In a development which I realize may be shocking to some people, not everyone on Earth celebrates Christmas.
Today my father and I went to Clement Street to wander around and get some lunch, in a break with dim sum Sunday tradition. We found ourselves at Lucky Dim Sum, an establishment I’m not sure I would recommend with confidence.
Not being terribly hungry, we just ordered har gow, shumai dumplings, and leek dumplings with water chestnuts. The har gow and shumai came from steaming vats, so we kind of expected them to be, you know, hot. Which, alas, they were not. In addition to being lukewarm, they were a little lackluster in flavor: luckily a liberal dousing of sri racha will repair a lot of bad blood in regards to dim dum. I enjoyed the leek dumplings immensely and my father might have too if I hadn’t eaten them all.
After that, we headed to the Richmond New May Wah Market for an assortment of frozen dumplings to be enjoyed later, along with a variety of other things. I hadn’t been in the New May Wah for awhile, so it was kind of fun to wander around looking at fungus dumplings, frozen squid, and a dizzying array of fermented former fruit. They also had Grade B Guavas on sale. Not knowing what a Grade B Guava is, I refrained.
Of course…they also had durian, and I almost got one just for the sake of science but then I remembered I had to take the bus back and I don’t think durian is allowed on the bus, even at Christmas time.
My father and I parted ways so that I could hop the 38 and he could return North.
At the intersection of Geary and Stockton, I heard a man playing the alto sax and was stricken with an intense sense of loneliness and longing for home, taking the 38 alone through a mostly abandoned financial district with my bag of frozen dumplings. I was inside the joint of the bus, because I like the sensation when it turns, but the twisting feeling I suddenly felt was completely unrelated to the progress of the bus.
What grace have I?