Ah, there's nothing like a Kiwi Chinese. The Birkenhead Pair came over last night with chicken & cashew nuts, squid and blackbean sauce, egg foo-yong (err...mind that spelling), won-tons and sweet and sour fish.
And of course we had some great Sauvignon Blanc to wash it down with, so all in all it was a very pleasant evening.
Kiwi Chinese food is just the business, especially compared to the Chinese I
was subjected to during my years in
I was incredulous. Where's the broccoli?Where's the carrots? Where are all the vegetables! The Other Harf was confused; this was how chow-mein had always looked. I forced it down, but next time Chinese was suggested I went for the bag of chips option instead.
My aversion to UK Chinese lasted throughout my stay there, and when we lurched
off the tube on Friday evenings, a little intoxicated (alright, pissed!),
everyone else would pile into Wong Foo's in the high street for orange noodles,
and I would have to have cheese on toast.
Boo-hoo - just like when I was a kid and my Dad used to make me go pipi-picking, knee deep in mud, wind howling across the bay. I hate pipis! Why me? Then he, Mum and Lil'Sis would stand round the kitchen, making obnoxious lip-smacking noises as they ate pot fulls of pipis, and I would sit in the corner with my plate of spag-on-toast, with a big moody face on me, quivering at the injustice of it all.
Hey, but now I'm a big girl, and I can have proper Chinese, with all the vegetables, any time I want...
