He stopped barking when I came closer, and was enthusiastic when I petted him. That being the dog of someone smoking a cigar on the veranda. There are some dogs who vocalize merely to say 'hi', and when you don't respond, they express sadness. Naturally I encourage everyone to bark back.
I envision all of society barking.
This past Sunday, at the meeting of the pipe club, one of the members told us he's going to get a new dog. His previous furry companion passed away in April, and he feels an emptiness. Followed a conversation about the dogs various members have known. From this you may deduce that many of the members are middle-aged or older, and presently single. Which is odd; unlike the cigar smokers, we are likable fellows, clean, and have recently read books. Just a random guess, but modern American women probably don't like nice men who maintain reasonable standards of cleanliness and have literature.
Many pipe smokers do not own a motorbike.
What most American women want is a smelly dude garbed in black leather, a stogie clamped in his iron and unshaven jaw, rough hands firmly gripping the apehanger of his Harley while roaring down highway 101 on a sunlit day scaring children and small animals.
There's roadkill all over Marin between the bridge and the Sonoma border.
Seeing as I choose the company of men who can disquisition on Dickens or explain why a piece of wood of a particular shape recalls people and places of the past -- the drafting department at the aerodynamics company years ago, sun slanting in, or the Heidelberger Degel Automat which got jammed when they had to complete a print run, and a technician had to be called, or even hosing out the tanks of the glue works outside East Spotsdale after that unfortunate accident with the Sunday School class -- over hairy cigar smokers reclining in the lounge arguing Dungeons and Dragons, I am aware of modern American womanhood, but know very few actual exemplars.
One of whom recently communicated that you must never kick the chicken.
Other than that she's married and on the East Coast, she'd fit right in with the pipe smokers as well as the cigar crowd. There are people like that.
NEVER! KICK! THE CHICKEN!
Not all pipe smokers are animal people. That is to say, not all of them have four-footed companions, but I suspect that other than smokers of Captain Black or Molto Dolce, most of them easily establish friendly relations with dogs and cats that intersect with their lives.
[Many smokers of Captain Black pipe tobacco, or Molto Dolce, are the kind of people who believe that books should be burned, have tattoos or piercings, were thrown out of Sunday School when they hit twenty one, and voted for someone Christian who hates foreigners. Especially smokers of Captain Black Grape, a smoking mixture with no discernible hint of tobacco whatsoever. As part of a manufacturer's test run, I huffed several bowls of that one day, two different trial versions. Candy. Grape soda. Perversion. Extraordinarily well-made.]
Or they will befriend the raccoons in the abandoned church past which they walk on Autumn evenings while smoking their pipes. Who have ensconced themselves there and formed a furry community, a free and democratic republic of the potentially rabid.
Whom I encouraged to adopt some of the neighborhood children years ago, because the idea of little Johnny furtively raiding the cat bowl before running away on all fours had a certain appeal.
[The church was torn down a while back, and a condo building was put up on that site. It's an elegant building, rather handsome. But the raccoons are no longer there, and I miss them.]
We prefer animals over brats.
Most of us do not know how to play Dungeons and Dragons.
Anyhow, I hope he gets his new dog soon, because he lives by himself, and will benefit from the company. He smokes clean medium-full Latakia blends.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
Monday, September 09, 2019
THAT SWEET THING
My apartment mate mentioned that the refrigerator at her work place is acting wanky. So several things had to be thrown out. Office refrigerators are probably one of the primary sources of food-poisoning in the modern world, other than tasty items from Chipotle. So it was time to review what people had been storing in there.
Please bear in mind that she works with Asian Americans. Mostly middle aged. Kind of conservative and stodgy. Mainly Chinese.
Who the heck buys a gallon jug of pancake syrup, and why the heck do they keep it in the office refrigerator?!?
Somebody hasn't heard of diabetes ...
Pancake syrup has no conceivable other use than food-related, generally breakfast items. At the average indulgence being, let us assume, two tablespoons per serving (2 TBS), that equals four months worth of the stuff. At double that, which is more likely, we're still talking two solid months of pancake-type breakfasts. Or sweetness-augmented muffins, drenched or dipped. Sausage and egg muffins, or egg, ham cheese breakfast muffins, even bacon sausage cheese breakfast burritos with a thick drizzle of syrup.
糖尿病
In Cantonese, the major exemplar of a Sinitic language and probably the most spoken version of Chinese in San Francisco, diabetes is 'tong niu beng' (糖尿病 "sugar urine disease"). It is not an unknown affliction. Four tablespoons of pancake syrup everyday is ill-advised. Even America's food industry does not advocate "fried cakes sugar gloop" (煎餅糖漿 'chin beng tong jeung') as a healthy supplement. Maybe someone adds it to their bowl of porridge? Many Americans have this weird habit of fixing themselves a bowl of hot oatmeal or similar crap after they arrive at the office, and it's entirely possible that they like it sweet. A gallon jug of pancake syrup. Convenient.
[Perhaps it's a group that meets before or after work hours for pancakes or French toast. Chinese Americans are known for peculiar dietary habits. A conclave of sugar fiends.]
One of my own coworkers heats up a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
I am fairly certain that adding syrup doesn't occur.
Salt, pepper, hot sauce, maybe.
There is no pancake syrup in my work refrigerator. There are three separate hot sauces instead. We have different food attitudes.
It might be a cultural thing.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Please bear in mind that she works with Asian Americans. Mostly middle aged. Kind of conservative and stodgy. Mainly Chinese.
Who the heck buys a gallon jug of pancake syrup, and why the heck do they keep it in the office refrigerator?!?
Somebody hasn't heard of diabetes ...
Pancake syrup has no conceivable other use than food-related, generally breakfast items. At the average indulgence being, let us assume, two tablespoons per serving (2 TBS), that equals four months worth of the stuff. At double that, which is more likely, we're still talking two solid months of pancake-type breakfasts. Or sweetness-augmented muffins, drenched or dipped. Sausage and egg muffins, or egg, ham cheese breakfast muffins, even bacon sausage cheese breakfast burritos with a thick drizzle of syrup.
糖尿病
In Cantonese, the major exemplar of a Sinitic language and probably the most spoken version of Chinese in San Francisco, diabetes is 'tong niu beng' (糖尿病 "sugar urine disease"). It is not an unknown affliction. Four tablespoons of pancake syrup everyday is ill-advised. Even America's food industry does not advocate "fried cakes sugar gloop" (煎餅糖漿 'chin beng tong jeung') as a healthy supplement. Maybe someone adds it to their bowl of porridge? Many Americans have this weird habit of fixing themselves a bowl of hot oatmeal or similar crap after they arrive at the office, and it's entirely possible that they like it sweet. A gallon jug of pancake syrup. Convenient.
[Perhaps it's a group that meets before or after work hours for pancakes or French toast. Chinese Americans are known for peculiar dietary habits. A conclave of sugar fiends.]
One of my own coworkers heats up a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
I am fairly certain that adding syrup doesn't occur.
Salt, pepper, hot sauce, maybe.
There is no pancake syrup in my work refrigerator. There are three separate hot sauces instead. We have different food attitudes.
It might be a cultural thing.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
THEY TURN INTO ANIMALS
A conversation about the things that inspire us started, several sentences ago, with despair over the Cookie Monster having become a vegetarian, which is just wrong. Back in 2009 he sang the praises of carrots, with his friends the musical broccoli. Plus potato, tomato, and bag of chopped cabbage. Either they bribed him, big time, or threatened him.
Muppets do NOT get diabetes! It's just not possible. And Cookie Monster's entire raison d'etre is demolishing cookies. Anything else is against his nature.
I've always found Cookie Monster an inspiration, so watching him sing about 'healthy food' was probably the worst two plus minutes on youtube ever.
Almost as bad as anything with that self-centered prima donna pig.
I wept with him when he found out that the library did NOT HAVE cookies.
"Me not fussy, just gimme box of cookies!" Hyperventilating here!
Sadly, the library does not have glasses of milk either.
Once we stopped talking about Cookie Monster, the entire conversation went south. We had agreed up to that point, but his mention of inspiring accounts of football players and recent games left me cold. So I brought up what is, to me, the truest sentence ever spoken, the one statement above all others which I have taken to heart, that guides me in my daily life.
"Wir können hier nicht anhalten; das ist fledermausland!"
In this life, many times, things are like being somewhere outside of Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs begin to take hold.You might feel a bit lightheaded, and maybe you shouldn't drive. Perhaps there is a roaring all around you, and the sky could be filled with huge things all swooping, screeching, and diving, around the car.
So it's a metaphor. Don't stop where you are. It's bat country.
When life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, load up and drive like a bastard. Grease your face with butter.
And put the music at top volume.
Just don't stop; everywhere is outside Barstow.
Seriously, dude. Fledermausland.
Alas, I did not get to explain all this to the football fan, as he had become distracted by shiny male rumps encased in spandex pounding astroturf.
The season has started. We've lost him.
The possibility of his complete mental and physical collapse is now very real.
The frenzied football fiend fears nothing. He will attack, for no reason, with every weapon at his command. Beware. Anyone facing a football addict should use all necessary force immediately.
A room full of howling monkeys who pee at the same time.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Muppets do NOT get diabetes! It's just not possible. And Cookie Monster's entire raison d'etre is demolishing cookies. Anything else is against his nature.
I've always found Cookie Monster an inspiration, so watching him sing about 'healthy food' was probably the worst two plus minutes on youtube ever.
Almost as bad as anything with that self-centered prima donna pig.
I wept with him when he found out that the library did NOT HAVE cookies.
"Me not fussy, just gimme box of cookies!" Hyperventilating here!
Sadly, the library does not have glasses of milk either.
Once we stopped talking about Cookie Monster, the entire conversation went south. We had agreed up to that point, but his mention of inspiring accounts of football players and recent games left me cold. So I brought up what is, to me, the truest sentence ever spoken, the one statement above all others which I have taken to heart, that guides me in my daily life.
