Nearly a fortnight ago a friend in Singapore remarked that there was New Year's music everywhere. Because Chinese New Year is coming up. Well, in Singapore they started early. Here in San Francisco I didn't hear any till a few days ago. Okay then. Tinkly children's voices chanting 'gong-si gong-si gong-si ni' and similar cheerful stuff.
Stockton Street has a number of stalls selling new clothing, flowers, New Year's cake, and various ingredients you will need for Dried Oysters And Black Moss (好事發財 'ho si fat choi') or Vegetarian Feast / Buddha's Delight (羅漢齋 'lo hon choi') and similar good luck dishes.
Of course, all I really care about is lei si.
I'm unmarried, a bachelor.
Single.
Please ignore the fact that I am older than you, with grey in my beard. As an unmarried person, I deserve tonnes of little red envelopes!
I'm also so Caucasian that I glow in the dark.
So a lot of lei si is unlikely.
Still, I wish you and yours a prosperous and happy new year, with good health and sweet things. Here are two festive recipes, the materials for which are available all along Stockton Street.
好事發財 (prosperous affairs and strike it rich)
海參燜豬手 (sea cucumber and pork knuckle)
The Spring Festival (春節 'cheun jit') starts on Friday February 16 this year.
The parade will take place a week later, Saturday February 24.
Just like every year I shall not watch it.
I am not fond of crowds.
新年快樂 'San nin faai lok'.
萬事如意 'Maan si yü yi'.
身體健康 'San tai gin hong'.
五福臨門 'Ng fuk lin mun'.
舉家歡樂 'Geui gaa fun lok'.
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Saturday, February 10, 2018
WHEN THE WEATHER REFLECTS YOUR SOUL
Like many of you I have friends who live in different places, so just for the hell of it I looked up what the weather is like there during the day. Here in San Francisco, of course, everything is hunky dory. At the moment this is the best part of the universe, and most conducive to human comfort.
Please don't move here.
COMPARISON
SF: Balmy mid sixties (63°F). No precipitation. Zephyrs.
New York: Freezing (0°C). Wet.
Chicago: Bloody cold. And wet.
Vancouver, BC: Miserable, but not wet.
Hong Kong: Warmer (66°F) and wetter than SF.
Singapore: Considerably warmer (84°F) than HK, not as wet.
Hamburg: Like Chicago, not as wet by half.
Amsterdam: Warmer than the Germans (36°F). Wetter too.
Antwerp: Meh, nothing to recommend it.
Zurich: Like a'dam, but less rain.
Conway, SC: Very much like SF right now, but wetter.
Fujian: Will be as warm as us in a few days.
Shanghai: Not as warm.
Beijing: Kind of unpleasant.
Florida, where the window frogs are, is a dozen degrees warmer than here.
In Ireland, Reykjavik, Novgorod, and Stavanger, it is absolutely beastly.
No wonder those people are crazy and smell mildewed.
They might as well shift to Glasgow.
The food is better.
You can tell from these results that the Bay Area and the South China Coast are very nice places to be right now. Here in the city we have more bars and coffeeshops per capita than anywhere else. We're drunk, and we read a lot.
Tobacco is severely restricted, but potent strains of marijuana are widely and legally available. Many of us are out of our minds.
And we might be naked.
Bangalore (Karnataka), where Sunny V. C. represents the fraternity, is a lot like Singapore this time of year, but there is some rain, and the authorities are not nearly as stiff-arsed about smoking and spitting.
In Bombay and Poona it is too hot.
And the middle of the day.
Ice cream time.
AFTERWORD FOR TOBACCO MAVENS
As a side note to Joe F., I have finished the sample of Yorktown that you sent me. It was delicious. Whether or not I can get Brian to order it, I will acquire more. The first bowl was unexceptional, but after a little drying it became stellar. For a straight Virginia product it was a wonderful smoke, as a blending component I might experiment by adding up to four or five percent Perique or Firecured. Or both, in different proportions.
I think Adrian in Hong Kong would like it.
As a change from Elizabethan.
It is similar to Virginia Woods.
But much better.
JimInks on Tobacco Reviews hit it right on the head.
So did SteelCowboy.
And like BrittPark wrote, smoke slow.
Which is always good advice.
TOBACCO INDEX
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Please don't move here.
COMPARISON
SF: Balmy mid sixties (63°F). No precipitation. Zephyrs.
New York: Freezing (0°C). Wet.
Chicago: Bloody cold. And wet.
Vancouver, BC: Miserable, but not wet.
Hong Kong: Warmer (66°F) and wetter than SF.
Singapore: Considerably warmer (84°F) than HK, not as wet.
Hamburg: Like Chicago, not as wet by half.
Amsterdam: Warmer than the Germans (36°F). Wetter too.
Antwerp: Meh, nothing to recommend it.
Zurich: Like a'dam, but less rain.
Conway, SC: Very much like SF right now, but wetter.
Fujian: Will be as warm as us in a few days.
Shanghai: Not as warm.
Beijing: Kind of unpleasant.
Florida, where the window frogs are, is a dozen degrees warmer than here.
In Ireland, Reykjavik, Novgorod, and Stavanger, it is absolutely beastly.
No wonder those people are crazy and smell mildewed.
They might as well shift to Glasgow.
The food is better.
You can tell from these results that the Bay Area and the South China Coast are very nice places to be right now. Here in the city we have more bars and coffeeshops per capita than anywhere else. We're drunk, and we read a lot.
Tobacco is severely restricted, but potent strains of marijuana are widely and legally available. Many of us are out of our minds.
And we might be naked.
Bangalore (Karnataka), where Sunny V. C. represents the fraternity, is a lot like Singapore this time of year, but there is some rain, and the authorities are not nearly as stiff-arsed about smoking and spitting.
In Bombay and Poona it is too hot.
And the middle of the day.
Ice cream time.
AFTERWORD FOR TOBACCO MAVENS
As a side note to Joe F., I have finished the sample of Yorktown that you sent me. It was delicious. Whether or not I can get Brian to order it, I will acquire more. The first bowl was unexceptional, but after a little drying it became stellar. For a straight Virginia product it was a wonderful smoke, as a blending component I might experiment by adding up to four or five percent Perique or Firecured. Or both, in different proportions.
I think Adrian in Hong Kong would like it.
As a change from Elizabethan.
It is similar to Virginia Woods.
But much better.
JimInks on Tobacco Reviews hit it right on the head.
So did SteelCowboy.
And like BrittPark wrote, smoke slow.
Which is always good advice.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, February 09, 2018
WHEN I THINK OF HAMBURG ...
We Dutch have a weird streak a mile wide at times, but we are by no means the worst. That honour may fall to the Germans who are positively English in their perversion. As a strong indication thereof, I'll cite from an article in De Telegraaf (Holland's foremost newspaper) about a doctor warning against excessive masturbation.
" ... een man uit Hamburg die een plastic zak over zijn hoofd trok en zichzelf bevredigde voor de kachel. De man werd levenloos aangetroffen met plakjes kaas verspreid over zijn lichaam en een panty over zijn bovenlijf. Voor de rest was hij gekleed in een duikersoutfit en een regenjas."
[Translation: "a man from Hamburg who pulled a plastic bag over his head and "satisfied" himself in front of the gas heater. The man was found lifeless covered with slices of cheese and wearing a pantie on his upper body. For the rest, he was dressed in a diving outfit and a raincoat."]
There are things, many things, that inquisitive minds might want to know after reading this, but I shan't explore them, because just seeing that paragraph above already woke me up enough.
He has come and gone.
We Netherlanders and Dutch-Americans cannot possibly top that.
I don't think any one of us wants to either.
We're happy being dull.
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" ... een man uit Hamburg die een plastic zak over zijn hoofd trok en zichzelf bevredigde voor de kachel. De man werd levenloos aangetroffen met plakjes kaas verspreid over zijn lichaam en een panty over zijn bovenlijf. Voor de rest was hij gekleed in een duikersoutfit en een regenjas."
[Translation: "a man from Hamburg who pulled a plastic bag over his head and "satisfied" himself in front of the gas heater. The man was found lifeless covered with slices of cheese and wearing a pantie on his upper body. For the rest, he was dressed in a diving outfit and a raincoat."]
There are things, many things, that inquisitive minds might want to know after reading this, but I shan't explore them, because just seeing that paragraph above already woke me up enough.
He has come and gone.
We Netherlanders and Dutch-Americans cannot possibly top that.
I don't think any one of us wants to either.
We're happy being dull.
==========================================================================
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Thursday, February 08, 2018
TWENTY YEARS OF PROGRESS
The nineteen seventies were not known for excellence or good taste, and given how gracelessly they segued into the horrors of the Reagan Era, it is good that they are forgotten.
