with dumbasses and jihadis, India as 'Rape-i-Stan', Vietnam and Cambodia as malarial bogs, all of South East Asia as periodically murderous, especially to their minorities .....
Pestilential trash heaps.
I've also said unpleasant things about the Chinese.
And the Japanese. And Koreans.
And all of Europe.
Belgians, ugh!
If I haven't made a shitty and entirely truthful remark -- or several such, which are all well-deserved -- about your nationality or ethnic group, it is because I haven't gotten around to you yet. You may not have made much of an impression in any case.
KURIPOT, ANG TAO ILOKANO ...
Visayans speak miserable Tagalog, but believe that their "yaya-katulong" English is better than anyone else's. Conversely, Manileños speak a florid English filled with words they don't really know the meaning of, and think other Filipinos are provincial and ignorant.
Which they are.
Batangueños are foolhardy, backwards, and given to murderous rages, the Bikolanos are indolent, unwashed, and stink of coconut grease, people from Bohol are overly religious and superstitious, practically idiots.
Caviteños are short-tempered and violent, Cebuanos have truly abysmal musical tastes, Davaoans are all egotistical drunkards, Ilokanos are cheap miserly bastards, Ilongots are quite incapable of dealing with money, Moros are all traitors, Panggalatoks are fussy cooks (but not very good -- don't hire them for kitchen work), tribals have tails, and the less said about the entire south, the better.
And all of them, without exception, from the northernmost tip of Luzon to the sea between Mindanao and the Sangihe Archipelago in Indonesia, are convinced that Caucasians are as smelly as dogs, and just come to the Philippines for sex and shopping.
Talaga, yan.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, October 01, 2017
CURIOUS ABOUT THOSE PUMPKINS?
On Friday I mentioned pumpkins to someone one the other side of the country, where they have four seasons, one of which is 'Autumn'.
Which it presently apparently is.
If you are new to this blog, please understand that I am in San Francisco. Where we also have seasons. Approximately six or seven. Call it seven. Rainy. A little fog but less rain. Warmish. Cool and foggy. Horrible hot weather while all the rest of you have hurricanes and typhoons. Crisp mornings followed by foggy evenings. Cold becomes wet.
They occur unpredictably, in haphazard order.
Sometimes two or three times.
Or not at all.
We do not have Autumn. Sometime before or after New Year the ginkgo leaves turn a marvelous yellow, then hit the sidewalk. That's it.
We do have pumpkins, though. They are unavoidable. And in addition to raising fruitflies and attracting wild animals to your porch, there are a few other things you can do with those things.
The following recipes were all posted here several years ago.
I'm reposting them for Mary Walters.
Who "likes" pumpkins.
PUMPKIN BARS
6 cups whole oats.
2 cups all-purpose flour.
4 eggs.
1/3 cup honey.
1/4 cup molasses.
1 1/2 cups canned pumpkin.
2 1/2 cups yogurt.
1 - 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon.
Mix all ingredients. Decant into an oiled 9 x 13 baking dish. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Let cool for 10 minutes and cut into squares. Keep refrigerated in a closed container. They will keep for about 6 weeks.
PUMPKIN PIE
[Canned pumpkin often is butternut squash, which is sweeter than regular pumpkin. Carving pumpkins are not very good cooking pumpkins. Cooking pumpkins are usually called 'sugar pumpkins'.]
Two cups mashed cooked pumpkin.
One and a half cup half and half.
Two whole eggs.
Two yolks.
One cup brown sugar.
1 teaspoon cinnamon.
1/2 teaspoon ginger.
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg.
1/4 teaspoon cloves.
1/2 teaspoon salt.
9-inch pie crust (store-boughten or make your own).
Gently beat all ingredients together and pour into pie crust.
Bake at 425 for about fifty minutes.
Let it cool down for at least an hour before eating.