"Wir können hier nicht anhalten; das ist fledermausland!"
In this life, many times, things are like being somewhere outside of Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs begin to take hold.You might feel a bit lightheaded, and maybe you shouldn't drive. Perhaps there is a roaring all around you, and the sky could be filled with huge things all swooping, screeching, and diving, around the car.
So it's a metaphor. Don't stop where you are. It's bat country.
When life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, load up and drive like a bastard. Grease your face with butter.
And put the music at top volume.
Just don't stop; everywhere is outside Barstow.
Seriously, dude. Fledermausland.
Alas, I did not get to explain all this to the football fan, as he had become distracted by shiny male rumps encased in spandex pounding astroturf.
The season has started. We've lost him.
The possibility of his complete mental and physical collapse is now very real.
The frenzied football fiend fears nothing. He will attack, for no reason, with every weapon at his command. Beware. Anyone facing a football addict should use all necessary force immediately.
A room full of howling monkeys who pee at the same time.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, September 08, 2019
PLEASE COME AGAIN!
Recently at the long centre table of one of my favourite bakeries in Chinatown an elderly Mandarin-speaking woman sat down. Now, my Mandarin is so limited as to be nearly useless, and the staff, though capable of conversation in Mandarin, were busy. Many customers were buying mooncakes. Few were sitting down.
So she sat silently by herself.
Perhaps she spent her day in Chinatown because she was lonely? Certainly shop signs in familiar writing, and people who looked like her fellow-Chinese, even if their language was mostly unintelligible, could be a comforting and familiar thing? Maybe she was someone's widowed mother, brought over so that she wouldn't live alone. Well, she probably was someone's mother, as she bought enough baked goods for three or four other people. Plus scallions and vegetables.
But she stayed a long time. I think the atmosphere appealed to her.
When you don't speak Cantonese, and English is beyond you, San Francisco is a different place. There are others who go to the bakeries in Chinatown for similar reasons, including several Burmese, Sino-Burmese, and the odd Filipino. Plus two elderly gentlemen who speak severely accented Mandarin with each other and the staff, though I know one of them is more fluent in Shanghainese.
I go there because I am a peculiar fellow. A curious person, a cheapskate, and fond of pastries. People watching and listening in, discreetly.
But for many others, it's the centre of their social life.
Mostly old people, Chinese.
My Cantonese is good enough for very casual conversation.
This time I wished that I also spoke Mandarin.
How sad to sit alone.
In late afternoon the wind picks up, and it turns colder.
You should come inside, and enjoy a refreshment.
We might not talk, but you are welcome here.
AFTER THOUGHT
It may be easier for elderly Chinese folks to become lonely than for odd middle aged Caucasians such as myself. We're more used to having no family around us, and our kinfolks being distant. Plus singularity is often our natural state. Judging from the crowd at the bakery, they need people around them, and they miss the company of people whose language sounds familiar.
Sometimes one doesn't fully adapt to a new environment.
Elderly: 老 ('lou'), 老年嘅 ('lou nin ge'), 耆 ('kei').
Lonely: 孤伶伶 ('gu ling ling'), 孤寡嘅 ('gu gwaa ge'), 寞 ('mok').
Old age: 高齡 ('gou ling').
Solitariness: 仃 ('ding'), 寞寞啲 ('mok mok dik').
Widowed: 寡 ('gwaa').
Widow: 寡婦 ('gwaa fu').
Widower: 鰥 ('gwaan').
Alone: 獨自 ('duk ji').
Helplessly alone: 孤苦零丁 ('gu fu ling ding').
To live alone: 單身住 ('daan san jyu'), 孤伶伶 ('gu ling ling'), 獨居 ('duk sat'), 孤單 ('gu daan').
Widows, widowers, orphans, and childless people: 鰥寡孤獨 ('gwaan gwaa gu duk').
Hermit: 獨家村 ('duk gaa chyun'); and circumlocutorily, 深居簡出者 ('sam geui gaan chuet che'), 東山客 ('tung saan haak').
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
So she sat silently by herself.
Perhaps she spent her day in Chinatown because she was lonely? Certainly shop signs in familiar writing, and people who looked like her fellow-Chinese, even if their language was mostly unintelligible, could be a comforting and familiar thing? Maybe she was someone's widowed mother, brought over so that she wouldn't live alone. Well, she probably was someone's mother, as she bought enough baked goods for three or four other people. Plus scallions and vegetables.
But she stayed a long time. I think the atmosphere appealed to her.
When you don't speak Cantonese, and English is beyond you, San Francisco is a different place. There are others who go to the bakeries in Chinatown for similar reasons, including several Burmese, Sino-Burmese, and the odd Filipino. Plus two elderly gentlemen who speak severely accented Mandarin with each other and the staff, though I know one of them is more fluent in Shanghainese.
I go there because I am a peculiar fellow. A curious person, a cheapskate, and fond of pastries. People watching and listening in, discreetly.
But for many others, it's the centre of their social life.
Mostly old people, Chinese.
My Cantonese is good enough for very casual conversation.
This time I wished that I also spoke Mandarin.
How sad to sit alone.
In late afternoon the wind picks up, and it turns colder.
You should come inside, and enjoy a refreshment.
We might not talk, but you are welcome here.
AFTER THOUGHT
It may be easier for elderly Chinese folks to become lonely than for odd middle aged Caucasians such as myself. We're more used to having no family around us, and our kinfolks being distant. Plus singularity is often our natural state. Judging from the crowd at the bakery, they need people around them, and they miss the company of people whose language sounds familiar.
Sometimes one doesn't fully adapt to a new environment.
Elderly: 老 ('lou'), 老年嘅 ('lou nin ge'), 耆 ('kei').
Lonely: 孤伶伶 ('gu ling ling'), 孤寡嘅 ('gu gwaa ge'), 寞 ('mok').
Old age: 高齡 ('gou ling').
Solitariness: 仃 ('ding'), 寞寞啲 ('mok mok dik').
Widowed: 寡 ('gwaa').
Widow: 寡婦 ('gwaa fu').
Widower: 鰥 ('gwaan').
Alone: 獨自 ('duk ji').
Helplessly alone: 孤苦零丁 ('gu fu ling ding').
To live alone: 單身住 ('daan san jyu'), 孤伶伶 ('gu ling ling'), 獨居 ('duk sat'), 孤單 ('gu daan').
Widows, widowers, orphans, and childless people: 鰥寡孤獨 ('gwaan gwaa gu duk').
Hermit: 獨家村 ('duk gaa chyun'); and circumlocutorily, 深居簡出者 ('sam geui gaan chuet che'), 東山客 ('tung saan haak').
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
EXCELLENT CHARACTERS
Many people will express bafflement about Chinese ideographs, specifically how these may be arranged logically in a dictionary and thus easily looked-up. But it's easy. Characters are ALL broken up into a "radical", and other bits. The other bits are often phonetic elements, giving the speaker of Zhou or Shang dynasty Chinese clues as to pronunciation (yes, there has been skewage since then).
Most dictionaries arrange the characters under their radicals, from least to most strokes necessary, according to stroke order of components, starting at top left horizontal finishing bottom right vertical, and completing enclosing parts before moving on the next.
Fish, for instance. Eleven strokes. Radical no. 195.
魚
Underneath which can be found 鮑 ('baau') meaning "abalone". There are five extra strokes. Fresh, 鮮 ('sin'), six extra strokes. Whale 鯨 ('ging') with eight, bream 鯿 ('pin') with nine, codfish 鰵 ('man') with eleven, silver carp 鱮 ('jeui') with fourteen, and so on. There are very many fish I have not listed, and several characters which have a sound, but no actual fish.
Most Chinese characters will not have more than about twenty strokes maximum, ranging between seven or eight up to about fifteen or sixteen.
Dialect terms may have considerably more, usually being easily recognizable words combined with appropriate radicals to form new characters that will not be confused with anything similar by the average reader. Such as the word for coffee: 咖啡 ('kaa fei'), being 加 ("addition"), and 非 ("negation', "opposite"), with a mouth 口 ('hau') next to them to indicate that you should go by the sounds rather than the original significances of the characters.
There are 214 radicals. There are any number of phonetic elements, with a few hundred being common enough that one easily recognizes them.
Many words occur so often in so many contexts that the observant person will have learned them almost automatically before ever cracking a textbook. Rice, establishment, stone, gold, swine, wood, word, eat, and similar characters.
Some of which are also common radicals.
Respectively: 米 ('mai'), 官 ('gwun'), 石 ('sek'), 金 ('gam'), 豕 ('chi'), 木 ('muk'), 言 ('yin'), and 食 ('sik').
As a westerner, how you approach learning to write Chinese is really up to you. Haphazardly looking up words as you need them, or systematically by radical, even starting with simple stuff a child might study in first grade. After a while you'll notice that there are words that you know thoroughly, some which you kind of have an idea how to pronounce, characters which are clear contextually, and some things that you vaguely remember, but whose precise meaning and approximate pronunciation escape you entirely.
I've always found 豔 ('yim'; "plump", "voluptuous") to be problematic; some poet used it specifically for rhyme once, and it is also part of a famous person's name, but good grief! Twenty eight strokes total, filed under "beans" (豆 'dau').
The key thing, which cannot be over-emphasized, is getting a grip on the stroke order. It will make looking words up infinitely easier, writing them more readable, understanding scrawled notations possible, and impress the crap out of people.
All good things.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Most dictionaries arrange the characters under their radicals, from least to most strokes necessary, according to stroke order of components, starting at top left horizontal finishing bottom right vertical, and completing enclosing parts before moving on the next.
Fish, for instance. Eleven strokes. Radical no. 195.
魚
Underneath which can be found 鮑 ('baau') meaning "abalone". There are five extra strokes. Fresh, 鮮 ('sin'), six extra strokes. Whale 鯨 ('ging') with eight, bream 鯿 ('pin') with nine, codfish 鰵 ('man') with eleven, silver carp 鱮 ('jeui') with fourteen, and so on. There are very many fish I have not listed, and several characters which have a sound, but no actual fish.