Bell bottoms, hair, and crocodile green.
A lingering patchouli smell.
The end of a war.
The eighties through the nineties gave us 'Grunge', which was both a musical style and a rotten attitude.
Thinking back, it now seems like the best things to come out of the entire Reagan-Bush period were Hong Kong movies, Sriracha hot sauce, and real coffee. Anglo-Americans were no longer Waspifying their food.
And they finally got their beans on.
Also, once we got away from ass-tight blue jeans, there was the renaissance of boxer shorts. Which is altogether a good thing. Neither Ronnie nor George had anything to do with all this, though.
The seventies were in many ways putrid.
As were the eighties and nineties.
Be glad that's over.
==========================================================================
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==========================================================================
Bell bottoms, hair, and crocodile green.
A lingering patchouli smell.
The end of a war.
The eighties through the nineties gave us 'Grunge', which was both a musical style and a rotten attitude.
Thinking back, it now seems like the best things to come out of the entire Reagan-Bush period were Hong Kong movies, Sriracha hot sauce, and real coffee. Anglo-Americans were no longer Waspifying their food.
And they finally got their beans on.
Also, once we got away from ass-tight blue jeans, there was the renaissance of boxer shorts. Which is altogether a good thing. Neither Ronnie nor George had anything to do with all this, though.
The seventies were in many ways putrid.
As were the eighties and nineties.
Be glad that's over.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
ALWAYS LEARNING
Last night I found out what a 'Vodka Aunt' is. It was also the first time I had ever run across the term, and it is surprising to me that that took so long. Because like everyone else I know a number of Vodka Aunts. Not very many of them, but enough that the type is familiar.
In my world, not all of them are male.
Some are drag queens.
I myself represent a similar concept. I am tobacco uncle. Because if a kid is going to experiment with tobacco, it is right and proper that he or she do it correctly, namely in a pipe carefully puffing good stuff -- a proper English mixture (marked by the assertive presence of Latakia) or a VaPer, which is Virginia and Perique, to be savoured slowly and calmly -- in private, and with a sufficiency of pipe cleaners. It's probably best for a teenager to start with a VaPer, because it's a little easier to hide from prudes in the family.
Don't forget the chewing gum, and wash your face before dinner.
Now, stay away from Weed Cousin. He's a bad influence.
And the less you associate with your Christian relatives, the better.
They believe all manner of goofy shiznit.
And they voted for a prick.
Kid, I'll be there to bail you out of jail for punching a nazi.
Nicotine is beneficial to the short term memory and intellectual processes, which is why so many scientists and authors were pipe smokers.
It may have neuroprotective and antioxidant effects.
And enhances cognitive function.
It saved Bertrand William Arthur Russell's life.
And it's better than eating lard.
Out of the can.
==========================================================================
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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
In my world, not all of them are male.
Some are drag queens.
I myself represent a similar concept. I am tobacco uncle. Because if a kid is going to experiment with tobacco, it is right and proper that he or she do it correctly, namely in a pipe carefully puffing good stuff -- a proper English mixture (marked by the assertive presence of Latakia) or a VaPer, which is Virginia and Perique, to be savoured slowly and calmly -- in private, and with a sufficiency of pipe cleaners. It's probably best for a teenager to start with a VaPer, because it's a little easier to hide from prudes in the family.
Don't forget the chewing gum, and wash your face before dinner.
Now, stay away from Weed Cousin. He's a bad influence.
And the less you associate with your Christian relatives, the better.
They believe all manner of goofy shiznit.
And they voted for a prick.
Kid, I'll be there to bail you out of jail for punching a nazi.
Nicotine is beneficial to the short term memory and intellectual processes, which is why so many scientists and authors were pipe smokers.
It may have neuroprotective and antioxidant effects.
And enhances cognitive function.
It saved Bertrand William Arthur Russell's life.
And it's better than eating lard.
Out of the can.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, February 07, 2018
NICE PLACES IN CHINATOWN REVISITED
Four years ago I detailed several places in Chinatown where snacks, pastries, and dim sum items could be found, along with milk tea and nice eaties. Regular readers know that I have been a bachelor now for several years and usually dine out, because I no longer have anyone to eat with or for whom to cook, and that supper surrounded by nobody at all is rather uninspiring.
Unless one has had a few drinks and prepares oneself a late night snack with lots of chilies. Which can be fun, as well as educational.
It's not really social, though.
A while back someone asked if everything on the list was the same. No, it isn't. A number of places have changed hands or closed, like with several other businesses in the neighborhood, some of which had been there for generations. Chinatown is not the same.
The ABC大餐廳 closed nearly a year ago. Blossom Bakery ("Fortune Bakery", 幸福餅家) has changed ownership and slipped downhill, the milk tea is poor. Dick Lee (得利點心) has a for rent sign on the shutters.
[Respectively: 650 Jackson Street, 133 Waverly Place, and 716 Jackson Street.]
iCafe San Francisco appears to have been sold and is now called Tea Bear Cafe (熊茶館). I haven't tried it yet.
[57 Walter U. Lum Place.]
Maggie's Cafe is now affiliated with the restaurant next door, which may have changed hands.
[848 Grant Avenue.]
The New Anna Bakery (安娜閣) has become Sam Wo's new location after a hiatus of a few years since the closing of the old place on Washington.
[715 Clay Street]
New Fortune on Stockton (富祥點心) got sold very recently and serves plate lunches and a selection of noodles, I haven't been there yet.
Their gai bau and pork siu mai were delicious.
[815 Stockton Street.]
I haven't been to Sweet Mart (好好味) since they palmed off a thoroughly miserable beverage as HK milk tea (warm milk and a green tea bag!), and that location may be rented to a new owner soon.
[727 Washington Street.]
Wa Li Bakery and Cafe (華麗餠家) is now Little Swan (小天鵝), and entirely new. Great cakes and pastries in the window.
[1249 Stockton Street.]
. . . . .
I still go the Washington Bakery (華盛頓茶餐廳) for early dinner, and also the AA on Stockton (永興餅家茶餐廳) for truly delicious egg tarts and charsiu turnovers, Yummy Fastfood (金華點心快餐) for the soup and three dishes (三餸一湯), and the New Hollywood (荷里活茶餐廳) for lo po beng (老婆餅) or porkchops.
華盛頓茶餐廳
WASHINGTON BAKERY AND RESTAURANT
733 Washington Street
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-397-3232
舊金山，華盛頓街733號。
永興餅家茶餐廳
AA BAKERY & CAFE
1068 Stockton Street
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-981-0123
舊金山，市德頓街1068號。
金華點心快餐
YUMMY DIM SUM & FAST FOOD
930 Stockton Street
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-308-3819, 415-828-0856, 415-986-2783
舊金山，市德頓街930號。
荷里活茶餐廳
NEW HOLLYWOOD BAKERY & RESTAURANT
652 Pacific Avenue
San Francisco, CA 94133.
415-397-9919
舊金山，柏思域街652號。
Yummy Bakery (人仁西餅麵包) on Jackson is still thriving, good for a quick teatime snack.
人仁西餅麵包
YUMMY BAKERY
607 Jackson Street
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-989-8388
舊金山，昃臣街607號。
The Utopia Cafe (蔘滿意粥) at 139 Waverly Place, which wasn't on that list, had excellent jook and the best yautiu. They also specialized in claypot dishes, which were very good indeed. But they are now called something else in Chinese (牛麵王), appear to be new people entirely, and the present focus is on beef noodle soup.
Across the street The Boiling Shrimp is a very nice place.
Chachanteng style, but with a smaller menu.
I thoroughly enjoy going there.
浩味茶餐廳
THE BOILING SHRIMP
150 Waverly Place
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-658-7168
舊金山，天后廟街150號。
There are four places I have not been to in a few years. Not because they've changed or gone downhill, but purely because I myself am a bit peculiar about certain things. At one of them the waitress, a very nice woman, seemed to be interested in me, and at another restaurant wanted to set me up with her friend. Now, while I speak Cantonese sort of well, I do not think in that language, and I really doubt that I would be ideal for someone who did. Especially if they could not do so in English. There would be too many expectational differences, and as a presentable white dude I am deceptive; what you think you see is not entirely what you get.
That right there is a flaw in the ointment.
At a third restaurant, the attractive young lady who worked there all the way through school has left. First they had an uncle replace her, then some country cousin. It just wasn't the same.
At the fourth place I just stopped going for a while, and that became a habit. But their food never ceased being wonderful, and they will be a great place to start going back to eventually. Perhaps with someone.
Just like the third one I mentioned.
And maybe the first two.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Unless one has had a few drinks and prepares oneself a late night snack with lots of chilies. Which can be fun, as well as educational.
It's not really social, though.