CHICKEN, PUMPKIN, AND TARO, IN COCONUT MILK
椰汁香芋南瓜雞
['yeh jap heung wu naam gwaa gai']
材料 Ingredients:
雞: 半隻, 斬/切五,六塊 (half a chicken, cut into five or six chunks)。
芋頭: 3両 (four ounces taro, peeled and chunked)。
南瓜: 3両 (four ounces pumpkin, peeled and chunked)。
冬菇: 5隻, 切片 (five black mushrooms, sliced)。
芹菜: 2條, 切段 (two stalks celery, coarsely cut)。
葱頭: 1顆, 切成 (one onion, chopped)。
葱: 1粒, 切成 (one scallion, chopped)。
椰汁: 8湯匙 (eight TBS coconut milk)。
上湯: 少許 (small quantity superior stock)。
生粉: 少許 (small quantity cornstarch)。
製法 / 做法 Jai faat / Joh faat:
Rinse the chicken, rub it with a little cornstarch and set it aside.
Gild the taro and pumpkin separately in oil, set aside.
Quick fry the onion till fragrance rises, add the celery and stirfry, add the mushroom and chicken pieces and turn to coat and incorporate. Splash liberally with the superior stock, add the taro, then add the coconut milk and the pumpkin. Let it simmer for about five to ten minutes, and strew the chopped scallion over ere serving.
PUMPKIN PRESERVE
A small Pumpkin, about two pounds.
2 cups Vinegar.
2 cups Water.
2 cups Sugar.
Four TBS Raisins. Two TBS Ginger, peeled and slivered.
One TBS Salt.
One Teaspoon of Cayenne.
A squeeze of lime juice.
Scrape out the muck and seeds first. Then cut, peel, and coarsely grate the pumpkin. Simmer with everything except the vinegar and the squooze lime till dry. Add the vinegar, squeeze the lime in, and cook thick. Decant into clean jars.
Note: For a beautifully hued preserve, substitute a measure of pomegranate juice for the water.
Use as you would any chutney or relish alongside meat. Or eat by the spoonful straight from the jar when you think no one is looking.
Or, if none of this appeals to you, just make a pot of dhansak.
There's another recipe here: Bawi's Mom's version.
Lamb, smooth goo, spices.
AFTERWORD
All of this is, more or less, pursuant the horror that is pumpkin spice pipe tobacco. Which really exists. Sutliff makes it. And I've smoked it, purely out of curiosity. Just like Very Cherry, Molto Dolce, Seven Seas, some horrid black rope, and "The Funk Of Sheer Evil".
Some of these are really skeevy stuff.
In a league with 79.
I'll say this for the Very Cherry: maybe I would smoke it again.
It's relatively easy, fairly clean, and cool.
But far too sweet.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Which it presently apparently is.
If you are new to this blog, please understand that I am in San Francisco. Where we also have seasons. Approximately six or seven. Call it seven. Rainy. A little fog but less rain. Warmish. Cool and foggy. Horrible hot weather while all the rest of you have hurricanes and typhoons. Crisp mornings followed by foggy evenings. Cold becomes wet.
They occur unpredictably, in haphazard order.
Sometimes two or three times.
Or not at all.
We do not have Autumn. Sometime before or after New Year the ginkgo leaves turn a marvelous yellow, then hit the sidewalk. That's it.
We do have pumpkins, though. They are unavoidable. And in addition to raising fruitflies and attracting wild animals to your porch, there are a few other things you can do with those things.
The following recipes were all posted here several years ago.
I'm reposting them for Mary Walters.
Who "likes" pumpkins.
PUMPKIN BARS
6 cups whole oats.
2 cups all-purpose flour.
4 eggs.
1/3 cup honey.
1/4 cup molasses.
1 1/2 cups canned pumpkin.
2 1/2 cups yogurt.
1 - 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon.
Mix all ingredients. Decant into an oiled 9 x 13 baking dish. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Let cool for 10 minutes and cut into squares. Keep refrigerated in a closed container. They will keep for about 6 weeks.
PUMPKIN PIE
[Canned pumpkin often is butternut squash, which is sweeter than regular pumpkin. Carving pumpkins are not very good cooking pumpkins. Cooking pumpkins are usually called 'sugar pumpkins'.]
Two cups mashed cooked pumpkin.
One and a half cup half and half.
Two whole eggs.
Two yolks.
One cup brown sugar.
1 teaspoon cinnamon.
1/2 teaspoon ginger.
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg.
1/4 teaspoon cloves.
1/2 teaspoon salt.
9-inch pie crust (store-boughten or make your own).
Gently beat all ingredients together and pour into pie crust.
Bake at 425 for about fifty minutes.
Let it cool down for at least an hour before eating.