Most Chinese characters will not have more than about twenty strokes maximum, ranging between seven or eight up to about fifteen or sixteen.
Dialect terms may have considerably more, usually being easily recognizable words combined with appropriate radicals to form new characters that will not be confused with anything similar by the average reader. Such as the word for coffee: 咖啡 ('kaa fei'), being 加 ("addition"), and 非 ("negation', "opposite"), with a mouth 口 ('hau') next to them to indicate that you should go by the sounds rather than the original significances of the characters.
There are 214 radicals. There are any number of phonetic elements, with a few hundred being common enough that one easily recognizes them.
Many words occur so often in so many contexts that the observant person will have learned them almost automatically before ever cracking a textbook. Rice, establishment, stone, gold, swine, wood, word, eat, and similar characters.
Some of which are also common radicals.
Respectively: 米 ('mai'), 官 ('gwun'), 石 ('sek'), 金 ('gam'), 豕 ('chi'), 木 ('muk'), 言 ('yin'), and 食 ('sik').
As a westerner, how you approach learning to write Chinese is really up to you. Haphazardly looking up words as you need them, or systematically by radical, even starting with simple stuff a child might study in first grade. After a while you'll notice that there are words that you know thoroughly, some which you kind of have an idea how to pronounce, characters which are clear contextually, and some things that you vaguely remember, but whose precise meaning and approximate pronunciation escape you entirely.
I've always found 豔 ('yim'; "plump", "voluptuous") to be problematic; some poet used it specifically for rhyme once, and it is also part of a famous person's name, but good grief! Twenty eight strokes total, filed under "beans" (豆 'dau').
The key thing, which cannot be over-emphasized, is getting a grip on the stroke order. It will make looking words up infinitely easier, writing them more readable, understanding scrawled notations possible, and impress the crap out of people.
All good things.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Saturday, September 07, 2019
FORGET THE SARDINES!
One a completely different note, I should mention that in contrast to the books mentioned yesterday on this blog, there are three illustrated novels I especially enjoy re-reading: Ranma½, Chibi Vampire, and Hyper Police. All three tales feature young women facing challenges, with just enough questionable shiznit to keep the simple-minded attention of an average teenage boy.
Which I am not, being a middle-aged man.
There's also food. A consuming passion.
In order, charsiu buns, garlic gyoza, and dried sardines plus hot milk.
The first manga series is a chopsuey of genres cobbled together, the dominant theme of which seems to be that men deserve to be kicked by strong-minded women, the second deals with vampirism and young love, very gothic, and the third is about a cat-woman and a were-wolf who work as bounty hunters. The authors of all three works may have issues, the teenagers reading this stuff certainly do.
CHARSIU BUNS, GYOZA, AND SARDINES
Ranma eats charsiu buns in one illustration, Karin the vampire brings home deliciously garlicky potstickers from her job in Chibi Vampire (nauseating her kinfolk), and Natsuki snacks on dried sardines in Hyper Police.
These three food items hardly constitute a balanced diet. Dried sardines are full of calcium, though, and probably quite beneficial to women.
Women are a key demographic for all three novels.
My apartment mate is a woman.
I suspect that it has been aeons since she had any of those items. Certainly not dried sardines. Perhaps the charsiu buns. The other night, after chatting with her love interest 'Wheelie Boy' on the phone, she had some warm milk and toddled off to her room. So in one minor sense she is like a manga heroine, without the homicidal tendencies, sharp corner teeth, or cat ears.
Or dried sardines.
There's no way in hell that anyone would compare me to Ranma, Ryoga, Kenta Usui, Ren Maaka, Batanen, or Tomy. Perhaps Genma Saotome.
Or Mudagami in Hyper Police.
That last comparison is not particularly apt, but it might be the closest, although if I had my druthers, I'd be Ranma scoring charsiu buns in his girl form -- a sentence that makes no sense whatsoever unless you are familiar with the story -- and otherwise perhaps Akane Tendo.
NOT Tatewaki Kuno.
Akane Tendo (in Ranma½) is admirable.
On the other hand, charsiu buns. Particularly steamed charsiu buns.
Any man might be a berserk teenaged girl for some excellent charsiu buns.
I could easily live the rest of my life on charsiu buns and gyoza (potstickers), until malnutrition sets in. With appropriate condiments and warm beverages.
Pass on the sardines.
The other thing about many popular Japanese Illustrated Novels is the breast thing. One suspects that Japan did not have that to quite such an extent until after World War Two, and it may reflect something mighty peculiar in their psyche. Although Americans have had that since the dark ages, and we're not peculiar by any means.
Any comparison with charsiu buns or potstickers is unwarranted.
BTW: Lunch today excellent.
Not sardines..
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Which I am not, being a middle-aged man.
There's also food. A consuming passion.
In order, charsiu buns, garlic gyoza, and dried sardines plus hot milk.
The first manga series is a chopsuey of genres cobbled together, the dominant theme of which seems to be that men deserve to be kicked by strong-minded women, the second deals with vampirism and young love, very gothic, and the third is about a cat-woman and a were-wolf who work as bounty hunters. The authors of all three works may have issues, the teenagers reading this stuff certainly do.
CHARSIU BUNS, GYOZA, AND SARDINES
Ranma eats charsiu buns in one illustration, Karin the vampire brings home deliciously garlicky potstickers from her job in Chibi Vampire (nauseating her kinfolk), and Natsuki snacks on dried sardines in Hyper Police.
These three food items hardly constitute a balanced diet. Dried sardines are full of calcium, though, and probably quite beneficial to women.
Women are a key demographic for all three novels.
My apartment mate is a woman.
I suspect that it has been aeons since she had any of those items. Certainly not dried sardines. Perhaps the charsiu buns. The other night, after chatting with her love interest 'Wheelie Boy' on the phone, she had some warm milk and toddled off to her room. So in one minor sense she is like a manga heroine, without the homicidal tendencies, sharp corner teeth, or cat ears.
Or dried sardines.
There's no way in hell that anyone would compare me to Ranma, Ryoga, Kenta Usui, Ren Maaka, Batanen, or Tomy. Perhaps Genma Saotome.
Or Mudagami in Hyper Police.
MUDAGAMI
That last comparison is not particularly apt, but it might be the closest, although if I had my druthers, I'd be Ranma scoring charsiu buns in his girl form -- a sentence that makes no sense whatsoever unless you are familiar with the story -- and otherwise perhaps Akane Tendo.
NOT Tatewaki Kuno.
Akane Tendo (in Ranma½) is admirable.
On the other hand, charsiu buns. Particularly steamed charsiu buns.
Any man might be a berserk teenaged girl for some excellent charsiu buns.
I could easily live the rest of my life on charsiu buns and gyoza (potstickers), until malnutrition sets in. With appropriate condiments and warm beverages.
Pass on the sardines.
The other thing about many popular Japanese Illustrated Novels is the breast thing. One suspects that Japan did not have that to quite such an extent until after World War Two, and it may reflect something mighty peculiar in their psyche. Although Americans have had that since the dark ages, and we're not peculiar by any means.
Any comparison with charsiu buns or potstickers is unwarranted.
BTW: Lunch today excellent.
Not sardines..
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Friday, September 06, 2019
SEVEN BOOKS
There's a seven day challenge on Facebook which yields some interesting results, to whit: post covers of 7 books that you have enjoyed (1 per day for 7 days) -- no explanations, no reviews, just covers. Which requires some fancy footwork if you don't have a cell-phone. Which I don't. And it's a good thing it isn't open-ended, because that might take a while.
Another challenge going around is participating in a minyan for schacharis during the month of Elul, but that has zero application to this blogger.
Never-the-less I applaud Mordechai et autres for sticking it out.
So, books.
[ADA, by Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov. The Ten Thousand Things (De Tien Duizend Dingen), by Maria Dermoût. The Ulama of Farangi Mahal and Islamic Culture in South Asia, by Francis Robinson. Mathews Chinese-English Dictionary, edited by Robert Henry Mathews. Amphigorey, by Edward Gorey (Ogdred Weary). The Calligraphic State, by Brinkley Morris Messick. Indian Food: A Historical Companion: by K. T. Achaya.]
No explanation or clarification, and nobody will be tagged. I don't mind challenges, but don't like to pose them.
On an entirely unrelated matter, apparently Cookie Monster now also sometimes eats vegetables and fruits. And carrots. Which is a character development I had not expected, and which disturbs me. What's next? Existential doubt? Participation trophies? A sense of entitlement?
I don't like this. It wobbles the fundament of the universe.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Another challenge going around is participating in a minyan for schacharis during the month of Elul, but that has zero application to this blogger.
Never-the-less I applaud Mordechai et autres for sticking it out.
So, books.
[ADA, by Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov. The Ten Thousand Things (De Tien Duizend Dingen), by Maria Dermoût. The Ulama of Farangi Mahal and Islamic Culture in South Asia, by Francis Robinson. Mathews Chinese-English Dictionary, edited by Robert Henry Mathews. Amphigorey, by Edward Gorey (Ogdred Weary). The Calligraphic State, by Brinkley Morris Messick. Indian Food: A Historical Companion: by K. T. Achaya.]
No explanation or clarification, and nobody will be tagged. I don't mind challenges, but don't like to pose them.
On an entirely unrelated matter, apparently Cookie Monster now also sometimes eats vegetables and fruits. And carrots. Which is a character development I had not expected, and which disturbs me. What's next? Existential doubt? Participation trophies? A sense of entitlement?
I don't like this. It wobbles the fundament of the universe.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, September 05, 2019
HURRICANE
Not focused on the weather right now, because here in the Bay Area it's always both reasonable and predictable. The wind picked up, fog started rolling in, and tourists realized that heck, it's cold here. This ain't Barcelona. A nice summer night in San Francisco means that you can hear the flesh frozen solid in your bare arms and legs starting to crack, and perhaps you shouldn't have left the hotel after breakfast wearing shorts and a tee-shirt.
