Not so Shiny-Happy

Well, the bloom is starting to come off the Hong Kong rose. Its charm is fading a bit.

Perhaps it is because I see the end or that I've been here just long enough to grow tired of the newness, but either way I'm looking forward to going home.

There are many really cool things about Hong Kong. It is vibrant and lively and visually amazing. The food is great, the people are cordial, the views are spectacular. But it lacks a few things, too (like all places, I imagine).

Tiny apartments and crowded streets and too-tall buildings are wearing on me. I really want to be able to cook something. To ride my bike along the beach. To sit outside without coming home with a dozen mosquito bites. To go out with friends. (To have friends).

Simply put, I've had enough. I came, I saw, I enjoyed. It's time to get back to my life in California.

The question becomes: Do I want to go home because I know I can (and will)? Would I be more interested in staying if I knew I were? I say the point is moot, because in a few weeks, we're both out of here.

What happens next? Nobody knows.

Randomness

I'm reluctant to post anything, because I really want to keep the elf video at the top of the page, but here goes. (And I have a sneaking suspicion none of you enjoyed it as much as I did.)

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Everybody knows chickens don't have lips, and I saw the proof up close and personal tonight. We ordered crispy chicken (a half) and there it was on the plate, the chicken's head. Or, to be more precise, half the chicken's head. I think you're supposed to suck out the brains. But, um, no. Which is weird, because when I found the liver/gizzards, I went right after them. Same with the tail.

I have to admit, there is no rhyme or reason as to what I'll eat or why (not). Duck tongue, pig knuckle, chicken feet, eel, jelly fish ... no, thank you. Fried fish heads, kidneys, chicken feet, tripe ... no, thank you. I am embarrassed to say the list is longer that I'd like and it seems to be getting longer. How is that possible? And I have a sneaking suspicion that if things were presented to me, without explanation, I'd probably be okay. But until then, I'm gonna peruse the menu a little more closely.

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Speaking of food (isn't that the purpose of this blog?) I have finally found my perfect fruit. I've been waiting for tangerine season seemingly forever. Clementines, tangerines, mandarins -- whatever they are called in whatever country -- I adore them. And here, they are amazingly good. At the grocery store they come individually wrapped in little cellophane baggies. They are cheap -- about 13 cents apiece -- and juicy and sweet. They haven't been available long -- perhaps two or three weeks -- but I haven't had a bad one yet. They also sell them in the street markets, sans cellophane and with leaves attached, but I've had such good luck with the ones at the grocery store I'm reluctant to try any others.

You all know how much I like risk and change.

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Have I mentioned we're back in the tiny apartment? The one the size of my living room in Long Beach (which is hardly a ginormous space)? Yeah, sad but true. I never realized how much different an extra room would make. But it does. Fortunately, the couch is big enough to a. sleep on and b. for both of us to sit on, barely.

Who would have thought I'd be yearning for 500 square feet?

But the two things I miss most are the view and the air. Being on the 23rd floor instead of the 2nd floor makes a huge difference in terms of air flow. And I was able to look out on the harbor all day long -- made the place feel really spacious. Here, well, I can see the fence on the patio and enjoy the aromas wafting up from the street.

Remember how I was lamenting the location of the last place? Well, I got used to it, and now that is our favorite neighborhood. That's the upside of moving around. If we stay, I now think we're likely to be in Mid-Levels. We managed to figure out most of the bus and minibus routes, thus minimizing a lot of the inconvenience. It's still no Tin Hau, in terms of shopping ease, but it more than makes up for it in terms of space and altitude.

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The holidays are here and it's evident, even though the weather isn't really cooperating. But then, we're used to that in SoCal. Still, it feels weirder here than at home, so it probably isn't just the temperature. But I can't really explain why. We have a small poinsettia on the stove (no kitchen table) so it's festive. And a string of lights. Next up -- I find a menorah. They say you can find anything in Hong Kong, so I'll put that to the test.

All the malls have Christmas carols on in the background (and we heard them in the MTR, too). They bear some resemblance to American carols, but are slightly different. Same tune, different words. I like it; never knew how many different versions of Jingle Bells there were. Still, it feels holiday-like without the repetition.

There are lots of Christmas trees up everywhere, too. And fake snow. And lights on the sides of the building. And Santas and reindeer. The people here seem fascinated by it, taking pictures in front of everything like it's new. We haven't been able to see into any apartments to see if anyone is decorating, but the stores seem to be making some effort.