A while back someone asked if everything on the list was the same. No, it isn't. A number of places have changed hands or closed, like with several other businesses in the neighborhood, some of which had been there for generations. Chinatown is not the same.
The ABC大餐廳 closed nearly a year ago. Blossom Bakery ("Fortune Bakery", 幸福餅家) has changed ownership and slipped downhill, the milk tea is poor. Dick Lee (得利點心) has a for rent sign on the shutters.
[Respectively: 650 Jackson Street, 133 Waverly Place, and 716 Jackson Street.]
iCafe San Francisco appears to have been sold and is now called Tea Bear Cafe (熊茶館). I haven't tried it yet.
[57 Walter U. Lum Place.]
Maggie's Cafe is now affiliated with the restaurant next door, which may have changed hands.
[848 Grant Avenue.]
The New Anna Bakery (安娜閣) has become Sam Wo's new location after a hiatus of a few years since the closing of the old place on Washington.
[715 Clay Street]
New Fortune on Stockton (富祥點心) got sold very recently and serves plate lunches and a selection of noodles, I haven't been there yet.
Their gai bau and pork siu mai were delicious.
[815 Stockton Street.]
I haven't been to Sweet Mart (好好味) since they palmed off a thoroughly miserable beverage as HK milk tea (warm milk and a green tea bag!), and that location may be rented to a new owner soon.
[727 Washington Street.]
Wa Li Bakery and Cafe (華麗餠家) is now Little Swan (小天鵝), and entirely new. Great cakes and pastries in the window.
[1249 Stockton Street.]
. . . . .
I still go the Washington Bakery (華盛頓茶餐廳) for early dinner, and also the AA on Stockton (永興餅家茶餐廳) for truly delicious egg tarts and charsiu turnovers, Yummy Fastfood (金華點心快餐) for the soup and three dishes (三餸一湯), and the New Hollywood (荷里活茶餐廳) for lo po beng (老婆餅) or porkchops.
華盛頓茶餐廳
WASHINGTON BAKERY AND RESTAURANT
733 Washington Street
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-397-3232
舊金山，華盛頓街733號。
永興餅家茶餐廳
AA BAKERY & CAFE
1068 Stockton Street
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-981-0123
舊金山，市德頓街1068號。
金華點心快餐
YUMMY DIM SUM & FAST FOOD
930 Stockton Street
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-308-3819, 415-828-0856, 415-986-2783
舊金山，市德頓街930號。
荷里活茶餐廳
NEW HOLLYWOOD BAKERY & RESTAURANT
652 Pacific Avenue
San Francisco, CA 94133.
415-397-9919
舊金山，柏思域街652號。
Yummy Bakery (人仁西餅麵包) on Jackson is still thriving, good for a quick teatime snack.
人仁西餅麵包
YUMMY BAKERY
607 Jackson Street
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-989-8388
舊金山，昃臣街607號。
The Utopia Cafe (蔘滿意粥) at 139 Waverly Place, which wasn't on that list, had excellent jook and the best yautiu. They also specialized in claypot dishes, which were very good indeed. But they are now called something else in Chinese (牛麵王), appear to be new people entirely, and the present focus is on beef noodle soup.
Across the street The Boiling Shrimp is a very nice place.
Chachanteng style, but with a smaller menu.
I thoroughly enjoy going there.
浩味茶餐廳
THE BOILING SHRIMP
150 Waverly Place
San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-658-7168
舊金山，天后廟街150號。
There are four places I have not been to in a few years. Not because they've changed or gone downhill, but purely because I myself am a bit peculiar about certain things. At one of them the waitress, a very nice woman, seemed to be interested in me, and at another restaurant wanted to set me up with her friend. Now, while I speak Cantonese sort of well, I do not think in that language, and I really doubt that I would be ideal for someone who did. Especially if they could not do so in English. There would be too many expectational differences, and as a presentable white dude I am deceptive; what you think you see is not entirely what you get.
That right there is a flaw in the ointment.
At a third restaurant, the attractive young lady who worked there all the way through school has left. First they had an uncle replace her, then some country cousin. It just wasn't the same.
At the fourth place I just stopped going for a while, and that became a habit. But their food never ceased being wonderful, and they will be a great place to start going back to eventually. Perhaps with someone.
Just like the third one I mentioned.
And maybe the first two.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
A STREET WITH SCATTERED GINGKO LEAVES
Getting older is an adventure in discovering new peculiarities about myself of which I was not previously aware. Now, cynical friends (enemies) would say that there is enough material there to fill a library, and I should have started that journey years ago. Honestly, dude, it's long overdue.
To which, naturally, I would respond that they smell bad.
I am surprised they were ignorant of this.
No self-knowledge, evidently.
And complacent.
Looking at the tray of briar pipes near my chair I realized a fair number of them are in my mind associated with times and places, almost as if they have assumed a souvenirness, a mnemonic clarity. One pipe is Tuesday and Friday, sunny days only. The Hardcastle standee reminds me of grilled pork and iced Vietnamese coffee (and wet wintry weather), yet another of late summer evenings. There is Broadway in September and October, with a Perique mixture and bright sunlight.
Some pipes suggest an engineer or architect in the fifties and sixties, before the hippie revolution. Also pipes that are more seventies, but not the time with wide lapels and ugly colours. These pipes had previous owners.
Whom I know only by their passing.
And there are three briars that automatically bring up the intersection of a favourite alley and a street with ginkgo trees. Two of them are Chinatown during dark winter months, but not particularly cold or wet. A pastry at teatime, then a walk over the fallen yellow leaves outside the housing project, or past brick walls and the MaTsu temple towards Jackson.
The third is a reminder to have porkchops for lunch.
Which I think I will do. That restaurant near the alleyway closes in early afternoon, and the staff get a little antsy if you come after two.
So I will leave the house shortly after twelve PM.
But I will not bring that pipe with me.
Instead, GLP's Laurel Heights, after lunch, in a Peterson bent bulldog. Then after teatime, Stonehenge Flake in the black sandblast Peterson I bought in Woensel the last time I visited my father before his death, or the Dunhill sandblast which is permanently associated with insta-noodles.
I'll be lurking further up, near more ginkgo trees.
The afternoon sunlight is perfect there.
February, shirtsleeve weather.
Definitely not normal.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
To which, naturally, I would respond that they smell bad.
I am surprised they were ignorant of this.
No self-knowledge, evidently.
And complacent.
Looking at the tray of briar pipes near my chair I realized a fair number of them are in my mind associated with times and places, almost as if they have assumed a souvenirness, a mnemonic clarity. One pipe is Tuesday and Friday, sunny days only. The Hardcastle standee reminds me of grilled pork and iced Vietnamese coffee (and wet wintry weather), yet another of late summer evenings. There is Broadway in September and October, with a Perique mixture and bright sunlight.
Some pipes suggest an engineer or architect in the fifties and sixties, before the hippie revolution. Also pipes that are more seventies, but not the time with wide lapels and ugly colours. These pipes had previous owners.
Whom I know only by their passing.
And there are three briars that automatically bring up the intersection of a favourite alley and a street with ginkgo trees. Two of them are Chinatown during dark winter months, but not particularly cold or wet. A pastry at teatime, then a walk over the fallen yellow leaves outside the housing project, or past brick walls and the MaTsu temple towards Jackson.
The third is a reminder to have porkchops for lunch.
Which I think I will do. That restaurant near the alleyway closes in early afternoon, and the staff get a little antsy if you come after two.
So I will leave the house shortly after twelve PM.
But I will not bring that pipe with me.
Instead, GLP's Laurel Heights, after lunch, in a Peterson bent bulldog. Then after teatime, Stonehenge Flake in the black sandblast Peterson I bought in Woensel the last time I visited my father before his death, or the Dunhill sandblast which is permanently associated with insta-noodles.
I'll be lurking further up, near more ginkgo trees.
The afternoon sunlight is perfect there.
February, shirtsleeve weather.
Definitely not normal.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
DO NOT TOUCH HER TEA CAKE!
Some dingbat in the advertising Standards Authority doesn't want me to enjoy my tea cakes, and that irritates me no end. Especially as until moments ago I didn't even know that I liked tea cakes.
Specifically, Tunnock's Tea Cakes.
I had to visit the internet to find out what they are.
"Soft marshmallow on a biscuit base fully coated in real milk chocolate."
That sounds pretty good.
What roused the ire of the Advertising Standards Authority was this ad:
It gave me an appreciation for tennis I never had before.
Per Wikipedia: "A teacake in England is a light yeast-based sweet bun containing dried fruit, typically served toasted and buttered. In the U.S. teacakes can be cookies or small cakes. In Sweden they are soft round flat wheat breads made with milk and a little sugar, and used to make sandwiches, with butter, and for example ham and/or cheese. In India and Australia a teacake is more like a sponge cake. Tea refers to the popular beverage to which these baked goods are an accompaniment."