There's a reason the most popular SF "souvenirs" are a Polartec® hoodie and a gallon tub of butter.
Chocolate. Chocolate is also good. You can eat some of the chocolate you bought for your cousins while waiting for the rescuers to find you.
It will give you energy.
This blogger felt that a brisk evening called for curry, which would require some nicely streaky goat or lamb, ghee, black cardamom pods, sarson ka beej, dry chilies, all the appropriate spices, a pre-boiled large potato, kari patta (karuveppilai), and a heavy enamel casserole or stew-pot.
Or fish. For something Bengali.
Mmm, yeah.
No goat. No mutton ka gosht. No lamb. No nearby butcher shop open late for emergency cuisine. What I had to work with was stalky mustard greens.
So I made something in between sarson da saag and sambal goreng sawi (which is sort of like sambal goreng kangkong), and I probably seriously overdid the chopped ginger and hot hot chilies. If I had thought to prepare for the weather, there would have been a goat in the ice chest.
Just in case.
I'm sure my friends in the Carolinas had a goat in their ice chests.
Some of them. Because they prepared.
Others, of course, simply boarded up the house, spray painted "save our souls" on the garage, bundled grandma and the cat into the stationwagon, and headed somewhere west of Omaha at high speed. There's a bottle of Bourbon, and Maximum Strength No Doz, in the glove compartment.
Fleetwood Mac on the car radio.
That goat is probably eating the plants in the living room.
As well as Grandma's heirloom rug.
Dang.
Long day at work. Lots of caffeine.
Still jangly. Sorry.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
There's a reason the most popular SF "souvenirs" are a Polartec® hoodie and a gallon tub of butter.
Chocolate. Chocolate is also good. You can eat some of the chocolate you bought for your cousins while waiting for the rescuers to find you.
It will give you energy.
This blogger felt that a brisk evening called for curry, which would require some nicely streaky goat or lamb, ghee, black cardamom pods, sarson ka beej, dry chilies, all the appropriate spices, a pre-boiled large potato, kari patta (karuveppilai), and a heavy enamel casserole or stew-pot.
Or fish. For something Bengali.
Mmm, yeah.
No goat. No mutton ka gosht. No lamb. No nearby butcher shop open late for emergency cuisine. What I had to work with was stalky mustard greens.
So I made something in between sarson da saag and sambal goreng sawi (which is sort of like sambal goreng kangkong), and I probably seriously overdid the chopped ginger and hot hot chilies. If I had thought to prepare for the weather, there would have been a goat in the ice chest.
Just in case.
I'm sure my friends in the Carolinas had a goat in their ice chests.
Some of them. Because they prepared.
Others, of course, simply boarded up the house, spray painted "save our souls" on the garage, bundled grandma and the cat into the stationwagon, and headed somewhere west of Omaha at high speed. There's a bottle of Bourbon, and Maximum Strength No Doz, in the glove compartment.
Fleetwood Mac on the car radio.
That goat is probably eating the plants in the living room.
As well as Grandma's heirloom rug.
Dang.
Long day at work. Lots of caffeine.
Still jangly. Sorry.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
I HAS SHARPIE, I IS EKSPURT!
The chatter yesterday was about Donald Trump drawing on a Weather Service map to include Alabama in the path of Dorian, which was quite transparent, seeing as the only state he recognizes is the one where he owns a golf course: Scotland.
Alabama is profoundly grateful for the attention. Oh golly yes.
"The US National Hurricane Center (NHC) warned of a "life-threatening storm surge and dangerous winds" for the coasts of Caledonia, Georgia, North and South Carolina, and Virginia, all the way up to Chesapeake Bay."
Source: Hurricane Dorian: US braced - BBC
Everything between Scotland and Maryland. Alabama isn't there at all. But all over The South residents are stockpiling grits, water, and golf balls.
Mary, a fellow pipe-smoker in Conway, South Carolina, posted a picture of her preparation: bread, wine, a carpet, bottles of distilled spirits, at least five different high quality pipe tobaccos, tampers, lighters, matches, two nice candlesticks, and a crystal decanter of sherry.
It's a very NICE crystal decanter.
Makes me wish I lived in the path.
Still, I wonder what I would do for food down there. It IS the South. No actual Chinatown with Hong Kong Milk Tea, salt fish, a vast selection of noodles, condiments, freethinkers, or sourdough bread. An interesting and never-the-less fine place, which I might visit sometime, during that time of year when it isn't excessively warm and humid, and the mosquito burden is at its lowest. Not frog-spawning season, in other words.
Which is when?
There is hot sauce there. So it's quite tolerable. Though Mary does not seem to have stocked any, which seems like a foolish oversight.
I added hot sauce to my rice porridge yesterday.
鱘龍魚片粥
A lovely bowl of fish slice congee (魚片粥 'yü pin juk'), with small chunks of what may indeed have been sturgeon (鱘龍魚 'cham lung yü'), plus chopped scallion & slivered ginger. As a smoker, as well as a barbarian, I felt the need to augment it ever so slightly with Sriracha and ground pepper, and it would have been truly wonderful with a fresh oil stick (油條 'yau tiu').
But they don't offer that.
The character 鱘 ('cham') which by itself means "sturgeon" counts twenty three strokes. Why 龍 ('lung'; "dragon") is added to the word is because Chinese is NOT monosyllabic, as often thought, but tends toward bisyllabism. A second vowel often feels essential.
Sturgeon swim in the dictionary under fish (魚) with 12 additional strokes.
AFTER THOUGHT
In the early evening I was on the front steps smoking a pipe. The fog had already hit the top of Nob Hill, where the tall buildings were fading in and out of sight. White, grey, silver. Across the street Mr. Sieuw left to get the car, and a few minutes later his wife came out carrying the dog to wait for him.
It seemed to take a long while.
He must have parked several streets away.
It's been months since I've seen him.
Maybe he doesn't smoke anymore.
I know he still plays mahjong.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Alabama is profoundly grateful for the attention. Oh golly yes.
"The US National Hurricane Center (NHC) warned of a "life-threatening storm surge and dangerous winds" for the coasts of Caledonia, Georgia, North and South Carolina, and Virginia, all the way up to Chesapeake Bay."
Source: Hurricane Dorian: US braced - BBC
Everything between Scotland and Maryland. Alabama isn't there at all. But all over The South residents are stockpiling grits, water, and golf balls.
Mary, a fellow pipe-smoker in Conway, South Carolina, posted a picture of her preparation: bread, wine, a carpet, bottles of distilled spirits, at least five different high quality pipe tobaccos, tampers, lighters, matches, two nice candlesticks, and a crystal decanter of sherry.
It's a very NICE crystal decanter.
Makes me wish I lived in the path.
Still, I wonder what I would do for food down there. It IS the South. No actual Chinatown with Hong Kong Milk Tea, salt fish, a vast selection of noodles, condiments, freethinkers, or sourdough bread. An interesting and never-the-less fine place, which I might visit sometime, during that time of year when it isn't excessively warm and humid, and the mosquito burden is at its lowest. Not frog-spawning season, in other words.
Which is when?
There is hot sauce there. So it's quite tolerable. Though Mary does not seem to have stocked any, which seems like a foolish oversight.
I added hot sauce to my rice porridge yesterday.
鱘龍魚片粥
A lovely bowl of fish slice congee (魚片粥 'yü pin juk'), with small chunks of what may indeed have been sturgeon (鱘龍魚 'cham lung yü'), plus chopped scallion & slivered ginger. As a smoker, as well as a barbarian, I felt the need to augment it ever so slightly with Sriracha and ground pepper, and it would have been truly wonderful with a fresh oil stick (油條 'yau tiu').
But they don't offer that.
The character 鱘 ('cham') which by itself means "sturgeon" counts twenty three strokes. Why 龍 ('lung'; "dragon") is added to the word is because Chinese is NOT monosyllabic, as often thought, but tends toward bisyllabism. A second vowel often feels essential.
Sturgeon swim in the dictionary under fish (魚) with 12 additional strokes.
AFTER THOUGHT
In the early evening I was on the front steps smoking a pipe. The fog had already hit the top of Nob Hill, where the tall buildings were fading in and out of sight. White, grey, silver. Across the street Mr. Sieuw left to get the car, and a few minutes later his wife came out carrying the dog to wait for him.
It seemed to take a long while.
He must have parked several streets away.
It's been months since I've seen him.
Maybe he doesn't smoke anymore.
I know he still plays mahjong.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, September 04, 2019
BROODJE JANTJE DUKES IT OUT WITH BIG BOYS
The good news is, and there is no bad news, is that a small local burger chain in Tilburg ("Tilbury") is more than holding its own against the corporate world.
Broodje Jantje (which translates as "Johhny's little Buns"; the 'je' ending is diminutive), are sellers of a version of the hamburger that really should catch on here, because I would eat it. Their product is the most popular snack in Tilburg, North Brabant province, the Netherlands.
I've never even had it. Though when I lived in North Brabant I did go to Tilburg a few times. It's a nice medium-sized city, the natives of which are known as "potte zijkers" (pot pissers), because of the cloth dyeing industry.
Something having to do with a natural fixative.
[How can you NOT like a city which has pots to pee in?]
SIMPLE. FRESH.
A bun. A deep-fried meat patty. Grilled onions. Zesty sauce.
Invented in 1965 by Jan de Kort and his wife Mieke (nickname, I think, for Margaret). The meat was provided by his dad's butcher shop. Because beef is too lean, they used ground pork, with a light coating of finely ground rusk crumbs ("paneer meel"), which are often used in deepfrying as they give a thin crust without allowing grease absorption. No binders. So not battered, as the English do, nor double-dipped like Southern Fried. Better.
A crust like that gives a delicate crunchiness.
