January favorites. Hong Kong finds. Local. Things I loved.
I make my own coffee at home and there is a Nespresso machine at the office, but there’s nothing I love more than going to a nearby coffee shop to work, write or read for a couple of hours. January’s favorites: Coco Espresso and The Cupping Room.
My favorite alternative to the usual store-bought roasted chicken: La Rôtisserie. Authentic French roasted chicken, including the roasted potatoes cooked at the bottom of the pan, and delicious dessert pieces mean we eat this twice a week. Bonus: the paper box packaging.
Street art and graffiti seem to be booming in Sheung Wan and Central right now. I have been documenting it all and a series is beginning to take shape.
A couple of weeks ago I bought an early Valentine’s card for the boy: I weed you right now by nocturnal paper that I found at the WOAW store in Gough Street. Gough Street is my haven.
Sunday’s Grocery. I go where the chicken is. Third brainchild of Lindsay Jang (I wrote about Yardbird and Ronin before). Two words: chicken and waffles. A weekend special in Kennedy Town; with a great ambient, selection of drinks and the best staff in the city. Now with the railways extended to the west, it is not out of the way for me anymore either.
A Boy Named Sue | NYC-style cheesecake from The Kitchen Addict | Eat Ethio
All images are mine, except for the last one. Courtesy of La Rôtisserie.
There were a couple of messages for me this morning; all of them from Africa. My heart ached. I left them unread. I left everything as it was. Yet everything still changes. I follow my intuition on the good days. The rest is just a mess of impulses that can strike at any time. I’m riding the wave that is life with all I have.
This morning I woke up with a terrible feeling that settled into my chest and refused to let go. That perhaps it isn’t enough. That perhaps there is more of what I can do. And the truth is, there is. But right now, it is all I have.
The first week went by quickly. Central, early morning. Not even nine o’clock and I am already stepping out to Des Voeux Road. Not that I have to, but I am wired and high; ecstatic for each new day. And when it’s sunny and blue, I am really happy inside out. It’s not something that you would hear me say a lot. Without a routine, I function freely. Day-to-day I make plans and lose myself in my imagination. Sometimes I take it too far and it’s difficult to tell where the line is. But those days are scarce. There are so many things I want to do.
Club 71 is the only place we frequent. If at all. That one mid-week surprise outing to the cinema saw us there again. Clouds of Sils Maria awakened my European senses, but I wasn’t homesick afterwards. It’s hard to believe that she is fifty. And for the time I thought I could relate to Stewart. Apart from seeing this one film, I am keeping to my steady diet of American crime television shows. After a long day, a little bit of humor between Steve and Danny is all I can handle. It is horrifying as much as it is sad but looking at Hawaii fills me with positivity.
Other good things: Simplicity. How to live in a shoebox. On being empty: when a writer isn’t writing. Redefining mental illness. Illustrations of every David Bowie haircut from 1964 to 2014. And everything Walter White ever wore in Breaking Bad. What to write about when you don’t know what to write about. Also for the fifth time Ira Glass’ motivational kick. Why broken sleep is a golden time for creativity. Respect the architect. Paintings and prints by Kai Samuels Davis.