liuzhou

Yes. We basically flew up to cruising height, had lunch and started to descend.

A teaser till I get back from Vietnam and report in full. Breakfast this morning. Bánh mì thịt.

Sichuan Airlines flight from Nanning, China to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. 20th April 2018. This doesn't look at all appealing but actually tasted not bad. L - R Fish, Rice, Pork. The rice was accompanied by this pickled kholrabi. and when I wasn't paying attention the attendant dropped this piece of corn on top of my rice dish. I detest corn. A sweet bread roll. Dessert; Herbal Jelly. I always think this sounds more like some quack medicine than food but it's OK. For liquid lubrication: This brand is usually translated as Snow Beer on its cans, but the Chinese actually says Snowflake. The flight attendant brought me a second can with which I ate this packet of peanuts which was also included in the meal. All in all not too bad.

Goat on Sticks - Zhongshan Road, Nanning night market, China. About an.hour ago. To demonstrate their provenance, they hang the unbutchered half of the beast on the side of the stall.

Ah. I see They don't sell it that way in the markets here, but it's what you'll find in restaurant dishes. I often cut all sorts meats into that format. We like a good gnaw round these parts!

I guess so. In fact, both look the same to me. But I ain't going in to find out. Hand made daily is pretty meaningless, when you think about it. Could mean exactly what it says, but months ago and frozen. I am pretty sure they aren't hand crafted inside my local KFC every morning.

I am totally bone tolerant*, too. But have occasionally bought a leg or other joint and boned it myself for more sensitive souls. *Even prefer it that way

I'm guessing your local KFC doesn't have these. Salted Egg Yolk and Pork Rice Rolls Large Rice Rolls - Hand Made | Made Each Day

Spicy Kidney and Mushrooms. Cuttlefish Ink Noodles and Peas.

That's true in many parts of the world. In fact, in many languages there is no differentiation between the two. Here in China both mutton/lamb and goat are referred to as 羊 yáng meaning 'sheep'. Only if you are a zoologist or the like then goat is 山羊shān yáng, meaning 'mountain sheep'. Every twelve years there is an argument as to whether it's the Year of the Sheep or Goat in English translation. I like goat, too. It works with most lamb recipes, but is a bit gamier. Particularly good in curries. I at it a lot in Jamaica and in Caribbean restaurants in London. Also in India and often here in China.

Yeah, thanks. I've been dozing most of my life the day. Changed plans mean I now have three days of nothing in particular to do. Good old Macbeth. That Shakey guy sure had a way with words! Need to start thinking about tomorrow's fast breaker.

They live in the provincial capital, Nanning which is an hour and a half train ride away. I will be going there later this week to catch my plane to Vietnam, but won't have time to see them this trip. Love your suggestion though and will do so at some time in the not too far future.

Got up early to catch a flight to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). I'm a nervous flier and, as I just posted on the Stress eating topic, stress kills my appetite. But I knew I had to eat at least a little. I'm out of bread as I didn't want to bake before leaving for a week. Boiled an egg. Unusually for me, a chicken egg. Then I couldn't find my egg cup! More stress! Fortunately, I discovered I had a couple of frozen wo wo tou cup buns (窝窝头) in the freezer. Nuked them and combined bread and eggcups into one! Genius! Just downed them with a cup of industrial strength black coffee and received a phone call informing me that I need to postpone my trip! Stressed stress. Rebooked for Friday. Went back to bed.

My trip has been postponed, so I have time to add my own story. Some of this, but not all, I've mentioned on eG in other contexts. My mother was born in France and when she was nine years old Hitler invaded. My grandfather worked for the French government in some mysterious category which I've never understood and nearly the whole family fled as he was almost certain to be shot if found. My mother was the youngest of 13 kids! 5 boys 8 girls. The boys, by then men, were in the army and so remained longer. All the girls other than the eldest left for Britain and relative safety. The eldest lived through the occupation under an assumed name and survived. In fact the whole family survived the war, unlike so many. Once the war was over, most of the family's refugees scattered across the world. I have family on almost every continent. My grandparents returned to France. My mother, one sister and one brother remained in the UK. Now 90, my mother is the only one still alive. Anyway, this is all preamble to cooking. She grew up, from the age of nine in wartime England under strict rationing. Her mother did not allow her to learn to cook. Food was too scarce to be "practised on". If she messed up or burned the dinner, it was all over. You couldn't rush out and buy more. So she never really learned to cook until she moved to Scotland and married my father. He was of a generation or generations of men who wouldn't stoop so low as to cook and to this day I remain half convinced he didn't know our house had a kitchen, or where it was, or what happened there. Food for him just arrived like storks bringing babies. I doubt he ever thought about it. So, growing up, food to me was simply fuel. The height of mother's culinary skill was not actively poisoning us. Taste, texture, or appearance did not enter the equation. Now, please don't think I am slandering my mother in public in any way. She happily admits to being the world's worst cook and a disgrace to her French heritage. Then, I think it must have been 1959 or 1960, both my parents were struck by a flu epidemic. Real flu. Not a bit of a cold self-pityingly described as flu and, as the eldest offspring, it fell to me to keep my siblings' hunger at bay. I vividly remember going shopping then running back and forward between the kitchen and my parents' bed room getting mumbled instructions and trying to carry them out. I made a sort of mince and tatties, that Scottish gourmet classic. It was probably overcooked and under seasoned, if seasoned at all. I forget the details. Selective amnesia probably, but no one died. We survived until help arrived in the large shape of my father's ancient, widowed aunt, a terrifying woman who smelled of Victorian Scotland and mothballs. I still didn't take up cooking properly until years later I met my first girlfriend and her father cooked me a meal that changed my life. He made a simple omelet and for the first time I discovered that food can taste good! It was sublime. As I've mentioned here before, I still follow his technique meticulously. You could say that I suddenly and simultaneously found that girls had redeeming qualities after all and that food is even more fascinating.

I vividly remember the first thing I cooked, even after almost 60 years. I will tell later, but a bit busy now getting ready for a trip in the morning. And I'd love to hear any other memories first.

Indeed. My earliest food memory is of my grandmother (maternal) in the kitchen, cooking. I think I thought that was where she lived, just like I thought teachers lived in the school.

Beige. Very beige. No beige taste though. Chicken and Chips, Liuzhou style. With 무말랭이 (Daikon Radish Kimchi) which goes remarkably well with chicken and chips or fish and... Some people might call the chicken "goujons". I just call them bits. Last home cooked dinner for a week or so, as I'm popping down to Vietnam in the morning for a short, but important business trip. Hope they have something more colourful there!

Wow!

It is sliced, spam-like, mechanically recovered, industrial pork sausage, cucumber, lettuce, and tomato. The bread will be sweet and cake-like. Masterfully seasoned with some KFC tomato ketchup from purloined sachets. No salt, no pepper and no butter on the bread. Very Chinese! I'm told he wanted to make a hamburger, but Gran has no idea what a hamburger is and supplied the wrong ingredients. Didn't seem to bother him.

Not what I or anyone I know would call a "wok".

I could eat that right now, and I just finished lunch!

A friend sent me these pictures yesterday. Her son's first steps into preparing a meal (aided by his grandmother). OK. Not technically "cooking", but we all started somewhere and the concentration as he builds his lunch and the joy on his face as he bites into his creation is inspirational.

Welcome. Which Derby? There are many.

All that needs is a glass bottle of champagne to reach perfection.

My Significant Eater only thinks she's the boss. Deluded fool!