Red or brown. Red means with a spicy tomato sauce ("tingly on the tongue"), brown is with saté sauce, à la Indonésienne. From working men to students to family people with kids who remember it fondly from when they were children, the Broodje Jantje burger remains popular with Tilburgers, and there are now over half a dozen branches in the city.
Members of Dutch royalty also like it.
"Phenomenal!"
------Prince Constantijn of the Netherlands
After more than half a century in business, Johhny's are still thriving.
Again, I have never been to Broodje Jantje. The next time I go to Tilburg, that omission will be rectified. Probably in the first hour.
What I remember particularly from visiting Tilburg is purchasing a pound of fine cheese, and home made spekkoek available at a toko on the Stations Straat, about a block away from the train station. Different occasions.
The weather was rainy, and there was other great food, of course.
Plus cups of strong Dutch coffee.
During the rain one seeks shelter at a cafe, and wiles away the time reading newspapers and smoking one's pipe or a bolknak cigar, while slowly getting zipped to the gills on caffeinated beverages. Dutch people are often wired to a fare-thee-well, and quietly gregarious. We can handle stimulation.
The average American would be screaming his head off.
Six cups will do that to you.
SPEKKOEK
By the way; spekkoek, as mentioned above, is a moist cake of many alternating layers, pale yellow and deep brown, flavoured with cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, and ginger. The batter is made in two batches, one with spices, the other not. They are poured successively on top of each other after the previous layer has gelled in the oven. It takes a little skill and a lot of patience to make, and it is considered one of the signature masterpieces of the Indo-Dutch kitchen. Your aunties probably gave you slices of it around the holidays. Properly made, the layers are thin, even, distinctly defined, and perfectly welded to each other.
I've made it often; mine are never perfect, but I think my recipe is the best.
I need to develop considerably more skill.
Great with coffee.
NA WOORD
Momenteel geniet ik van een sigaartje, en een kopje koffie. Het is bijna lunchtijd; ik denk er sterk over om naar 張寶仔粉面小食 op Stockton Street te gaan. Iets eenvoudigs, begrijpt u. Later in de middag bij bakkerij 永興餅家 mischien, of een poosje naar 地鐵站奶茶 voor Hong Kong Melk Thee en "people watching".
Vrije dag. Lui zijn.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Broodje Jantje (which translates as "Johhny's little Buns"; the 'je' ending is diminutive), are sellers of a version of the hamburger that really should catch on here, because I would eat it. Their product is the most popular snack in Tilburg, North Brabant province, the Netherlands.
I've never even had it. Though when I lived in North Brabant I did go to Tilburg a few times. It's a nice medium-sized city, the natives of which are known as "potte zijkers" (pot pissers), because of the cloth dyeing industry.
Something having to do with a natural fixative.
[How can you NOT like a city which has pots to pee in?]
SIMPLE. FRESH.
A bun. A deep-fried meat patty. Grilled onions. Zesty sauce.
Invented in 1965 by Jan de Kort and his wife Mieke (nickname, I think, for Margaret). The meat was provided by his dad's butcher shop. Because beef is too lean, they used ground pork, with a light coating of finely ground rusk crumbs ("paneer meel"), which are often used in deepfrying as they give a thin crust without allowing grease absorption. No binders. So not battered, as the English do, nor double-dipped like Southern Fried. Better.
A crust like that gives a delicate crunchiness.
Photo by Peter Roek
SOURCE: Snack Koerier article
Red or brown. Red means with a spicy tomato sauce ("tingly on the tongue"), brown is with saté sauce, à la Indonésienne. From working men to students to family people with kids who remember it fondly from when they were children, the Broodje Jantje burger remains popular with Tilburgers, and there are now over half a dozen branches in the city.
Members of Dutch royalty also like it.
"Phenomenal!"
------Prince Constantijn of the Netherlands
After more than half a century in business, Johhny's are still thriving.
Again, I have never been to Broodje Jantje. The next time I go to Tilburg, that omission will be rectified. Probably in the first hour.
What I remember particularly from visiting Tilburg is purchasing a pound of fine cheese, and home made spekkoek available at a toko on the Stations Straat, about a block away from the train station. Different occasions.
The weather was rainy, and there was other great food, of course.
Plus cups of strong Dutch coffee.
During the rain one seeks shelter at a cafe, and wiles away the time reading newspapers and smoking one's pipe or a bolknak cigar, while slowly getting zipped to the gills on caffeinated beverages. Dutch people are often wired to a fare-thee-well, and quietly gregarious. We can handle stimulation.
The average American would be screaming his head off.
Six cups will do that to you.
SPEKKOEK
By the way; spekkoek, as mentioned above, is a moist cake of many alternating layers, pale yellow and deep brown, flavoured with cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, and ginger. The batter is made in two batches, one with spices, the other not. They are poured successively on top of each other after the previous layer has gelled in the oven. It takes a little skill and a lot of patience to make, and it is considered one of the signature masterpieces of the Indo-Dutch kitchen. Your aunties probably gave you slices of it around the holidays. Properly made, the layers are thin, even, distinctly defined, and perfectly welded to each other.
I've made it often; mine are never perfect, but I think my recipe is the best.
I need to develop considerably more skill.
Great with coffee.
NA WOORD
Momenteel geniet ik van een sigaartje, en een kopje koffie. Het is bijna lunchtijd; ik denk er sterk over om naar 張寶仔粉面小食 op Stockton Street te gaan. Iets eenvoudigs, begrijpt u. Later in de middag bij bakkerij 永興餅家 mischien, of een poosje naar 地鐵站奶茶 voor Hong Kong Melk Thee en "people watching".
Vrije dag. Lui zijn.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
TWEEK IT, JUST TWEEK IT!
Sometimes you take the plunge. Something a little extravagant. Especially when you see a table of tourists dining on predictable foods, and an elderly local couple having something completely different right next to them. With nice beverages.
In a chachanteng, where the selection of Caucasian food is slightly limited.
Broccoli beef. Sweet and sour pork. Cashew chicken. General Tso.
Chow mein, vegetarian stirfry, braised tofu with peppers.
Tell us if you have a peanut allergy.
A claypot special written on the wall underneath 貴妃雞. Which is good there, but my tastebuds wanted more than chilled perfumed poached chicken, baby bokchoi, rice. Something with 'oomph'.
枝竹羊腩煲
"Twiggy bamboo lamb spongy underbelly meat claypot"
No translation was provided. You can understand why.
What that means is a fragrant meat cooked together with thick strips of dried tofu to absorb some of the flavours. A little ginger, some five spice, a bay leaf. Brought to the table bubbling in a hot casserole. Very satisfying to the soul. Twiggy bamboo (枝竹 'ji juk') is what the air-dried tofu skin is called, spongy underbelly meat (腩 'naam') also means "brisket" or "loin", and while the last character (煲 'pou') means "to boil", the more common usage on many menus is "claypot".
Lamb and dried tofu casserole.
Delicious.
I knew that they'd do a good version.
Being a decadent person, and a Dutchman besides, if I had cooked it, the cut of lamb would have been different, and unless someone had an allergy, there would also be peanuts in there, to make use of the rich juices.
Plus hot crusty bread for sopping.
When I cook Chinese food, it isn't really Chinese. I'm sorry, I can't help it.
AFTER WORD
An acquaintance asked me about all the dried fish things in grocery bins along Stockton Street. So I explained that it was very similar to what the Europeans had been doing for centuries also. Plankfisk, stokfisk, lutefisk, steinvegsfisk, halmtakfisk .....
His response: "so THAT'S why you're obstinate and smell bad".
I fail to see the connection, at all, and MUST disagree.
Also, I bathe, and am very pleasant.
Even to idiots.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
In a chachanteng, where the selection of Caucasian food is slightly limited.
Broccoli beef. Sweet and sour pork. Cashew chicken. General Tso.
Chow mein, vegetarian stirfry, braised tofu with peppers.
Tell us if you have a peanut allergy.
A claypot special written on the wall underneath 貴妃雞. Which is good there, but my tastebuds wanted more than chilled perfumed poached chicken, baby bokchoi, rice. Something with 'oomph'.
枝竹羊腩煲
"Twiggy bamboo lamb spongy underbelly meat claypot"
No translation was provided. You can understand why.
What that means is a fragrant meat cooked together with thick strips of dried tofu to absorb some of the flavours. A little ginger, some five spice, a bay leaf. Brought to the table bubbling in a hot casserole. Very satisfying to the soul. Twiggy bamboo (枝竹 'ji juk') is what the air-dried tofu skin is called, spongy underbelly meat (腩 'naam') also means "brisket" or "loin", and while the last character (煲 'pou') means "to boil", the more common usage on many menus is "claypot".
Lamb and dried tofu casserole.
Delicious.
I knew that they'd do a good version.
Being a decadent person, and a Dutchman besides, if I had cooked it, the cut of lamb would have been different, and unless someone had an allergy, there would also be peanuts in there, to make use of the rich juices.
Plus hot crusty bread for sopping.
When I cook Chinese food, it isn't really Chinese. I'm sorry, I can't help it.
AFTER WORD
An acquaintance asked me about all the dried fish things in grocery bins along Stockton Street. So I explained that it was very similar to what the Europeans had been doing for centuries also. Plankfisk, stokfisk, lutefisk, steinvegsfisk, halmtakfisk .....
His response: "so THAT'S why you're obstinate and smell bad".
I fail to see the connection, at all, and MUST disagree.
Also, I bathe, and am very pleasant.
Even to idiots.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, September 03, 2019
CHEEZBURGER, CHEEZBURGER, CHEEZBURGER, ABDOMINAL SNOWMAN!
When I first arrived in San Francisco the city was filled with hamburger restaurants. Zims, which was in the Union Square area, at Civic Center near Market Street, and at Ghirardelli Square. The Hippo on Van Ness. Clown Alley, and several others, all over the city, as well as Hot Dog places.
That was years ago, and culinary preferences have changed.