CHICKEN, PUMPKIN, AND TARO, IN COCONUT MILK
椰汁香芋南瓜雞
['yeh jap heung wu naam gwaa gai']
材料 Ingredients:
雞: 半隻, 斬/切五,六塊 (half a chicken, cut into five or six chunks)。
芋頭: 3両 (four ounces taro, peeled and chunked)。
南瓜: 3両 (four ounces pumpkin, peeled and chunked)。
冬菇: 5隻, 切片 (five black mushrooms, sliced)。
芹菜: 2條, 切段 (two stalks celery, coarsely cut)。
葱頭: 1顆, 切成 (one onion, chopped)。
葱: 1粒, 切成 (one scallion, chopped)。
椰汁: 8湯匙 (eight TBS coconut milk)。
上湯: 少許 (small quantity superior stock)。
生粉: 少許 (small quantity cornstarch)。
製法 / 做法 Jai faat / Joh faat:
Rinse the chicken, rub it with a little cornstarch and set it aside.
Gild the taro and pumpkin separately in oil, set aside.
Quick fry the onion till fragrance rises, add the celery and stirfry, add the mushroom and chicken pieces and turn to coat and incorporate. Splash liberally with the superior stock, add the taro, then add the coconut milk and the pumpkin. Let it simmer for about five to ten minutes, and strew the chopped scallion over ere serving.
PUMPKIN PRESERVE
A small Pumpkin, about two pounds.
2 cups Vinegar.
2 cups Water.
2 cups Sugar.
Four TBS Raisins. Two TBS Ginger, peeled and slivered.
One TBS Salt.
One Teaspoon of Cayenne.
A squeeze of lime juice.
Scrape out the muck and seeds first. Then cut, peel, and coarsely grate the pumpkin. Simmer with everything except the vinegar and the squooze lime till dry. Add the vinegar, squeeze the lime in, and cook thick. Decant into clean jars.
Note: For a beautifully hued preserve, substitute a measure of pomegranate juice for the water.
Use as you would any chutney or relish alongside meat. Or eat by the spoonful straight from the jar when you think no one is looking.
Or, if none of this appeals to you, just make a pot of dhansak.
There's another recipe here: Bawi's Mom's version.
Lamb, smooth goo, spices.
AFTERWORD
All of this is, more or less, pursuant the horror that is pumpkin spice pipe tobacco. Which really exists. Sutliff makes it. And I've smoked it, purely out of curiosity. Just like Very Cherry, Molto Dolce, Seven Seas, some horrid black rope, and "The Funk Of Sheer Evil".
Some of these are really skeevy stuff.
In a league with 79.
I'll say this for the Very Cherry: maybe I would smoke it again.
It's relatively easy, fairly clean, and cool.
But far too sweet.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
SWAMP MONSTERS
A short list of ethically crippled people, incompetent oafs, and zombies.
By no means all of them are syphilitics and child molesters.
Ralph Abraham, Robert Aderholt, Rick Allen, Justin Amash, Mark Amodei, Jodey Arrington, Brian Babin, Don Bacon, Jim Banks, Louis Barletta, Andy Barr, Joe Barton, Jack Bergman, Andy Biggs, Gus Bilirakis, Mike Bishop, Rob Bishop, Diane Black, Marsha Blackburn, Rod Blum, Mike Bost, Kevin Brady, Dave Brat, Jim Bridenstine, Susan Brooks, Mo Brooks, Vern Buchanan, Ken Buck, Larry Bucshon, Ted Budd, Michael Burgess, Bradley Byrne, Ken Calvert, Buddy Carter, John Carter, Steve Chabot, Jason Chaffetz, Liz Cheney, Mike Coffman, Tom Cole, Doug Collins, Chris Collins, James