liuzhou

Having reluctantly come to the conclusion that, depite this ridiculous heat (40℃ +), I can't really survive on beer and ice cream, I made some fried noodles with chicken, straw mushrooms* and Asian herbs. The usual aromatics were in there too, along with Shaoxing and soy sauce. Exhausting to cook; exhausting to eat! * The Chinese is 草菇 (cǎo gū) which means 'grass mushrooms'.

And neither do I. But it looks like Big Head Carp (Hypophthalmichthys nobilis), used here in fish head and tofu soup, which I like a lot. I can imagine it working in an Asian curry. I could be totally wrong of course!

I told you! I warned you! I made it clear that it was out to take over the world. And you scoffed and dismissed me! You continued to inflict misery upon me and, no doubt, unwittingly on yourselves, by maintaining the pernicious habit of infiltrating its image into these very forums in your preparations under the delusion that they are edible. But after years of determined ferreting and stealth, I have unearthed irrefutable evidence of the ghastly evil intent of the pestilential weed from hell and its determination to take over by any means necessary. It is attempting, unconvincingly I may add, to transmogrify into the stolen identity of a blameless and beloved vegetable, the onion. But don’t be misled! Be vigilant and stop the scourge! The future of humanity depends on it. Your honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury – Exhibit A.

This is not one of those 'guess what it is' posts. That's clear. The mystery is where did they come from? I went to retrieve some duck liver pâté from the fridge for breakfast and found these sitting next to it. I have no recollection of buying them, whatsoever, nor I'm sure were they there when I put the pâté in the fridge last night! I live alone and have had no recent visitors who could have insinuated them into the fridge. What a mystery!

5 am. 33℃. I've taken to eating in the dark to avoid the heat. Still too hot to cook though. Breakfast: Home made duck liver pâté with Chinese flatbread. I made the pâté at 9pm last night.

This is real. I've been to both places. Sandwich is a town in SE England and Ham a village to its south. But an amusing and much photographed sign.

You are absolutely correct. Brain fart. Told you it's too hot. I have edited. Thanks for letting me know.

It’s too damned hot to eat, never mind cook. Over 40℃, so tonight, I waited until dark then just quickly fried some shrimp with garlic, chilli, garlic chives, salt and pepper, then finished with a splash of Chaoshan fish sauce. Served with a simple salad of ‘Vietnamese’ herbs. The salad contains Vietnamese Coriander - VN: Rau răm Culantro Rau mù Mint bạc hà Coriander leaf / Cilantro Ngò and Garlic Chives Hẹ Struggled to finish that! No carbs were possible.

One of the reasons I love living in this strange land is that ordering a whole pig's head for delivery within 30 minutes is perfectly normal. That's said I've never done so. But I love knowing I could. For ¥198 ($23.77 USD) this could be moving in with me shortly. Although I've eaten every part of those heads with delight, I buy the parts individually as I simply don't have the space to invite them all to stay en masse. My heads move in in instalments.

Totally normal here except when they read "Cook until cooked".

I've mentioned the nearby city of 百色 (bǎi sè), Baise before. It's a small city on the Guangxi - Yunnan border, famous in China for a significant part it played in the Chinese Revolution and for being mango central for China. Not far from me and home to some good friends. However, they have a problem. Mangoes. The things grow so prolifically there, they have become a public nuisance and every summer city employees have to go out and cull the juicy bombs which drop on people's heads or turn sidewalks into skating rinks. Here are a few images from social media showing this week's cull. They'll be back out for several days as more ripen. BTW, they are excellent mangoes!

And that's why I prefer jokes unexplained.

I usually eat legs by preference (they are tastier) and I genuinely enjoy preparing them - removing the skin (cook's treat), deboning them (easy). I never bother with the veins, they melt away in the cooking. They may not taste like breast but that's why I prefer them. Bones are reserved for stock (and yes, feet are essential in chicken stocks).

I do indeed; in fact almost exclusively. I'm never without it, but then I use a lot of garlic. Known as 独蒜 (dú suàn - literally 'alone garlic'), it is, I'm told, native to Yunnan province, but widely grown in Sichuan and elsewhere today. It ís easy to peel and for me one bulb = one clove is (usually) the perfect amount for one dish. It is becoming easy to find in the west, I've heard. I remember @Anna N saying she had found it in Canada and I've seen it in London's Chinatown. P.S. It makes excellent black garlic, too. Reserve me a room in that supermarket, too please! Thanks for the detailed account. Fascinating.

Some milkmen put in more determination than others.

I tend not to favour explaining jokes. Exegesis tends to destroy the humour. However, in this case I'd say the mutual incongruity of the two requirements in one person is the humour.

I remember milkmen offering eggs, but not other groceries. There was a grocer's van which came around later in the day selling bread and a limited selection of vegetalbles, fruit and meat. Sugar and other basics. Then the fish van came by; not every day, though. My family bought anything else from a small shop nearby, giving the owner a list and picking it in boxes up later in the day. The list was almost the same every week. There was no supermarket in town until a few years after I left for London and university at 18.

Home made burger with chips.

There was a stage of my life in which I knew beyond doubt that my career path was to be a milky, driving my cart around the streets in the early hours of the morning ensuring that everyone woke up to find pint bottles of fresh cow juice on their doorsteps. I think I was five-years-old. Somehow I was diverted from that path. Still not sure it was a bad idea. Do they still exist anywhere? 1923 ‘R. Crompton’ William Again xii. 203 ‘'Ello, kids!’ said the milk-boy.‥ ‘'Ello, Milky!’