Nowadays, you can get "deconstructed" vegan gluten-free umami non-gmo baby greens appetizer plates nearly everywhere, while secretely dreaming of foie gras which we don't serve because cows are sentient beings.
Really not quite sure about modern food tendencies.
Sorry, I'm animal protein deprived.
But rest assured; your grilled algae disc was sustainably farmed.
As was the thyme-rosemary aioli it's served with.
How's your tofu bisque?
What we need is more old school restaurants, serving food from a different era, where the staff doesn't speak decent English, like in Europe. And wear white shirts, neat ties. Classy! No tattooed hippies in stressed jeans.
TODAY'S SPECIAL!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puJePACBoIo.]
Among my friends and acquaintances are two gentlemen of impeccable Greek extraction, as well as one with a Greek-sounding name, (and not a single one of them is gravos) so we should be able to pull this off.
You will kindly note that three of the gentlemen in the clip above have cigarettes, so it would be a smoke-friendly place, where the kale-heads, vegans, gluten-phobes, and green sustainably farmed hipsters and spiritual types, would not feel at home. And it is the complete absence of such people which, as much as the food, that would be the attraction.
A place where the Abdominal Snowman could safely dine.
[Mention is made of the Abdominal Snowman because reader Snowy D. did not notice the previous essay, written partly in requital of his or her request.]
This blog feels kindly towards Abdominal Snowpeople.
Cheezburger, Pepsi, Chips!
Truth be told, I do know at least three places with burgers. One of them also had pizza, but the last time I ordered a slice they told me to go to the place on the corner, "we don't do pizza no more, this ain't Noo Yawk!"
The place on the corner is now closed down.
Cheezburger! Pepsi! Chips!
The Abdominal Snowman is a quadruped which lives in big rivers like the Amazon. It has two ears, a heart, a forehead. And a beak for eating honey. But it is provided with fins for swimming. They are larger than frogs.
Abdominal Snowmen are dangerous, so if you see one where people are swimming, you shout...
Cuidado, los muñecos de nieve abdominal!
Käseburgen! Vitacola! Scheibe!
Regretfully, I never ate at the Persian Burger in Berkeley, which no longer exists, nor at Bunga Bunga Burgers. But if someone were to open up an Abdominal Snowman Burger, staffed with snooty Europeans, preferably German or Greek, even French, I'll be the first in line.
A burger is basically a kofta Americaine, avec le bacon, et un fromage très médiocre, con condiments comme le ketchup et la moutarde jaune.
Et naturellement, une sauce chili piquante.
Par exemple, Sriracha.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
That was years ago, and culinary preferences have changed.
Nowadays, you can get "deconstructed" vegan gluten-free umami non-gmo baby greens appetizer plates nearly everywhere, while secretely dreaming of foie gras which we don't serve because cows are sentient beings.
Really not quite sure about modern food tendencies.
Sorry, I'm animal protein deprived.
But rest assured; your grilled algae disc was sustainably farmed.
As was the thyme-rosemary aioli it's served with.
How's your tofu bisque?
What we need is more old school restaurants, serving food from a different era, where the staff doesn't speak decent English, like in Europe. And wear white shirts, neat ties. Classy! No tattooed hippies in stressed jeans.
TODAY'S SPECIAL!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puJePACBoIo.]
Among my friends and acquaintances are two gentlemen of impeccable Greek extraction, as well as one with a Greek-sounding name, (and not a single one of them is gravos) so we should be able to pull this off.
You will kindly note that three of the gentlemen in the clip above have cigarettes, so it would be a smoke-friendly place, where the kale-heads, vegans, gluten-phobes, and green sustainably farmed hipsters and spiritual types, would not feel at home. And it is the complete absence of such people which, as much as the food, that would be the attraction.
A place where the Abdominal Snowman could safely dine.
[Mention is made of the Abdominal Snowman because reader Snowy D. did not notice the previous essay, written partly in requital of his or her request.]
This blog feels kindly towards Abdominal Snowpeople.
Cheezburger, Pepsi, Chips!
Truth be told, I do know at least three places with burgers. One of them also had pizza, but the last time I ordered a slice they told me to go to the place on the corner, "we don't do pizza no more, this ain't Noo Yawk!"
The place on the corner is now closed down.
Cheezburger! Pepsi! Chips!
The Abdominal Snowman is a quadruped which lives in big rivers like the Amazon. It has two ears, a heart, a forehead. And a beak for eating honey. But it is provided with fins for swimming. They are larger than frogs.
Abdominal Snowmen are dangerous, so if you see one where people are swimming, you shout...
Cuidado, los muñecos de nieve abdominal!
Käseburgen! Vitacola! Scheibe!
Regretfully, I never ate at the Persian Burger in Berkeley, which no longer exists, nor at Bunga Bunga Burgers. But if someone were to open up an Abdominal Snowman Burger, staffed with snooty Europeans, preferably German or Greek, even French, I'll be the first in line.
A burger is basically a kofta Americaine, avec le bacon, et un fromage très médiocre, con condiments comme le ketchup et la moutarde jaune.
Et naturellement, une sauce chili piquante.
Par exemple, Sriracha.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
THAT'S VERY DIFFERENT!
Years ago on Saturday Night Live, Gilda Radner had a running personality as Emily Litella, who misunderstood things and made angry speeches until someone corrected her. "Oooh, that's very different; never mind."
In short, no more violins on television!
She also featured in the Landshark episode. Who where actually only dolphins, moonlighting as plumbers.
"Considered the cleverest of all sharks, unlike the great white, which tends to inhabit the waters of harbours and recreational beach areas, the landshark may strike at any time, (and) any place; it is capable of disguising its voice and generally attacks young single women. Experts at the University of Miami's Oceanographic Institute suggest that the best way to scare off the shark in the event of an attack is to hit or punch the predator in the nose."
The same thing you would do with a Jehovah's Witness, in other words.
It strikes me that the best way of dealing with a landshark would be to distribute Barbie dolls in front of other people's doors, precisely like emptying a bucket of chum in the water to lure them into the kiddie pool.
That way they won't ring your doorbell.
Don't be surprised if one of these days you see dolls in front of random doorways in your apartment building. Please go back inside and ignore any sounds you hear. I'm just protecting you from the sharks.
And, related thereto, commenter Snowy D. writes underneath a recent post:
"BE WARY OF THE ABDOMINAL SNOWMAN!!! VERY VERY WARY OF THE ABDOMINABLE SNOWMAN!!!! HE CAN CAUSE YOU LOTS OF PAIN AND DANGER. Will you please, in your great kindness, write a post about this?"
End cite.
The essay he or she commented upon was about food-poisoning. Which I had last week, from my own cooking. It was altogether ghastly. I may have lost nearly ten more pounds, and I'm still recovering from it, which takes quite a while.
It took me four days to get my appetite back, although the baked Portuguese Chicken Rice, with globs of hot sauce, definitely helped. Plus a cup of HK milk tea to wash it down, and a pipeful of aged blonde and red Virginia leaf, with the merest smidgeon of Perique, after.
Generally speaking, wariness regarding Abdominal Snowmen is well advised. Consequently, I never eat at Chipotle, and strenuously avoid almost all restaurants where Caucasians are preparing "ethnic" food. They frequently make it too designer and hip, and upset stomachs are par for the course.
I've never had food poisoning at a place where Mexicans or Chinese cook.
The Abdominal Snowman doesn't work there.
Ginger, both dried and fresh, is good for the digestion.
Keeps the Abdominal Snowman away.
Avoid kale; it's garbage.
I need to buy a gross of naked Barbie dolls.
There are none in this apartment.
"A sashimi plate with pea puree." Dang, that sounds disgusting. Prepared, of course, by a white person. I can get you some egg-salad sandwiches.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
In short, no more violins on television!
She also featured in the Landshark episode. Who where actually only dolphins, moonlighting as plumbers.
"Considered the cleverest of all sharks, unlike the great white, which tends to inhabit the waters of harbours and recreational beach areas, the landshark may strike at any time, (and) any place; it is capable of disguising its voice and generally attacks young single women. Experts at the University of Miami's Oceanographic Institute suggest that the best way to scare off the shark in the event of an attack is to hit or punch the predator in the nose."
The same thing you would do with a Jehovah's Witness, in other words.
It strikes me that the best way of dealing with a landshark would be to distribute Barbie dolls in front of other people's doors, precisely like emptying a bucket of chum in the water to lure them into the kiddie pool.
That way they won't ring your doorbell.
Don't be surprised if one of these days you see dolls in front of random doorways in your apartment building. Please go back inside and ignore any sounds you hear. I'm just protecting you from the sharks.
And, related thereto, commenter Snowy D. writes underneath a recent post:
"BE WARY OF THE ABDOMINAL SNOWMAN!!! VERY VERY WARY OF THE ABDOMINABLE SNOWMAN!!!! HE CAN CAUSE YOU LOTS OF PAIN AND DANGER. Will you please, in your great kindness, write a post about this?"
End cite.
The essay he or she commented upon was about food-poisoning. Which I had last week, from my own cooking. It was altogether ghastly. I may have lost nearly ten more pounds, and I'm still recovering from it, which takes quite a while.
It took me four days to get my appetite back, although the baked Portuguese Chicken Rice, with globs of hot sauce, definitely helped. Plus a cup of HK milk tea to wash it down, and a pipeful of aged blonde and red Virginia leaf, with the merest smidgeon of Perique, after.
Generally speaking, wariness regarding Abdominal Snowmen is well advised. Consequently, I never eat at Chipotle, and strenuously avoid almost all restaurants where Caucasians are preparing "ethnic" food. They frequently make it too designer and hip, and upset stomachs are par for the course.
I've never had food poisoning at a place where Mexicans or Chinese cook.
The Abdominal Snowman doesn't work there.
Ginger, both dried and fresh, is good for the digestion.
Keeps the Abdominal Snowman away.
Avoid kale; it's garbage.
I need to buy a gross of naked Barbie dolls.