And: "The Tunnock's Teacake, made in Scotland but popular throughout the UK, is a chocolate-coated marshmallow with a round biscuit base. The dome comprises Italian meringue, a whipped egg white concoction similar to marshmallow, encased in chocolate."
There's an entire world out there I did not know existed.
Normally, I associate teatime with either a wife biscuit (老婆餅 'lou po beng') or a very similar red bean confection (豆沙餅 'dau saa beng'), even a preserved egg flaky (two types: 皮蛋酥 'pei daan sou', 鹹蛋酥 'haam daan sou'). And a multitude of other scrumptious things from C'town bakeries.
In England of course hot scones with clotted cream and preserves, such as is not uncommon in Devon or Cornwall. Perhaps Dundee Cake.
The Tunnock-style item probably became better known or more widely distributed long after I returned to the United States.
I'll check at the English import shop.
They may have it.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Specifically, Tunnock's Tea Cakes.
I had to visit the internet to find out what they are.
"Soft marshmallow on a biscuit base fully coated in real milk chocolate."
That sounds pretty good.
What roused the ire of the Advertising Standards Authority was this ad:
It gave me an appreciation for tennis I never had before.
Per Wikipedia: "A teacake in England is a light yeast-based sweet bun containing dried fruit, typically served toasted and buttered. In the U.S. teacakes can be cookies or small cakes. In Sweden they are soft round flat wheat breads made with milk and a little sugar, and used to make sandwiches, with butter, and for example ham and/or cheese. In India and Australia a teacake is more like a sponge cake. Tea refers to the popular beverage to which these baked goods are an accompaniment."
And: "The Tunnock's Teacake, made in Scotland but popular throughout the UK, is a chocolate-coated marshmallow with a round biscuit base. The dome comprises Italian meringue, a whipped egg white concoction similar to marshmallow, encased in chocolate."
There's an entire world out there I did not know existed.
Normally, I associate teatime with either a wife biscuit (老婆餅 'lou po beng') or a very similar red bean confection (豆沙餅 'dau saa beng'), even a preserved egg flaky (two types: 皮蛋酥 'pei daan sou', 鹹蛋酥 'haam daan sou'). And a multitude of other scrumptious things from C'town bakeries.
In England of course hot scones with clotted cream and preserves, such as is not uncommon in Devon or Cornwall. Perhaps Dundee Cake.
The Tunnock-style item probably became better known or more widely distributed long after I returned to the United States.
I'll check at the English import shop.
They may have it.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, February 06, 2018
MY UNMENTIONABLE SUCCESSES
Haircut: My barber often talks crap with the customers, but he always tries to make sure they know that the middle-aged white dude waiting his turn on the couch speaks Cantonese. Just so that they're forewarned.
Because Cantonese-speaking white dudes listen in.
We're kind of sneaky that way.
Apparently I have success chasing girls by being able to speak Cantonese (hoo-hah!), get the best food in restaurants (sometimes true), have a lot of money (that's a laugh), and am desperate for the kind of attention that the woman getting her hair dyed red can give (no).
A long wait -- three people having their hair dyed or waved, one guy with a variation on the military cut -- but a very quick snip. I look clean now.
Which is precisely right for New Years, coming up in ten days.
過年，啊，好忙！
Perhaps I should have come earlier. Still, when I left more than two hours later, there were four more people waiting, including a pissed-off gentleman and his smiling wife (she didn't need a haircut, he did), and a number of phone-callers had been informed that he couldn't do them today.
Everybody is getting their hair cut for new year!
Well, being white, that means a little less to me than most normal people.
But I knew it would be a battle, so I got out of the house before noon.
After my haircut I had lunch.
Then a smoke. Then did some vegetable shopping, had a cup of milk tea and a wife biscuit, and had another smoke. Home, and coffee.
I'm feeling a slight urge to have yet one more smoke.
And my head is itchy, I must scratch.
But which pipe shall I chose?
Maybe a squat bulldog.
Or a Peterson.
AFTER WORDS: OPERATIONAL VOCABULARY
髮廊 ('faat long'): Hair salon.
理髮師 ('faat long si'): Barber.
理髮 ('lei faat'): Haircut.
追女仔 ('jeui neui chai'): Chasing girls.
奶茶 ('naai chaa'): Milk tea.
老婆餅 ('lou po beng'): Wife biscuit.
煙斗 ('yin tau'): Pipe (for tobacco).
煙草，煙絲 ('yin tsou', 'yin si'): Tobacco (for the pipe). The first term is more common than the second.
白歐石楠 ('paak au sek naam'): Erica arborea; briar, out of which smoking pipes are made.
There are no easy equivalents for the terms 'squat bulldog' or 'Peterson'.
The first is a pipe shape, the second a well-known pipe brand from Ireland, and unless otherwise specified a full bent system standard is usually meant, with a military mount and a nickel ferrule. And I shan't even try to find out how to explain that in Cantonese, though it certainly can be done.
𢯎痕 ('aau han'): scratch an itch.
痕癢 ('han yueng'): suffer an itch.
This is what "chasing girls" might look like.
I doubt that it would work.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Because Cantonese-speaking white dudes listen in.
We're kind of sneaky that way.
Apparently I have success chasing girls by being able to speak Cantonese (hoo-hah!), get the best food in restaurants (sometimes true), have a lot of money (that's a laugh), and am desperate for the kind of attention that the woman getting her hair dyed red can give (no).
A long wait -- three people having their hair dyed or waved, one guy with a variation on the military cut -- but a very quick snip. I look clean now.
Which is precisely right for New Years, coming up in ten days.
過年，啊，好忙！
Perhaps I should have come earlier. Still, when I left more than two hours later, there were four more people waiting, including a pissed-off gentleman and his smiling wife (she didn't need a haircut, he did), and a number of phone-callers had been informed that he couldn't do them today.
Everybody is getting their hair cut for new year!
Well, being white, that means a little less to me than most normal people.
But I knew it would be a battle, so I got out of the house before noon.
After my haircut I had lunch.
Then a smoke. Then did some vegetable shopping, had a cup of milk tea and a wife biscuit, and had another smoke. Home, and coffee.
I'm feeling a slight urge to have yet one more smoke.
And my head is itchy, I must scratch.
But which pipe shall I chose?
Maybe a squat bulldog.
Or a Peterson.
AFTER WORDS: OPERATIONAL VOCABULARY
髮廊 ('faat long'): Hair salon.
理髮師 ('faat long si'): Barber.
理髮 ('lei faat'): Haircut.
追女仔 ('jeui neui chai'): Chasing girls.
奶茶 ('naai chaa'): Milk tea.
老婆餅 ('lou po beng'): Wife biscuit.
煙斗 ('yin tau'): Pipe (for tobacco).
煙草，煙絲 ('yin tsou', 'yin si'): Tobacco (for the pipe). The first term is more common than the second.
白歐石楠 ('paak au sek naam'): Erica arborea; briar, out of which smoking pipes are made.
There are no easy equivalents for the terms 'squat bulldog' or 'Peterson'.
The first is a pipe shape, the second a well-known pipe brand from Ireland, and unless otherwise specified a full bent system standard is usually meant, with a military mount and a nickel ferrule. And I shan't even try to find out how to explain that in Cantonese, though it certainly can be done.
𢯎痕 ('aau han'): scratch an itch.
痕癢 ('han yueng'): suffer an itch.
This is what "chasing girls" might look like.
I doubt that it would work.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
BANANAS ARE THE WHITEST FRUIT
One really must sympathize with the Ecuadorian Embassy staff in London, because it looks like they will be stuck living with an unwashed Australian rapist for the rest of their lives. He grows increasingly irascible, and probably spends his days playing Candy Crush.
Or cruising anime porn.
變態的人。
It must pall.
Poor blighters.
I encourage everyone to mail them cans of SpaghettiOs for his sandwiches.
Home cooking might humanize him.
Embajada del Ecuador en Reino Unido
Flat 3b, 3 Hans Crescent, Knightsbridge,
London SW1X 0L
Great Britain.
[Para la atención del personal de cocina (quienes sufren mucho).]
In other news, I have realized that there are many parts of The United States that I do not wish to visit. What ties them all together is their diet.
I will not go anywhere that does not have easily accessed restaurants with a bottle of Sriracha or a jar of sambal oelek on the premises, although I will make an exception for Boro Park and Hungarian Kosher Cuisine, for the best kosher flaishigge sushi. Every permutation of pastrami, crunchy onion, sweet patata, chicken, and mango possible. It's "absolutely delicious".
Including the (cooked) turkey and sauteed onion roll.