Comer, Barbara Comstock, Michael Conaway, Paul Cook, Ryan Costello, Kevin Cramer, Rick Crawford, John Culberson, Carlos Curbelo, Warren Davidson, Rodney L. Davis, Jeff Denham, Charlie Dent, Ron DeSantis, Scott DesJarlais, Mario Diaz-Balart, Daniel Donovan, Sean Duffy, John Duncan, Jeff Duncan, Neal Dunn, Tom Emmer, Blake Farenthold, John Faso, Drew Ferguson, Brian Fitzpatrick, Chuck Fleischmann, Bill Flores, Jeff Fortenberry, Virginia Foxx, Trent Franks, Rodney Frelinghuysen, Matt Gaetz, Mike Gallagher, Thomas Garrett, Bob Gibbs, Louie Gohmert, Jenniffer González-Colón, Bob Goodlatte, Paul Gosar, Trey Gowdy, Kay Granger, Sam Graves, Tom Graves, Garret Graves, Morgan Griffith, Glenn Grothman, Brett Guthrie, Gregg Harper, Andy Harris, Vicky Hartzler, Jeb Hensarling, Jaime Herrera Beutler, Jody Hice, Clay Higgins, French Hill, George Holding, Trey Hollingsworth, Richard Hudson, Bill Huizenga, Randy Hultgren, Duncan Hunter, Will Hurd, Darrell Issa, Evan Jenkins, Lynn Jenkins, Sam Johnson, Mike Johnson, Bill Johnson, Walter Jones, Jim Jordan, David Joyce, John Katko, Trent Kelly, Mike Kelly, Peter King, Steve King, Adam Kinzinger, Steve Knight, David Kustoff, Raul Labrador, Darin LaHood, Doug LaMalfa, Doug Lamborn, Leonard Lance, Bob Latta, Jason Lewis, Frank LoBiondo, Billy Long, Barry Loudermilk, Mia Love, Frank Lucas, Blaine Luetkemeyer, Tom MacArthur, Kenny Marchant, Tom Marino, Roger Marshall, Thomas Massie, Brian Mast, Kevin McCarthy, Michael McCaul, Tom McClintock, Patrick McHenry, David McKinley, Cathy McMorris Rodgers, Martha McSally, Mark Meadows, Patrick Meehan, Luke Messer, Paul Mitchell, John Moolenaar, Alex Mooney, Markwayne Mullin, Mick Mulvaney, Tim Murphy, Dan Newhouse, Kristi Noem, Devin Nunes, Pete Olson, Steven Palazzo, Gary Palmer, Erik Paulsen, Steve Pearce, Scott Perry, Robert Pittenger, Ted Poe, Bruce Poliquin, Bill Posey, Amata Radewagen, John Ratcliffe, Tom Reed, Dave Reichert, Jim Renacci, Tom Rice, Martha Roby, Phil Roe, Hal Rogers, Mike Rogers, Dana Rohrabacher, Todd Rokita, Francis Rooney, Tom Rooney, Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, Peter Roskam, Dennis Ross, Keith Rothfus, David Rouzer, Ed Royce, Steve Russell, John Rutherford, Paul Ryan, Mark Sanford, Steve Scalise, David Schweikert, Austin Scott, Jim Sensenbrenner, Pete Sessions, John Shimkus, Bill Shuster, Mike Simpson, Jason Smith, Adrian Smith, Christopher Smith, Lamar Smith, Lloyd Smucker, Elise Stefanik, Chris Stewart, Steve Stivers, Scott Taylor, Claudia Tenney, Glenn Thompson, Mac Thornberry, Pat Tiberi, Scott Tipton, Dave Trott, Michael Turner, Fred Upton,David Valadao, Ann Wagner, Tim Walberg, Greg Walden, Mark Walker, Jackie Walorski, Mimi Walters, Randy Weber, Daniel Webster, Brad Wenstrup, Bruce Westerman, Roger Williams, Joe Wilson, Rob Wittman, Steve Womack, Rob Woodall, Kevin Yoder, Ted Yoho, David Young, Donald Young, Lee Zeldin.
Of course it is only a partial list.
There are many more.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
By no means all of them are syphilitics and child molesters.