There are none in this apartment.
"A sashimi plate with pea puree." Dang, that sounds disgusting. Prepared, of course, by a white person. I can get you some egg-salad sandwiches.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, September 02, 2019
KEEP GOING OR THE CLOWNS WILL GET YOU
The more one sees of these people, the greater the conviction that they've got mad cow disease. It's the circles they make. Plus the vacant staring at the sky. Either that or they've been warned that the space aliens are finally coming, and they hope that they can spot them descending and flee the death rays.
The graffiti-Lennon wall nearby is filled with "pig man", "plague", "ratanic", and "Trump". The person posting all that up has screws loose. I've met him, and it's a good thing he doesn't recognize people or hunt them down.
Too many chemicals in his lobes.
One of many.
They've taken the same things to heart that inspire me, but with different results.
INSPIRATIONAL QUOTES
1.
"We must move forward, not backward, upward not forward, and always twirling, twirling, twirling towards freedom!"
-----Kodos, one of the two aliens on the Simpsons.
2.
"Keep moving, otherwise they'll shoot you from behind the trees."
3.
"Paddle faster, I hear banjos."
4.
"Life, life not all guessing games, Frog, sometimes we have to care about friends, especially friends who love cookies, friends who love cookies so much, they play silly guessing games, because maybe, maybe, just maybe a frog, a very handsome frog, who has cookie, will give best best friend who no can live without cookies, give that best friend a cookie.
But, if friendship means nothing..... "
-----Cookie Monster, arguing that the individual can make a difference.
See, I find these things uplifting. The people wandering around at the intersection take them as messages from the other side.
The bus stop toward the end of the block fills up with the reality impaired by mid-afternoon. Thereafter, only drunks and bozos can sit there, not old people or moms with kids. It's reserved.
Sometimes I'm out on the front steps drinking it all in. Occasionally with my morning coffee and a cigarillo, or in the evening with a pipe in my mouth.
A pipe takes more time; that inevitably means more theatre.
Don't stop running, they are right behind you.
They've got big shiny teeth
And ray guns.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The graffiti-Lennon wall nearby is filled with "pig man", "plague", "ratanic", and "Trump". The person posting all that up has screws loose. I've met him, and it's a good thing he doesn't recognize people or hunt them down.
Too many chemicals in his lobes.
One of many.
They've taken the same things to heart that inspire me, but with different results.
INSPIRATIONAL QUOTES
1.
"We must move forward, not backward, upward not forward, and always twirling, twirling, twirling towards freedom!"
-----Kodos, one of the two aliens on the Simpsons.
2.
"Keep moving, otherwise they'll shoot you from behind the trees."
3.
"Paddle faster, I hear banjos."
4.
"Life, life not all guessing games, Frog, sometimes we have to care about friends, especially friends who love cookies, friends who love cookies so much, they play silly guessing games, because maybe, maybe, just maybe a frog, a very handsome frog, who has cookie, will give best best friend who no can live without cookies, give that best friend a cookie.
But, if friendship means nothing..... "
-----Cookie Monster, arguing that the individual can make a difference.
See, I find these things uplifting. The people wandering around at the intersection take them as messages from the other side.
The bus stop toward the end of the block fills up with the reality impaired by mid-afternoon. Thereafter, only drunks and bozos can sit there, not old people or moms with kids. It's reserved.
Sometimes I'm out on the front steps drinking it all in. Occasionally with my morning coffee and a cigarillo, or in the evening with a pipe in my mouth.
A pipe takes more time; that inevitably means more theatre.
Don't stop running, they are right behind you.
They've got big shiny teeth
And ray guns.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
THE ENTERTAINMENT EQUIVALENT OF RANCID FISH GLUE
The apartment mate is home today, obviously because it's Labor Day (first Monday in September), during which we Yankees celebrate International May First. We just gotta be different. Anyhow, she's a lovely person, and I enjoy her company, especially when she's channeling for multiple stuffed creatures. The voices in my head come out of her mouth.
Still. It can be a bit ..... fraught-full.
No, not because of the smoking issue. I'll simply step outside with my beverage and a cigarillo. Nor because the shared apartment is rather small and crowded with bookshelves. And the kitchen is only large enough for one person to move around efficiently and briskly while preparing oneself a tasty, nutritious, and culinarily complex snack.
I can shrink if I want to.
It's the vulgar crap on teevee. She likes watching reality shows with some of the most actively dislikable individuals on the planet, many of whom are blondish or well-dressed. Shall not mention which shows these are, because I do not wish to encourage such behaviour.
But good lord. Painful.
The problem is that the television is in the same room as both computers, as well as the rickety rattan chair and a tray of pipes and tobaccos.
Obviously the pipes and tobaccos are my pidgin.
While reading the news, several entries about languages on Wikipedia, plus an in-depth piece about the history of the Nilotic peoples, tall angular body types, DNA, haplo groups (that was a re-read), and viewing an informative tobacco-related video by an industry insider and former pipe-maker, as well as a how-to on a dish that most white people won't like, the television show with repulsive stuck-up badly behaved entitled acting blondish dingoes was on in background. She had it on while she did her own computer reading at the other end of the table.
The only relief was a smoke break and heading into the bathroom.
"ARE YOU SMOKING IN THERE?!?"
"Nope. Not me." Of course I was lying. The window was open, the heater was on to blow the damp smelly air out, the door was firmly closed. A man cannot shave in public on his front door steps. It just isn't done.
Binge-watching, though I understand the phenomenon and sometimes practice it myself (Youtube: Monty Python, Food Videos, Linguistic Stuff, Cartoon Clips), isn't quite the thing. Blondish people, football, the Jewelry Channel, skin-ailments, true murders, game shows, porn; all pretty much the same. It's like being forced to witness a basement full of Midwestern Lutherans eating Lutefisk.
I've read about Lutefisk, and how it's made. Nothing encourages me to ever prepare it myself, although if someone were to do a sambal goreng version, chilipaste garlic ginger, I might try that with a modicum of enthusiasm.
From Wikipedia: "Lutefisk prepared from cod is somewhat notorious – even in Scandinavia – for its intensely offensive odor. Conversely, lutefisk prepared from pollock or haddock emits almost no odor."
One imagines sectarianism among the Lutherans; cod only people versus haddock, versus those horrible freethinkers who mix or alternate.
It's NOT a machlokes l'shem Shemayim.
One OR the other only.
Heretics.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Still. It can be a bit ..... fraught-full.
No, not because of the smoking issue. I'll simply step outside with my beverage and a cigarillo. Nor because the shared apartment is rather small and crowded with bookshelves. And the kitchen is only large enough for one person to move around efficiently and briskly while preparing oneself a tasty, nutritious, and culinarily complex snack.
I can shrink if I want to.
It's the vulgar crap on teevee. She likes watching reality shows with some of the most actively dislikable individuals on the planet, many of whom are blondish or well-dressed. Shall not mention which shows these are, because I do not wish to encourage such behaviour.
But good lord. Painful.
The problem is that the television is in the same room as both computers, as well as the rickety rattan chair and a tray of pipes and tobaccos.
Obviously the pipes and tobaccos are my pidgin.
While reading the news, several entries about languages on Wikipedia, plus an in-depth piece about the history of the Nilotic peoples, tall angular body types, DNA, haplo groups (that was a re-read), and viewing an informative tobacco-related video by an industry insider and former pipe-maker, as well as a how-to on a dish that most white people won't like, the television show with repulsive stuck-up badly behaved entitled acting blondish dingoes was on in background. She had it on while she did her own computer reading at the other end of the table.
The only relief was a smoke break and heading into the bathroom.
"ARE YOU SMOKING IN THERE?!?"
"Nope. Not me." Of course I was lying. The window was open, the heater was on to blow the damp smelly air out, the door was firmly closed. A man cannot shave in public on his front door steps. It just isn't done.
Binge-watching, though I understand the phenomenon and sometimes practice it myself (Youtube: Monty Python, Food Videos, Linguistic Stuff, Cartoon Clips), isn't quite the thing. Blondish people, football, the Jewelry Channel, skin-ailments, true murders, game shows, porn; all pretty much the same. It's like being forced to witness a basement full of Midwestern Lutherans eating Lutefisk.
I've read about Lutefisk, and how it's made. Nothing encourages me to ever prepare it myself, although if someone were to do a sambal goreng version, chilipaste garlic ginger, I might try that with a modicum of enthusiasm.
From Wikipedia: "Lutefisk prepared from cod is somewhat notorious – even in Scandinavia – for its intensely offensive odor. Conversely, lutefisk prepared from pollock or haddock emits almost no odor."
One imagines sectarianism among the Lutherans; cod only people versus haddock, versus those horrible freethinkers who mix or alternate.
It's NOT a machlokes l'shem Shemayim.
One OR the other only.
Heretics.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
BAD DINGO, NO BEER FOR YOU!
Over the weekend I chivied one of the boys in the lounge about stashing his beer in the company refrigerator. Dude, stop being such an alcoholic, and hogging the space where I need to put my lunch! Being a puritan in several ways, I do not approve of intoxicating beverages before the cocktail hour, and don't have much truck with beer in any case. It's the beverage of yutzes and teevee watching sportsfiends as well as drunken frat boys.
People who eat bad pizza.
That space could be better occupied by my lunch at work.
He says that I am picking on him.
I am.
In fact, I pick on very many of the fellows back there, not just him. Too damned many of them are idiots. Yesterday the esteemed member of the judicial branch ranted for half an hour about street people in San Francisco, to the point where I snarled that I was all in favour of deporting them to a harsh penal colony like Virginia, and letting the authorities of that ghastly colonial enterprise put them to work in the tobacco fields.