I'll bring my own hot chili condiments.
And oyster sauce.
I am not entirely sure that yams are edible.
Maybe add a can of SpaghettiOs.
Or oyster sauce.
Chilies.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Or cruising anime porn.
變態的人。
It must pall.
Poor blighters.
I encourage everyone to mail them cans of SpaghettiOs for his sandwiches.
Home cooking might humanize him.
Embajada del Ecuador en Reino Unido
Flat 3b, 3 Hans Crescent, Knightsbridge,
London SW1X 0L
Great Britain.
[Para la atención del personal de cocina (quienes sufren mucho).]
In other news, I have realized that there are many parts of The United States that I do not wish to visit. What ties them all together is their diet.
I will not go anywhere that does not have easily accessed restaurants with a bottle of Sriracha or a jar of sambal oelek on the premises, although I will make an exception for Boro Park and Hungarian Kosher Cuisine, for the best kosher flaishigge sushi. Every permutation of pastrami, crunchy onion, sweet patata, chicken, and mango possible. It's "absolutely delicious".
Including the (cooked) turkey and sauteed onion roll.
I'll bring my own hot chili condiments.
And oyster sauce.
I am not entirely sure that yams are edible.
Maybe add a can of SpaghettiOs.
Or oyster sauce.
Chilies.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, February 05, 2018
IT'S TOASTY
Late at night a homeless person laboriously shleps his barang up the street from Polk, dawdles a bit at the bus stop, then in a doorway one over, before trudging past. We exchange polite good evenings, he proceeds further on and further up, I return to thoughtfulness half awake in the portico of my apartment building with my pipe. Perforce I must smoke outside (for the better part of the bowl), because my housemate is upstairs asleep in her room with the Teddy Bear and the Giant Penguin, and would be aghast at the idea of tobacco fumes sneaking in and stinking them up.
I am conscientious, up to a point.
Near the end of the bowl I come back in, and do some dishes, in the kitchen next to the open window. This is not the same window that the Malaysian shrimp pickle erupted out from several years ago, when the bookseller and myself wished to sample it after our usual late night jaunt.
When I uncorked it, it spewed.
We never tasted it. And I haven't bought another bottle.
Tonight's dinner was also Malay. Sort of. Dutch Indonesian. Nasi goreng, which is fried rice with sweet soy sauce, dried salty fish, grilled meat, vegetable, a fried egg (mata sapi) on top, and various spices.
A large quantity of plain chili paste (sambal ulek).
And a dozen dark-fried birdseye chilies.
That last item is not really standard, though highly recommended, primarily for the flavour they give to the oil. And you might come a cropper next morning if you consume them. The heat is ... "much".
Eh, I'll eat a few. Sangat sedap.
A last and final cup of strong coffee before bed.
I am tempted to smoke another pipe.
But I am too tired.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I am conscientious, up to a point.
Near the end of the bowl I come back in, and do some dishes, in the kitchen next to the open window. This is not the same window that the Malaysian shrimp pickle erupted out from several years ago, when the bookseller and myself wished to sample it after our usual late night jaunt.
When I uncorked it, it spewed.
We never tasted it. And I haven't bought another bottle.
Tonight's dinner was also Malay. Sort of. Dutch Indonesian. Nasi goreng, which is fried rice with sweet soy sauce, dried salty fish, grilled meat, vegetable, a fried egg (mata sapi) on top, and various spices.
A large quantity of plain chili paste (sambal ulek).
And a dozen dark-fried birdseye chilies.
That last item is not really standard, though highly recommended, primarily for the flavour they give to the oil. And you might come a cropper next morning if you consume them. The heat is ... "much".
Eh, I'll eat a few. Sangat sedap.
A last and final cup of strong coffee before bed.
I am tempted to smoke another pipe.
But I am too tired.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
MAKING THE SWITCH
Somewhere a wild animal is grinning to himself. Because despite the monkeys watching teevee in the lounge yesterday, with their snotty attitude and utter disregard for any other creatures, despite their flinging poo while snarfing bananas, despite their being utter blisters AND supporting the wrong team, yesterday was an all-right kind of day.
No, Mr. Badger did not watch the game. I'll just imagine that it was fabulous and a cliffhanger like all previous games of its kind.
Yesterday upon returning home Mr. Badger fixed himself lunch, and cracked open a tin of truly excellent tobacco, the smell of which, fecund and complex, spoke of forest glades, slanting sunlight, sunny days, the herbs of spring and the hues of autumn, temperate weather, and the finer moments in life, such as for instance after tea time when twilight starts.
Great smokes, honeybun!
Followed by a jaunt to the karaoke bar later to dawdle in the downstairs portico, long after dark, enjoying another bowlful.
Instead of tea, I made coffee. Because I didn't want to go over to Chinatown for a cup of gong sik naai cha (港式奶茶) as I would on a day of leisure.
Such as Tuesday, Wednesday, or Friday. It felt too late for that.
Though it was still light.
STONEHENGE FLAKE
By GLP
Haven't smoked this product in a few months, as I've been having tonnes of fun with both Montgomery, and Laurel Heights (which has more red Virginia, and is more subtle), as well as revisiting two of my own blends.
Also Telegraph Hill, but there was only one tin.
Same with Fillmore.
Mr. Badger irritatingly switches back and forth between first person singular and third person fictional with the greatest of ease.
Facilitated by good tobacco.
Started the day with Laurel Heights, which was also the last pipe while at work. Three hours later lighted up the first bowl of Stonehenge. Sheerly wonderful. Last smoke of the day was also that flake.
[FILLMORE: A well-made broken Flake. LAUREL HEIGHTS: Virginias with a discreet hint of Latakia. A complex mixture which is very nice after the first bowl or two. It is rather subtle.
LOMBARD: Virginias with a light addition of Latakia and Perique. An old-fashioned blend. MONTGOMERY: Top shelf! Virginias, and a touch of firecured. TELEGRAPH HILL: Virginia and Perique. Complex, but not assertive. A jolly good smoke.]
[Yeah, I think I'll start avoiding the karaoke bar. I realize that by their hip standards I'm just the old fart who hangs around, and not quite worth treating like an equal. And I resent being asked to klink glasses when you gave every one else a shot to klink with. Twice. And even three or four times, for your "friends". Next to me on both sides. 屌你嘅。]
Three cups of coffee between leaving work and bed time.
And twirling, twirling, twirling!
Today should be good.
Stonehenge.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
No, Mr. Badger did not watch the game. I'll just imagine that it was fabulous and a cliffhanger like all previous games of its kind.
Yesterday upon returning home Mr. Badger fixed himself lunch, and cracked open a tin of truly excellent tobacco, the smell of which, fecund and complex, spoke of forest glades, slanting sunlight, sunny days, the herbs of spring and the hues of autumn, temperate weather, and the finer moments in life, such as for instance after tea time when twilight starts.
Great smokes, honeybun!
Followed by a jaunt to the karaoke bar later to dawdle in the downstairs portico, long after dark, enjoying another bowlful.
Instead of tea, I made coffee. Because I didn't want to go over to Chinatown for a cup of gong sik naai cha (港式奶茶) as I would on a day of leisure.
Such as Tuesday, Wednesday, or Friday. It felt too late for that.
Though it was still light.
STONEHENGE FLAKE
By GLP
Haven't smoked this product in a few months, as I've been having tonnes of fun with both Montgomery, and Laurel Heights (which has more red Virginia, and is more subtle), as well as revisiting two of my own blends.
Also Telegraph Hill, but there was only one tin.
Same with Fillmore.
Mr. Badger irritatingly switches back and forth between first person singular and third person fictional with the greatest of ease.
Facilitated by good tobacco.
Started the day with Laurel Heights, which was also the last pipe while at work. Three hours later lighted up the first bowl of Stonehenge. Sheerly wonderful. Last smoke of the day was also that flake.
[FILLMORE: A well-made broken Flake. LAUREL HEIGHTS: Virginias with a discreet hint of Latakia. A complex mixture which is very nice after the first bowl or two. It is rather subtle.
LOMBARD: Virginias with a light addition of Latakia and Perique. An old-fashioned blend. MONTGOMERY: Top shelf! Virginias, and a touch of firecured. TELEGRAPH HILL: Virginia and Perique. Complex, but not assertive. A jolly good smoke.]
[Yeah, I think I'll start avoiding the karaoke bar. I realize that by their hip standards I'm just the old fart who hangs around, and not quite worth treating like an equal. And I resent being asked to klink glasses when you gave every one else a shot to klink with. Twice. And even three or four times, for your "friends". Next to me on both sides. 屌你嘅。]
Three cups of coffee between leaving work and bed time.
And twirling, twirling, twirling!
Today should be good.
