Work time congee

I had the most massive craving for congee all Sunday. It’s one of those things that any Chinese mom makes when their children are felling ill, and it’s something my mom made regularly when we had stomach aches, tooth aches, or just felt a little under the weather. It doesn’t take much to make—just some rice and water—and it doesn’t take much to eat either, since it almost effortlessly can slide down one’s throat.

I woke up Sunday feeling a little queasy (I don’t know what Ryan poured into that drink he made me the night before at his party) and ended up throwing up the eggs and toast I made for an early afternoon breakfast after Scott handed me two Advils to, hopefully, help relieve my headache (Scott later described the scene as pathetic). I lied in bed most of Sunday wanting to eat but knowing that I couldn’t. I dreamed of congee and almost got so desperate as to fashion my own out of the contents of my cupboard.

So, when I got to work today and there was talk of Chinese food, which then led to talk of congee, my eyes widened with greedy anticipation, possessed by some secret congee god who had willed for me to procure some and eat it. I wanted it and wanted it now, and Billy was totally down to drive to Chinatown and battle the congestion and parking impossibility to get it.

We went to Hing Lung, which we both independently knew of as a place with congee, with Lucy, Simron, and Lisa. Simron and Lisa were congee virgins and I was curious, and slightly nervous, as to what they would think of the bowl of thick yet watery rice soup. I had my usual preserved egg and pork congee, which Simron quite bravely had as well, and we ordered the Chinese doughnut, the fried dough sticks, and the fried dough sticks wrapped in steamed rice flour. Lucy ordered our dishes in Cantonese with an accent that doesn’t get laughed at as mine does. I dug into my bowl of egg and pork congee and everything felt good and right. The congee was thick and mildly flavorful. The pork was sweet. And, there was a hefty portion of preserved egg. I asked Simron what she thought of hers, and she, surprisingly, enjoyed it, although she mentioned that the egg was a bit overbearing. The fried dough sticks were crisp and fresh. And, the Chinese doughnuts, which I had never had before, were like the fried dough sticks but sweet and a little more dense. The fried dough sticks wrapped in steamed rice noodle were tasty, as usual.

After a little bit of a sweat, I scooped up every last bit of the congee. It felt so good and so right. I wish I had one of those congee places near my house. Too bad I live in a rather froo-froo neighborhood. But, Lucy mentioned that there’s another congee place, supposedly better than Hing Lung, on 34th at Noriega out in the Sunset. Next time I’m feeling queasy, I’ll see if I can make it that far.