Ralph Abraham, Robert Aderholt, Rick Allen, Justin Amash, Mark Amodei, Jodey Arrington, Brian Babin, Don Bacon, Jim Banks, Louis Barletta, Andy Barr, Joe Barton, Jack Bergman, Andy Biggs, Gus Bilirakis, Mike Bishop, Rob Bishop, Diane Black, Marsha Blackburn, Rod Blum, Mike Bost, Kevin Brady, Dave Brat, Jim Bridenstine, Susan Brooks, Mo Brooks, Vern Buchanan, Ken Buck, Larry Bucshon, Ted Budd, Michael Burgess, Bradley Byrne, Ken Calvert, Buddy Carter, John Carter, Steve Chabot, Jason Chaffetz, Liz Cheney, Mike Coffman, Tom Cole, Doug Collins, Chris Collins, James Comer, Barbara Comstock, Michael Conaway, Paul Cook, Ryan Costello, Kevin Cramer, Rick Crawford, John Culberson, Carlos Curbelo, Warren Davidson, Rodney L. Davis, Jeff Denham, Charlie Dent, Ron DeSantis, Scott DesJarlais, Mario Diaz-Balart, Daniel Donovan, Sean Duffy, John Duncan, Jeff Duncan, Neal Dunn, Tom Emmer, Blake Farenthold, John Faso, Drew Ferguson, Brian Fitzpatrick, Chuck Fleischmann, Bill Flores, Jeff Fortenberry, Virginia Foxx, Trent Franks, Rodney Frelinghuysen, Matt Gaetz, Mike Gallagher, Thomas Garrett, Bob Gibbs, Louie Gohmert, Jenniffer González-Colón, Bob Goodlatte, Paul Gosar, Trey Gowdy, Kay Granger, Sam Graves, Tom Graves, Garret Graves, Morgan Griffith, Glenn Grothman, Brett Guthrie, Gregg Harper, Andy Harris, Vicky Hartzler, Jeb Hensarling, Jaime Herrera Beutler, Jody Hice, Clay Higgins, French Hill, George Holding, Trey Hollingsworth, Richard Hudson, Bill Huizenga, Randy Hultgren, Duncan Hunter, Will Hurd, Darrell Issa, Evan Jenkins, Lynn Jenkins, Sam Johnson, Mike Johnson, Bill Johnson, Walter Jones, Jim Jordan, David Joyce, John Katko, Trent Kelly, Mike Kelly, Peter King, Steve King, Adam Kinzinger, Steve Knight, David Kustoff, Raul Labrador, Darin LaHood, Doug LaMalfa, Doug Lamborn, Leonard Lance, Bob Latta, Jason Lewis, Frank LoBiondo, Billy Long, Barry Loudermilk, Mia Love, Frank Lucas, Blaine Luetkemeyer, Tom MacArthur, Kenny Marchant, Tom Marino, Roger Marshall, Thomas Massie, Brian Mast, Kevin McCarthy, Michael McCaul, Tom McClintock, Patrick McHenry, David McKinley, Cathy McMorris Rodgers, Martha McSally, Mark Meadows, Patrick Meehan, Luke Messer, Paul Mitchell, John Moolenaar, Alex Mooney, Markwayne Mullin, Mick Mulvaney, Tim Murphy, Dan Newhouse, Kristi Noem, Devin Nunes, Pete Olson, Steven Palazzo, Gary Palmer, Erik Paulsen, Steve Pearce, Scott Perry, Robert Pittenger, Ted Poe, Bruce Poliquin, Bill Posey, Amata Radewagen, John Ratcliffe, Tom Reed, Dave Reichert, Jim Renacci, Tom Rice, Martha Roby, Phil Roe, Hal Rogers, Mike Rogers, Dana Rohrabacher, Todd Rokita, Francis Rooney, Tom Rooney, Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, Peter Roskam, Dennis Ross, Keith Rothfus, David Rouzer, Ed Royce, Steve Russell, John Rutherford, Paul Ryan, Mark Sanford, Steve Scalise, David Schweikert, Austin Scott, Jim Sensenbrenner, Pete Sessions, John Shimkus, Bill Shuster, Mike Simpson, Jason Smith, Adrian Smith, Christopher Smith, Lamar Smith, Lloyd Smucker, Elise Stefanik, Chris Stewart, Steve Stivers, Scott Taylor, Claudia Tenney, Glenn Thompson, Mac Thornberry, Pat Tiberi, Scott Tipton, Dave Trott, Michael Turner, Fred Upton,David Valadao, Ann Wagner, Tim Walberg, Greg Walden, Mark Walker, Jackie Walorski, Mimi Walters, Randy Weber, Daniel Webster, Brad Wenstrup, Bruce Westerman, Roger Williams, Joe Wilson, Rob Wittman, Steve Womack, Rob Woodall, Kevin Yoder, Ted Yoho, David Young, Donald Young, Lee Zeldin.
Of course it is only a partial list.
There are many more.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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