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Memory of mi

November 22, 2009

perfect Sunday weather.

chilly. vertical mist.

cup of chowder…or a replay of last night’s Hen egg with Charmoula and crispy beans.

A Stella Artois. or two…… I have an idea though. A fedex box arrives on a Sunday. In it is a freshly made Chinese BBQ banh mi sandwich from Lulu B’s in Austin….

so forget that Hen Egg today,  at least.

Memory of that last banh mi. My last Austin meal. The day I was moving. eaten alone, under a tree in front of the tiny sandwich trailer, right next to an Office Depot. staff is hardly friendly, I still give them my money.

Line is long. The crowd wears too much black. Leashed dogs are stretched across the dusty ground. tables and chairs are scarce, plus there is actually a 15 minute wait. I care not. I order the BBQ Chinese pork.

Can’t help but wonder why it isn’t called- Vietnamese BBQ pork. I do not ask why, I really don’t care, I only know how good it is. Call it Vancouver BBQ pork, I still order it again. Might get one to go.

even.
The whole set up,  is as expected.

Anonymous hands follow the directions when making this particular sandwich.

Baguette; crispy exterior, soft delicate interior. Tangy; perfect pickled carrots, and daikon. the twisted roots.

Cilantro; necessary, familiar, pungent memory. auspicious cut of cucumber, with seeds intact.

Thick; promising slices of BBQ pork. give me extra. please….. to stay.

there’s another flimsy plastic fork. relentless wind bothers my hair, and my napkins. Bollocks. Pleasantly burning Red rooster sauce is ejected….smiles.

The flies began their invasion.
the attempt fails and I don’t eat any faster.

ginger beer is spicy and sweet. Bottle mocks my perspiration …cash transaction. always pleasant. everything right in this.

have to return to moving.

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