Stonehenge.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, February 04, 2018
ROOTING FOR THE PATRIOTS
There were six of them feasting in the lounge when I left, and a seventh was just pulling into the driveway. Because I am not socially acceptable enough to invite, and anti-social besides, I didn't stick around to watch the game.
I wouldn't have stayed anyhow, seeing as I effing hate sports.
Got home to the city in record time and fixed myself lunch. Thank heavens for bacon and Chinese moms. A pig grew the first, and the dumplings had been handmade by the maternal element at one of the Stockton Street businesses. Together with a tasty rice pilaf that included chilies and stalky mustard, it was a better meal, and in better company, than what those boys had in the lounge while cheering for the wrong team.
They do this every year. And every year they try to make sure that no one else gets to use the lounge during the Superbowl, because it's theirs, dammit, and they will snap at interlopers.
Which is what I would be, if I tried to associate with them.
It would uptinkle their fragile applecarts.
My presence offends.
Good.
It's probably because being Dutch (Dutch American), I am not diplomatic enough to acknowledge their status and utter stupendousness. Please see this rather badly written article from the BBC for an explanation of that, and though the premise is not quite accurate, you will understand why people like me are disquieting for fragile suburban egos.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I wouldn't have stayed anyhow, seeing as I effing hate sports.
Got home to the city in record time and fixed myself lunch. Thank heavens for bacon and Chinese moms. A pig grew the first, and the dumplings had been handmade by the maternal element at one of the Stockton Street businesses. Together with a tasty rice pilaf that included chilies and stalky mustard, it was a better meal, and in better company, than what those boys had in the lounge while cheering for the wrong team.
They do this every year. And every year they try to make sure that no one else gets to use the lounge during the Superbowl, because it's theirs, dammit, and they will snap at interlopers.
Which is what I would be, if I tried to associate with them.
It would uptinkle their fragile applecarts.
My presence offends.
Good.
It's probably because being Dutch (Dutch American), I am not diplomatic enough to acknowledge their status and utter stupendousness. Please see this rather badly written article from the BBC for an explanation of that, and though the premise is not quite accurate, you will understand why people like me are disquieting for fragile suburban egos.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
PUTIN'S INTERESTS; GUEST POST BY JOHN MCCAIN
Sometimes one should take a backseat, and let another person express what one thinks, especially when they express it far better.
John McCain is a better man than I.
More 'diplomatic'.
Feb 02 2018
STATEMENT BY SASC CHAIRMAN JOHN McCAIN ON PARTISAN ATTACKS ON THE FBI & DOJ
Washington, D.C. – U.S. Senator John McCain (R-AZ), Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, released the following statement on partisan attacks on the FBI and Department of Justice:
“In 2016, the Russian government engaged in an elaborate plot to interfere in an American election and undermine our democracy. Russia employed the same tactics it has used to influence elections around the world, from France and Germany to Ukraine, Montenegro, and beyond. Putin’s regime launched cyberattacks and spread disinformation with the goal of sowing chaos and weakening faith in our institutions. And while we have no evidence that these efforts affected the outcome of our election, I fear they succeeded in fueling political discord and dividing us from one another.
“The latest attacks on the FBI and Department of Justice serve no American interests – no party’s, no president’s, only Putin’s. The American people deserve to know all of the facts surrounding Russia’s ongoing efforts to subvert our democracy, which is why Special Counsel Mueller’s investigation must proceed unimpeded. Our nation’s elected officials, including the president, must stop looking at this investigation through the warped lens of politics and manufacturing partisan sideshows. If we continue to undermine our own rule of law, we are doing Putin’s job for him.”
Permalink:
https://www.mccain.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/2018/2/statement-by-sasc-chairman-john-mccain-on-partisan-attacks-on-the-fbi-doj
And:
https://www.mccain.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/press-releases?ID=12E0BD0A-B549-43ED-B42E-594EDBE182C1
Again, he's far more diplomatic than I could be.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
John McCain is a better man than I.
More 'diplomatic'.
Feb 02 2018
STATEMENT BY SASC CHAIRMAN JOHN McCAIN ON PARTISAN ATTACKS ON THE FBI & DOJ
Washington, D.C. – U.S. Senator John McCain (R-AZ), Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, released the following statement on partisan attacks on the FBI and Department of Justice:
“In 2016, the Russian government engaged in an elaborate plot to interfere in an American election and undermine our democracy. Russia employed the same tactics it has used to influence elections around the world, from France and Germany to Ukraine, Montenegro, and beyond. Putin’s regime launched cyberattacks and spread disinformation with the goal of sowing chaos and weakening faith in our institutions. And while we have no evidence that these efforts affected the outcome of our election, I fear they succeeded in fueling political discord and dividing us from one another.
“The latest attacks on the FBI and Department of Justice serve no American interests – no party’s, no president’s, only Putin’s. The American people deserve to know all of the facts surrounding Russia’s ongoing efforts to subvert our democracy, which is why Special Counsel Mueller’s investigation must proceed unimpeded. Our nation’s elected officials, including the president, must stop looking at this investigation through the warped lens of politics and manufacturing partisan sideshows. If we continue to undermine our own rule of law, we are doing Putin’s job for him.”
Permalink:
https://www.mccain.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/2018/2/statement-by-sasc-chairman-john-mccain-on-partisan-attacks-on-the-fbi-doj
And:
https://www.mccain.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/press-releases?ID=12E0BD0A-B549-43ED-B42E-594EDBE182C1
Again, he's far more diplomatic than I could be.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, February 03, 2018
IT'S A BIRD, OR A PLANE! SOMETHING!
Just what every hospital needs; a bionic orderly. Today Little White Nipple Dude visited us again, and told a long convoluted tale about when he was in the medical field, before he reverted to his other science, that being physics. Which allowed him to use the giant blowers in the laboratory to remove all traces of smoke after he had enjoyed a cigar. Which was a Havana.
[Little White Nipple Dude = L.W.N.D.]
He has a rich inner life. That he insists on sharing.
Sometimes I am a remarkably patient man.
Damned near saintly.
A few weeks before he nearly killed someone who threatened him, with a wet lighter. The cotton had not absorbed any water from the lake.
In addition to being a surgeon and physicist, he is also an engineer, an astronaut, and a jet-fighter pilot. And a race car driver. As well as an expert on Cuban tobacco. Which is, of course, why the dear man doesn't know beans about other products.
BALMORAL AÑEJO 18
Medium full-bodied, smooth, spicy. It is exceptionally well made. Brazilian and Nicaraguan leaf. The reason for the name is the age of the wrapper (18-year-old sun-grown Brazilian Arapiraca). From the Agio (Wintermans) factory in San Pedro de Macoris, Dominican Republic. Distributed by Drew Estate.
I only mention this to show that there are other things in life besides Cuban cigars and Little White Nipples. Admittedly, Little White Nipples are VERY important -- one really cannot refill one's Dunhill lighter without the cunning adapter colloquially know as 'Little White Nipple' -- and Cubanos are a fit subject for extensive distiquisition, but good lord, man.
That dull droning voice of yours!
Good lord.
The Balmoral Añejo 18 is a very fine cigar.
Little White Nipples are a minor(!) thing.
Unless you have little white bosoms.
If you do, don't prove it to us.
Keep them private.
Last anybody heard, L.W.N.D. was an orderly at a hospital.
Can't light up his Cubans on the premises.
No giant blowers.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
[Little White Nipple Dude = L.W.N.D.]
He has a rich inner life. That he insists on sharing.
Sometimes I am a remarkably patient man.
Damned near saintly.
A few weeks before he nearly killed someone who threatened him, with a wet lighter. The cotton had not absorbed any water from the lake.
In addition to being a surgeon and physicist, he is also an engineer, an astronaut, and a jet-fighter pilot. And a race car driver. As well as an expert on Cuban tobacco. Which is, of course, why the dear man doesn't know beans about other products.
BALMORAL AÑEJO 18
Medium full-bodied, smooth, spicy. It is exceptionally well made. Brazilian and Nicaraguan leaf. The reason for the name is the age of the wrapper (18-year-old sun-grown Brazilian Arapiraca). From the Agio (Wintermans) factory in San Pedro de Macoris, Dominican Republic. Distributed by Drew Estate.
I only mention this to show that there are other things in life besides Cuban cigars and Little White Nipples. Admittedly, Little White Nipples are VERY important -- one really cannot refill one's Dunhill lighter without the cunning adapter colloquially know as 'Little White Nipple' -- and Cubanos are a fit subject for extensive distiquisition, but good lord, man.
That dull droning voice of yours!
Good lord.
The Balmoral Añejo 18 is a very fine cigar.
Little White Nipples are a minor(!) thing.
Unless you have little white bosoms.
If you do, don't prove it to us.
