I’ll go to China, sure. And I’ll go out of my way to walk in a Chinatown in another city, but the one that’s right next door? Eh.
I’m tempted to make some point about being inured to home, and how travel cures that, since it shakes you out of your routine blah blah blah. So insert all of that here. But I really do like San Francisco’s Chinatown better, probably because the hills let me get a better vantage on things. I always feel like I’m drowning a little when I happen through the Chinatown near me. I don’t know that I’ll be able to lift up my arms to take a photo.
During my walk, I once again mused on the exact nature of my close connection to Chinese food. More than any other characteristic or belief, the way this cuisine comforts me, and matters to me, is what makes me culturally Jewish. (Read this on “Safe Treyf,” PDF. Apparently the close affinity between Jews and Chinese food has something to do with a similar preference for overcooked vegetables?)
As if to underscore the point, that very night I had excellent Kung Pao Pastrami and Schmaltz Rice at Mission Chinese Food.