I would have suggested Australia, but America doesn't actually own that place, or Greenland, which the orange-faced baboon wants to purchase, however neither of those fine wasteland hellholes actually grows tobacco. Which is a key element in this scheme, as the esteemed member of the judicial branch, the other yutzes in front of the teevee, the beerdrinking profligate, and I myself have an interest in the noble leaf. Remarkably, he didn't wig to the fact that I was being facetious. A keen legal mind, and related to a well-respected geo-political analyst who worked high up in previous administrations, but not as perspicacious as he should be.
It's probably all the degeneracy that surrounds him at work.
As well as the rotten stogies he huffs.
It is often a struggle to remain equanimitible and courteous at work.
Over the years I have noticed that some of the more uneasy to get along with cigar-smokers there have the nicest dogs; animals that reflect well on their owners and give a better impression of them than they themselves are capable of doing. Because one of them is involved in training and raising helper animals (for the seeing impaired, diabetics, or other people awaiting such), there has been a succession of calm and extremely well-balanced retriever and labrador mixes, whom one wishes were capable of speech.
Remarkably, not a single one of these likable creatures have realized that, besides my having no tail, the main difference between me and them is opposable thumbs, which is why I can open the cookie jar.
They do understand that I have this magic talent.
Can't quite grasp why that is.
The dogs are appreciative. They treat me with greater consideration than they do the beer drinker. Who just lays there in the overstuffed easy chair, like a bag of dry beans, talking too damned much. Dogs aren't big on speech. Nuzzling, head scratching, or other forms of physical communication.
By their standards, he's useless.
And I agree with them.
Anyhow. Additional day off today. During which I shall be nowhere near cigar smokers or beer drinkers. Or blinkered members of the judicial branch.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
People who eat bad pizza.
That space could be better occupied by my lunch at work.
He says that I am picking on him.
I am.
In fact, I pick on very many of the fellows back there, not just him. Too damned many of them are idiots. Yesterday the esteemed member of the judicial branch ranted for half an hour about street people in San Francisco, to the point where I snarled that I was all in favour of deporting them to a harsh penal colony like Virginia, and letting the authorities of that ghastly colonial enterprise put them to work in the tobacco fields.
I would have suggested Australia, but America doesn't actually own that place, or Greenland, which the orange-faced baboon wants to purchase, however neither of those fine wasteland hellholes actually grows tobacco. Which is a key element in this scheme, as the esteemed member of the judicial branch, the other yutzes in front of the teevee, the beerdrinking profligate, and I myself have an interest in the noble leaf. Remarkably, he didn't wig to the fact that I was being facetious. A keen legal mind, and related to a well-respected geo-political analyst who worked high up in previous administrations, but not as perspicacious as he should be.
It's probably all the degeneracy that surrounds him at work.
As well as the rotten stogies he huffs.
It is often a struggle to remain equanimitible and courteous at work.
Over the years I have noticed that some of the more uneasy to get along with cigar-smokers there have the nicest dogs; animals that reflect well on their owners and give a better impression of them than they themselves are capable of doing. Because one of them is involved in training and raising helper animals (for the seeing impaired, diabetics, or other people awaiting such), there has been a succession of calm and extremely well-balanced retriever and labrador mixes, whom one wishes were capable of speech.
Remarkably, not a single one of these likable creatures have realized that, besides my having no tail, the main difference between me and them is opposable thumbs, which is why I can open the cookie jar.
They do understand that I have this magic talent.
Can't quite grasp why that is.
The dogs are appreciative. They treat me with greater consideration than they do the beer drinker. Who just lays there in the overstuffed easy chair, like a bag of dry beans, talking too damned much. Dogs aren't big on speech. Nuzzling, head scratching, or other forms of physical communication.
By their standards, he's useless.
And I agree with them.
Anyhow. Additional day off today. During which I shall be nowhere near cigar smokers or beer drinkers. Or blinkered members of the judicial branch.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Sunday, September 01, 2019
THE GUIDED TOUR NO ONE WANTED
The news out of Hong Kong has given many Westerners a glimpse of the Special Administrative Region that they had not previously seen. It is, more or less, a tour guided by recent events. With names they find quite baffling.
They're heading into unfamiliar territory, as it where.
For their convenience, here are some locations.
荃灣
Tsuen Wan
This is where last Sunday, August 25, one shot was fired, as a warning, and police subsequently drew guns on protesters. Water cannon were deployed for the first time in the twelve weeks of civil discord. A twelve year old was arrested. It's a working-class district built on reclaimed land, where several generations ago pirates and smugglers moored their boats. It houses one of the largest shopping malls in Hong Kong, and is easily reached by public transit. On the west side of the peninsula, facing Tsing Yi Island (青衣島).
北角
North Point
A mixed residential and commercial area on Hong Kong Island, formerly mostly Shanghainese, since the late fifties and early sixties Fujianese. Now also including pro-Beijing Fujianese gangsters from the mainland and the Philippines.
葵芳
Kwai Fong
Neighborhood in Tsuen Wan, Kwai Tsing district, New Territories, where an off-duty policeman was stabbed several times on Friday night.
元朗
Yuen Long
This is where triad members attacked peaceful protester with knives and sticks back in July. It is a hub of smuggling activities and other illegal actions due to it's proximity to the border between the Mainland and Hong Kong. There are some picturesque spots there, but it is best avoided.
南邊圍
Nam Pin Wai
A colourful traditional clan village in Yuen Long largely inhabited by criminals.
黃大仙
Wong Tai Sin
An area named for a Taoist saint whose temple is located there, but more recently known for several threatening protests targeting police officers families outside the Wong Tai Sin Disciplined Services Quarters (黃大仙紀律部隊宿舍) on Muk Lun Street (睦鄰街). It is in the north east of Kowloon, where Chuk Yuen (竹園) used to be.
佐敦
Jordan
Area in the south west of Kowloon, in Yau Tsim Mong (油尖旺區). This is where two protest organizers were savagely attacked by criminals wielding baseball bats. The police have made no arrests in this case.
中環
Central
The site of frequent protests, this is the veritable cockpit. Home to many banks, expensive emporia, consulates, and the government. North shore of Hong Kong Island, opposite Kowloon. Carrie Lam, engineer of this current round of discord, lives at government house (香港禮賓府) here, on Government Hill (政府山).
蘭桂坊
Lan Kwai Fong
An area of no importance whatsoever, where foreign business executives, drunken Australians, and the international press hang out. It was the site of a deadly stampede in 1993. It's on a hillside somewhere in Central.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
They're heading into unfamiliar territory, as it where.
For their convenience, here are some locations.
荃灣
Tsuen Wan
This is where last Sunday, August 25, one shot was fired, as a warning, and police subsequently drew guns on protesters. Water cannon were deployed for the first time in the twelve weeks of civil discord. A twelve year old was arrested. It's a working-class district built on reclaimed land, where several generations ago pirates and smugglers moored their boats. It houses one of the largest shopping malls in Hong Kong, and is easily reached by public transit. On the west side of the peninsula, facing Tsing Yi Island (青衣島).
北角
North Point
A mixed residential and commercial area on Hong Kong Island, formerly mostly Shanghainese, since the late fifties and early sixties Fujianese. Now also including pro-Beijing Fujianese gangsters from the mainland and the Philippines.
葵芳
Kwai Fong
Neighborhood in Tsuen Wan, Kwai Tsing district, New Territories, where an off-duty policeman was stabbed several times on Friday night.
元朗
Yuen Long
This is where triad members attacked peaceful protester with knives and sticks back in July. It is a hub of smuggling activities and other illegal actions due to it's proximity to the border between the Mainland and Hong Kong. There are some picturesque spots there, but it is best avoided.
南邊圍
Nam Pin Wai
A colourful traditional clan village in Yuen Long largely inhabited by criminals.
黃大仙
Wong Tai Sin
An area named for a Taoist saint whose temple is located there, but more recently known for several threatening protests targeting police officers families outside the Wong Tai Sin Disciplined Services Quarters (黃大仙紀律部隊宿舍) on Muk Lun Street (睦鄰街). It is in the north east of Kowloon, where Chuk Yuen (竹園) used to be.
佐敦
Jordan
Area in the south west of Kowloon, in Yau Tsim Mong (油尖旺區). This is where two protest organizers were savagely attacked by criminals wielding baseball bats. The police have made no arrests in this case.
中環
Central
The site of frequent protests, this is the veritable cockpit. Home to many banks, expensive emporia, consulates, and the government. North shore of Hong Kong Island, opposite Kowloon. Carrie Lam, engineer of this current round of discord, lives at government house (香港禮賓府) here, on Government Hill (政府山).
蘭桂坊
Lan Kwai Fong
An area of no importance whatsoever, where foreign business executives, drunken Australians, and the international press hang out. It was the site of a deadly stampede in 1993. It's on a hillside somewhere in Central.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
VALUABLE LIFE EXPERIENCE
Threw out all of the fried tofu. Threw out two containers of curry paste. Discarded the lap cheung. A dish of left-overs also went into the trash.
Reason being an educational experience with food poisoning.
Sometimes my own cooking is dangerous.
Usually food poisoning is condiment related.
Judging by four times in three decades.
By the way: I never eat at Chipotle.
Food-poisoning symptoms like abdominal pain, stomach cramps, and multiple bouts of diarrhea or vomiting, are often more severe than a stomach bug.
That fried tofu may have sat out too long, and both the two curry pastes as well as the lap cheung were getting old.
Everything is educational.
All of it was cooked.
Thoroughly.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Reason being an educational experience with food poisoning.
Sometimes my own cooking is dangerous.
Usually food poisoning is condiment related.
Judging by four times in three decades.
By the way: I never eat at Chipotle.
Food-poisoning symptoms like abdominal pain, stomach cramps, and multiple bouts of diarrhea or vomiting, are often more severe than a stomach bug.
That fried tofu may have sat out too long, and both the two curry pastes as well as the lap cheung were getting old.
Everything is educational.
All of it was cooked.
Thoroughly.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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INTO THE JUDGEMENTAL WOODS
A number of the people with whom I have to associate in Marin County have, at this point, gone full freaking fascist, damned well nazi, and ...