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And can I just mention that getting around town above-ground is like being on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride? Every taxi driver (and some bus drivers) seems to have a serious case of flutter-foot. Good gracious. Some speculate it's because they spend most of their time in traffic and aren't used to going far. Maybe. But all that stopping and starting is seriously queasy-making. And on a double-decker bus, it's particularly bad.

On the minibus back from Stanley on Friday my driver behaved like he was in the Macau Grand Prix. I've never seen a minibus reach speeds of 71 -- especially on a windy mountain road. I don't expect my commutes to be thrill rides. Thank goodness for ginger chews, eh?

The highlight of that ride, of course, was when we hit the roundabout and he slammed on the brakes -- yes, the bus slammed on the brakes, explaining why there are seat belts on each seat -- and came within inches of the taxi who was trying to pass. I guess the biggest mystery is why there aren't more accidents. I've been in half a dozen near misses and I'm rarely on the road.

OK. Rants over.

It's like when I was a kid, driving with my Grandpa Aaron. Ugh.

Too Much Time on my Hands

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

This is a hoot! (And you should see the disco version)

Can You Smell it From There?

Stinky cheese.

It's a great pleasure in my life, and one that's been missing almost entirely since I moved away from Paris. My friend Mary brought me a very ripe Camembert when she visited, and Paul and I cracked it open the other night.

Oh boy.

It was incredibly stinky. Stinkier than any cheese I've eaten (and certainly smelled) in a good long while. And it was delicious. And sharp. Really ripe.

You forget, I think, what a true, raw-milk cheese can be like. Two years out of Paris I eat mostly cheddar. At least when I'm in California; in Hong Kong, there's not much cheese at the local grocery store that doesn't come in slices, individually wrapped in plastic. And there certainly is no artisanal Camembert at my local Wellcome.

My family likes raclette, which we get at Trader Joe's and which is different from French raclette. In France, raclette is a cheese that's good for melting on potatoes but I don't recall it being particularly strong. It's not mild, but it's not strong. The one we get in SoCal, though, we call "stinky feet cheese." It's that nasty. But it tastes good, absolutely.

This Camembert beats any raclette by a mile. It arrived vacuum-packed and when I opened the plastic I had to take a step backward. When I opened the wooden container it was worse. And then the wax covering. Phew! But after that first creamy, sharp bite I was in heaven. I didn't mind that my clothes were stinky, that the apartment was stinky, I just relished the cheese.

We have to finish it tonight, since we move in the morning. And by the time the owner of the apartment returns on Tuesday he will never know what he missed.

Tiny Food

I've heard of silver-dollar pancakes before, but silver-dollar burgers?

We grabbed a bite to eat today in Stanley, sitting along the sea and watching the sunset. But when we ordered, we didn't realize it was literally a bite.

Mini-burgers, the menu said, and we were thinking sliders. But these were truly mini burgers. No bigger than a silver dollar.

Made with New Zealand beef and topped with lettuce, tomato and ketchup. Surprising, cute and oddly satisfying. Turns out a bite was all we needed.

Baby It's Cold Outside

The temperature here has dipped to a frigid 64 degrees, and the denizens of this fair city are bundling up.

Outside today, when it was closer to 70, we saw girls in winter coats, guys in ski vests and both with mufflers wrapped around their ears.

Now as a Southern Californian, I understand the desire to change with the seasons. I get that you reach a point in the fall when you want to put on your tall boots and your sweater. The shops here have been marketing winter wear since we arrived in October. But this goes above and beyond. Girls on the street are huddled together, trying to keep the cutting wind off their faces. (The sea temperature is a brisk 74 degrees, after all).

When the temperature dips like this in SoCal, we just put on a fleece and wear shorts. We don't even change out of flip-flops unless we put on our Ugg boots. It takes 40-degree night temps for us to really bundle up, much to the amusement of our Midwestern cousins.

In point of fact, it is colder in our apartment, during the day, than it is outside. And Hong Kong apartments aren't designed for cold weather. There is no central heating (just as there really isn't much central air conditioning). Our plan, then, is simple: Bundle up. Put on a sweater. Wear socks. Find the blanket that we know is somewhere in the closet. And count our blessings before the stifling humidity returns.

Nobu!

I have been to Nobu in Paris and in Hong Kong, and it has been as good as I expected both times. I was musing with a friend about why I wouldn't go in Los Angeles. I guess it seems too frivolous or expensive or indulgent. But in retrospect, that was not the case either time I went.

The only question I have now is when will I get to go again.

The Signature Bento Box, clockwise from left: Tuna sashimi (although it does look seared in this photo), sushi and cut rolls, sauteed vegetables on rice, black cod with miso glaze and popcorn shrimp. An amazing mix of flavors.