Keep them private.
Last anybody heard, L.W.N.D. was an orderly at a hospital.
Can't light up his Cubans on the premises.
No giant blowers.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
WHEN YOUR BOYFRIEND IS AN INSENSITIVE CLOD
Before discussing the subject of this essay, I wish to mention that yesterday was fabulous, with temperatures in the mid-sixties (°F), perfect shirtsleeve weather, and just right for wandering around with pipe in mouth triggering people in the Financial District, whose smoking ancestors were so far back they can't even remember what honest tobacco should smell like.
They drink gluten-free water and eat organic vegetables.
Smoking is bad, and they wish to scream.
Oh, the trauma!
At one o'clock I met Mistri-bhain for lunch at a restaurant that serves meat to a remarkable number of desis. Mistri-bhain is not her real name, you will understand, but one does not rend someone else's privacy by being one hundred percent accurate. We shared tea, rice, plus Mongolian Beef (蒙古牛肉 'mung gu ngau yiuk') and Chicken with Stringbeans (四季豆雞丁 'sei gwai gai ding'), neither one of those dishes being authentic home cooking, but one does not go to restaurants for stuff one eats at home.
The first is a respectable spicy stirfry which they do very well.
The second is a universal favourite, spiced up.
They also cater to very white people; brown rice is available upon request.
It's a sound business practice, because you have to give the gym and yoga crowd something, and the steamed tofu with a thick plank of Chinese bacon on top won't do that. Whitey-whites fear both flavour and pork fat.
The food was excellent, the company superlative.
Donald Trump was also present, in a way.
We talked smack about him.
And his children, and his cabinet, and his supporters.
As well as the Republican Party.
Afterwards I went grocery shopping in Chinatown, following which, hot milk tea at a familiar bakery, where nearly everyone else is middle-aged or elderly, and shares the same home town. So I listened in without speaking (generic white dude, pay me no mind), till I had to clarify that the large jar contained sugar, whereupon the gentleman who asked enthusiastically started a conversation, and kept calling me 'Ah Sir' (阿Sir). Which is nice and respectful, but odd, as I am neither a policeman or a school teacher.
This begs the obvious question "點解阿Sir係阿Sir?"
In any case, I hope that doesn't catch on.
Lest people clam up around me.
On the way home, I kept pace with the subject of this essay, that being two people heading in the same direction while having a domestic moment. In very clean language, the young lady asked rhetorical questions and made bold statements, that more or less made completely clear that the fellow next to her was in the dog house as well as in several ways a loser.
He had an "I don't care" expression on his face.
A clueless self-happy smirk.
Ya know, Sunny Jim, you just might be sleeping by yourself again soon. It's probably not a good idea to piss-off your Chinese girlfriend so close to New Year, as making a clean break and squaring all accounts is obligatory at this time, and you might just have proven yourself a liability. Especially at any family events, if she would ever even invite you to those. Bringing along the kwailo boyfriend for the new year's eve dinner (年夜飯 'nin ye faan') is not, strictly speaking, traditional.
And if you can't at least keep the peace with your girlfriend when other people are nearby -- such as a snarky Dutchman with a pipe in his beak, as a particular example -- there is just no telling what you'll do or say, and that's not propitious. By opening mouth, bad luck for an entire year.
I can imagine you saying something stupid about the food.
Or even loudly objecting to one or two dishes.
Lo hon chai ((羅漢齋), for instance.
Hairy oyster ((蠔豉髮菜).
Yeah, you're just not predictable, and you have the wrong responses.
More than likely a real dick at times, and undiplomatic.
Plus thick. Really, seriously, thick.
I really think she should dump him. He's embarrassing to be seen with in public. An oaf, and he doesn't realize that being in the spotlight is by no means a good thing. It's not all about him. It shouldn't be.
I listened in for several blocks. He was still being "patient" when I got to my door. A man who is always "right", is probably wrong.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
They drink gluten-free water and eat organic vegetables.
Smoking is bad, and they wish to scream.
Oh, the trauma!
At one o'clock I met Mistri-bhain for lunch at a restaurant that serves meat to a remarkable number of desis. Mistri-bhain is not her real name, you will understand, but one does not rend someone else's privacy by being one hundred percent accurate. We shared tea, rice, plus Mongolian Beef (蒙古牛肉 'mung gu ngau yiuk') and Chicken with Stringbeans (四季豆雞丁 'sei gwai gai ding'), neither one of those dishes being authentic home cooking, but one does not go to restaurants for stuff one eats at home.
The first is a respectable spicy stirfry which they do very well.
The second is a universal favourite, spiced up.
They also cater to very white people; brown rice is available upon request.
It's a sound business practice, because you have to give the gym and yoga crowd something, and the steamed tofu with a thick plank of Chinese bacon on top won't do that. Whitey-whites fear both flavour and pork fat.
The food was excellent, the company superlative.
Donald Trump was also present, in a way.
We talked smack about him.
And his children, and his cabinet, and his supporters.
As well as the Republican Party.
Afterwards I went grocery shopping in Chinatown, following which, hot milk tea at a familiar bakery, where nearly everyone else is middle-aged or elderly, and shares the same home town. So I listened in without speaking (generic white dude, pay me no mind), till I had to clarify that the large jar contained sugar, whereupon the gentleman who asked enthusiastically started a conversation, and kept calling me 'Ah Sir' (阿Sir). Which is nice and respectful, but odd, as I am neither a policeman or a school teacher.
This begs the obvious question "點解阿Sir係阿Sir?"
In any case, I hope that doesn't catch on.
Lest people clam up around me.
On the way home, I kept pace with the subject of this essay, that being two people heading in the same direction while having a domestic moment. In very clean language, the young lady asked rhetorical questions and made bold statements, that more or less made completely clear that the fellow next to her was in the dog house as well as in several ways a loser.
He had an "I don't care" expression on his face.
A clueless self-happy smirk.
Ya know, Sunny Jim, you just might be sleeping by yourself again soon. It's probably not a good idea to piss-off your Chinese girlfriend so close to New Year, as making a clean break and squaring all accounts is obligatory at this time, and you might just have proven yourself a liability. Especially at any family events, if she would ever even invite you to those. Bringing along the kwailo boyfriend for the new year's eve dinner (年夜飯 'nin ye faan') is not, strictly speaking, traditional.
And if you can't at least keep the peace with your girlfriend when other people are nearby -- such as a snarky Dutchman with a pipe in his beak, as a particular example -- there is just no telling what you'll do or say, and that's not propitious. By opening mouth, bad luck for an entire year.
I can imagine you saying something stupid about the food.
Or even loudly objecting to one or two dishes.
Lo hon chai ((羅漢齋), for instance.
Hairy oyster ((蠔豉髮菜).
Yeah, you're just not predictable, and you have the wrong responses.
More than likely a real dick at times, and undiplomatic.
Plus thick. Really, seriously, thick.
I really think she should dump him. He's embarrassing to be seen with in public. An oaf, and he doesn't realize that being in the spotlight is by no means a good thing. It's not all about him. It shouldn't be.
I listened in for several blocks. He was still being "patient" when I got to my door. A man who is always "right", is probably wrong.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, February 02, 2018
SHIRTSLEEVE WEATHER ... SOME FISH
The best smoke of the day is that first cigar in the morning with coffee, with rays slanting in through the blinds, and other than earthmoving equipment doing the needful on the main drag a few houses over, all is still.
I shut the door to my apartment mate's quarters and opened widows.
The weather is a balmy 62 degrees, no rain.
Shirtsleeve weather.
If I had a patio or small courtyard, I would surely disport myself there now, poncing around in my stylish grey robe. A rattan chair, rickety table, glass cafe ashtray, and perhaps a willow ware cup and saucer for my steaming Costa Rican. Large leafy potted plants in huge ceramic tubs.
There might be wild animals in the green stuff.
Beyond the paving tiles.
The cigar is a Nicaraguan all long-filler rolled by the gentle hands of a blind fifty year old virgin deep in the lush tropical rainforests of Estelí, Jalapa and Ometepe, where chagas disease, yellow fever, and dengue hold sway; it is the realm of the savage giant tree sloth, carnivorous and hungry.
Or something. I've never been to Nicaragua, Honduras, and Guatemala, so I don't know, which gives me license to invent all kinds of stuff.
The terms Estelí, Jalapa and Ometepe, are well know among smokers of Nicaraguan cigars, and the fourth growing region, Condega, is a little further north, and not represented in this excellent cheroot.
Fonseca. A puro, introduced in 2016.
Plasencia Cigars S.A.
When someone in a pipe aficionado Facebook group two years ago whined that the weather was so beastly cold, he hated having to smoke outside, the wife wouldn't allow that indoors, how on earth could the rest of us stand it, my growl-text response was "get a divorce!" This was, you understand, to keep him from moving to California.
Any woman who chases her husband into the snowstorm to enjoy his cigar or pipe is not someone we ever want here. Nor is the man who married her.
Both of them need to stay in the frigid zone, inhaling stale cabbage odours from the other apartments, while elderly drunks freeze in the drifts or set their urine-stained mattresses on fire.
Yeah, no, I've never been to the Midwest either.
I just imagine goofy stuff about it.
Disapproving Lutherans.
Weather.
There are no volcanoes or jungles in Kansas. Just flat potato fields, turnips, cabbage soup, and horrid little gothic churches for hundreds and hundreds of miles, plus tornadoes, bad coffee, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and malaria.
The Fonseca Nicaragua Petite Corona is a damned fine cigar. I would have probably chosen a toro instead, but this item came from a trade show as a sample, and sat in one of my humidors for over a year. It's a piss-elegant little number, dark wrapper leaf, earthy and a little spicy, slight pepper muted by a faint fruitiness. Consistent and even burn, attesting to the care with which it was rolled by that blind fifty year old virgin in the rainforests.
My final thoughts about this are that I really need a tiled courtyard or patio with large potted plants, where the neighbors cannot see me smoking because that would traumatize the poor dears.
They'd demand I go out into the snow drifts with that thing.
A pipe or a cigar, no matter, off with you!
Disapproving Lutherans.
There is no lutefisk in San Francisco.
They should all move back.
Mmmm, lutefisk!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I shut the door to my apartment mate's quarters and opened widows.
The weather is a balmy 62 degrees, no rain.
Shirtsleeve weather.
If I had a patio or small courtyard, I would surely disport myself there now, poncing around in my stylish grey robe. A rattan chair, rickety table, glass cafe ashtray, and perhaps a willow ware cup and saucer for my steaming Costa Rican. Large leafy potted plants in huge ceramic tubs.
There might be wild animals in the green stuff.
Beyond the paving tiles.
The cigar is a Nicaraguan all long-filler rolled by the gentle hands of a blind fifty year old virgin deep in the lush tropical rainforests of Estelí, Jalapa and Ometepe, where chagas disease, yellow fever, and dengue hold sway; it is the realm of the savage giant tree sloth, carnivorous and hungry.
Or something. I've never been to Nicaragua, Honduras, and Guatemala, so I don't know, which gives me license to invent all kinds of stuff.
The terms Estelí, Jalapa and Ometepe, are well know among smokers of Nicaraguan cigars, and the fourth growing region, Condega, is a little further north, and not represented in this excellent cheroot.
Fonseca. A puro, introduced in 2016.
Plasencia Cigars S.A.
When someone in a pipe aficionado Facebook group two years ago whined that the weather was so beastly cold, he hated having to smoke outside, the wife wouldn't allow that indoors, how on earth could the rest of us stand it, my growl-text response was "get a divorce!" This was, you understand, to keep him from moving to California.
Any woman who chases her husband into the snowstorm to enjoy his cigar or pipe is not someone we ever want here. Nor is the man who married her.
Both of them need to stay in the frigid zone, inhaling stale cabbage odours from the other apartments, while elderly drunks freeze in the drifts or set their urine-stained mattresses on fire.
Yeah, no, I've never been to the Midwest either.
I just imagine goofy stuff about it.
Disapproving Lutherans.
Weather.
There are no volcanoes or jungles in Kansas. Just flat potato fields, turnips, cabbage soup, and horrid little gothic churches for hundreds and hundreds of miles, plus tornadoes, bad coffee, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and malaria.
The Fonseca Nicaragua Petite Corona is a damned fine cigar. I would have probably chosen a toro instead, but this item came from a trade show as a sample, and sat in one of my humidors for over a year. It's a piss-elegant little number, dark wrapper leaf, earthy and a little spicy, slight pepper muted by a faint fruitiness. Consistent and even burn, attesting to the care with which it was rolled by that blind fifty year old virgin in the rainforests.
My final thoughts about this are that I really need a tiled courtyard or patio with large potted plants, where the neighbors cannot see me smoking because that would traumatize the poor dears.
They'd demand I go out into the snow drifts with that thing.
A pipe or a cigar, no matter, off with you!
Disapproving Lutherans.
There is no lutefisk in San Francisco.
They should all move back.
Mmmm, lutefisk!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, February 01, 2018
THE NIGHT OF SNAPPING JAWS
Stealthily the huntress stalked her prey. Silently, softly, she paced forward, her bright eyes intent on any sign of warmth, of life. The animal that was the object of this attention was quite unaware of it, but instinctively preferred caution over overt movements. The huntress peered keenly around corners, her whiskers twitching almost imperceptibly.
Scratch that; she didn't have whiskers.
Or sharp claws.
It was a slow evening. A rat had scurried from the cash register to where the drinks were prepared, then hid itself. The boss lady had seen it, and seemed determined to do something to the unwelcome visitor.
I watched as I waited for my food to arrive.
Seated at my table in the back.
Perfect vantage point.
As you would expect, after yesterday's post about chachanteng food, I had ordered a popular Hong Kong dish.
Salt fish and chicken fried rice (鹹魚雞粒炒飯 'haam yü gai naap chaau faan') is not, strictly speaking, an American Chinese restaurant favourite, because most Americans are baffled by the first-named ingredient, and have a hard time imagining canned tuna in soy-drenched brown rice.
It's actually light and flavourful. Cooked rice, shredded lettuce, chicken chunks, and fragments of salt fish functioning very much like bacon bits, briefly fried fragrant, scallion added, the whole dumped steaming onto a plate. So good, so good. And too damned much for the single man.
Half of it is now in the refrigerator. Midnight snack or breakfast. Heat it up with some white pepper and chili sauce, wash it down with a little whisky or strong coffee. Enjoy it twice.
No, I don't know what the rat ate. In a neighborhood where there can be up to a dozen food places within a block, one must naturally expect a bit of opportunistic wildlife. Especially because San Francisco does not believe in sending garbage trucks into working class areas where there aren't enough prosperous white people to make it all worth while.
See, Wasps make us seem world-class.
Yellow people don't.
I shan't mention the name of the restaurant or the street, because their food is excellent and they run a class operation. They're honest and hardworking. I have never been disappointed, and I know that fastidious outsiders might take a friendly furry presence amiss. "Heavens", they would exclaim in a panicky fashion, "we will have rabies or the plague, aaargh!"
Then they would decide to burn the place down.
And leave bad reviews on Yelp.
Overwrought.
It was the perfect preamble to a good smoke.
Virginias in a well-loved pipe.
Ah, heaven.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Scratch that; she didn't have whiskers.
Or sharp claws.
It was a slow evening. A rat had scurried from the cash register to where the drinks were prepared, then hid itself. The boss lady had seen it, and seemed determined to do something to the unwelcome visitor.
I watched as I waited for my food to arrive.
Seated at my table in the back.
Perfect vantage point.
As you would expect, after yesterday's post about chachanteng food, I had ordered a popular Hong Kong dish.
Salt fish and chicken fried rice (鹹魚雞粒炒飯 'haam yü gai naap chaau faan') is not, strictly speaking, an American Chinese restaurant favourite, because most Americans are baffled by the first-named ingredient, and have a hard time imagining canned tuna in soy-drenched brown rice.
It's actually light and flavourful. Cooked rice, shredded lettuce, chicken chunks, and fragments of salt fish functioning very much like bacon bits, briefly fried fragrant, scallion added, the whole dumped steaming onto a plate. So good, so good. And too damned much for the single man.
Half of it is now in the refrigerator. Midnight snack or breakfast. Heat it up with some white pepper and chili sauce, wash it down with a little whisky or strong coffee. Enjoy it twice.
No, I don't know what the rat ate. In a neighborhood where there can be up to a dozen food places within a block, one must naturally expect a bit of opportunistic wildlife. Especially because San Francisco does not believe in sending garbage trucks into working class areas where there aren't enough prosperous white people to make it all worth while.
See, Wasps make us seem world-class.
Yellow people don't.
I shan't mention the name of the restaurant or the street, because their food is excellent and they run a class operation. They're honest and hardworking. I have never been disappointed, and I know that fastidious outsiders might take a friendly furry presence amiss. "Heavens", they would exclaim in a panicky fashion, "we will have rabies or the plague, aaargh!"
Then they would decide to burn the place down.
And leave bad reviews on Yelp.
Overwrought.
It was the perfect preamble to a good smoke.
Virginias in a well-loved pipe.
Ah, heaven.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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BAN THEM FROM COFFEESHOPS!
It is too dark and wet outside to go out there with a pipe for the first smoke of the day. Which, even with a short bowl, would be twenty mi...
