'He doesn't know how to hold a knife!'

The title of this post refers to an expression used in Chinese culture that means, according the author of the cookbook below, that one does not know how to cook. 

I think most of us who didn't have professional cooks in the house growing up would know very little about knives. Looking back on my childhood, I can't recall any fancy blades in the drawer/knife holder. I can't even recall if said knives were ever truly sharpened. We had a sharpening steel, I think, at one point, but I don't recall ever using it myself. Maybe my Dad had used it? I have since learned that the steel or rod is actually more about maintaining a knife's edge than it is about sharpening a blade. And I have also learned that a sharp knife is truly a magic tool when chopping, dicing and mincing your fruits, veggies and proteins. And, most importantly, dull blades are dangerous. 

Back in the 70s, my Dad took a Chinese cooking class, so we had a few tools related to the course like a cleaver and a wok in the kitchen. Dad made stir-fries and other tasty dishes; the cleaver and wok got good use. I don't know to where the cleaver disappeared, but I do still have the wok. 

Recently, I was hired at a business that specializes in selling knives, principally from Japan and Western Europe, but also showcases great pantry goods and cookbooks. The job training is sort of on-the-go, if you will. Many clients are professional chefs and hardcore home-cook enthusiasts. I am nervous about suggesting a blade that would not suit them, to be honest. I am into my second week at the shop and it's A LOT to learn. Please, wish me luck! 

The author of this book, Gary Lee, taught the class my Dad took.

Sterbehospiz and sticky fingers

I learned the German word for hospice a few years' back and it's 'Sterbehospiz'. This translates into English as: death hospice. There is no beating around the bush with this term. We all know what's to come.

I just had my last ever visit with L. as she is now in hospice care at home. No longer conscious, I spent time at her bedside with her two daughters. It was a bittersweet visit, but I'm very glad that they let me come over. 

***

As I was leaving work two days ago, I walked past the man who, this past February, had attempted to steal a large box of chocolates while I stood not five feet from him. I remember that I watched somewhat dumbstruck as he walked, truffle box tucked under his jacket-covered arm, swiftly away from the store. I thought to myself: Don't I know that guy?! Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to follow after him and retrieve the box; he gave it up without a fuss. This guy was someone who had visited the store on-and-off for the better part of a year. I can't now recall if he ever made a purchase when at the shop, but he'd come in for a chin-wag and we would give him the occasional gratis chocolate. So imagine my surprise as I see this sticky-fingered mofo making chit-chat with one of the craft vendors who sets up shop along the Embarcadero at the weekend. She, along with a handful of others, are typically selling handmade jewelry, pottery, art prints, etc. to passersby. I sit off to the side of the market and just observe. She's breaking down her stall as it's end-of-day and I'm kind of marveling at their chummy rapport. Is he casing her business? Is he her friend? What gives? After about ten minutes, she's mostly packed up her gear and he's bid her farewell. Once he has gone, I amble over to her and share what I know about him. I'm also aware that she has no reason to believe anything I say, so I add the few bits of information that he gave me about himself which were his age and where he's from. She nods in recognition and then says that he's a friend of a friend. I was sorry to have to tell her what I knew, but I'm glad I did. I also took a sneaky snap of him to give to the manager of the Ferry Building, so that she would have his image on file. 

Human banner at Ocean Beach and a visit with L.

I don't know if I mentioned that I sometimes 'Oma-sit' a particular older woman from a part of Germany that now longer exists. If I haven't, then I'd like to share a bit about L. now. I met her last May when I began volunteering at a memory care center here in town. When we met, L. was a lively 98-year-old living with dementia yet still relatively physically robust. L. could walk herself around the care center, take herself to the toilet and express some simple thoughts that may or may not have seemed to be germane to the situation at hand. She was funny, lively and enjoyed people as I was later to learn she always had done in her long life.

A few weeks' back L. took a tumble and fractured her pelvis, among other injuries. The prognosis was this: a) send L. home to sort of rot away in bed or b) operate and shoot for the best. Her family chose the latter and I was able to visit with L. a bit yesterday post-op by about four days. At that point, she'd only been administered ibuprofen for pain. I saw her late afternoon (4p) and her daughter, who also happens to be a working nurse, determined that L. not had any ibuprofen since 8p the previous night despite her care notes stipulating that the pain med be given more frequently. L. has dementia and does not hit her call button at all. NOT AT ALL. I would imagine that this bit of salient information should also be in her notes. Apparently, the squeaky wheel gets the grease at the hospital and all others are left in the dust (until someone remembers, hopefully, to check on the quiet patient in room 301).

While at the hospital visiting L., I met a friend of hers. M., a robust 88-year-old, had just come from the No Kings event held at Ocean Beach. She was part of the of the first 'u' in the anti-drumpf message. M. said that it was good to get out to the beach and be a part of things. There were drones overhead capturing the action. I've seen images in the paper--Trump Must Go Now! I think it read. And, boy, ain't that the truth!

A semi-recent shot of City Hall awash in red.

Pro-Trump Persians

Since the bombing of Iran and the assassination of the Ayatollah, many Iranians of the diaspora have been celebrating by waving Iranian, Israeli and American flags along the Embarcadero plaza very near where I work. They have rented a sound system, a 'party bus' and have had many flags--half Iranian, half USA; double sided flags featuring Israeli and American flags, etc., and Pro-Trump signs made for the occasion. Their jubilance coupled with repeated chanting of 'thank you, Trump!' at passersby is a jarring sight to behold. This past weekend, saw the arrival of anti-war demonstrators to the plaza. Pro-Bibi-Trump Persians were directing their chants directly at the anti-war faction. It was mad. I was on a break from work taking it all in and my face likely betrayed my disgust at the messaging of many of the Iranian-Americans. This prompted some numpty to spell it out for me. Gesturing, he said, 'These are Iranians from Iran.' Um, no shit, buddy. He then went on to say something to the effect of: liberals like you wouldn't understand. I took the bait, folks, I did. Suffice to say, I ended our interaction by repeatedly calling the man a 'MAGA cunt' as he walked away while flipping me the bird. Fortunately, I was not wearing my work apron. 

Anti-war protestors this past weekend. (I did not take a photo of the pro-Trump Persians.)

Feb. 20, 2026

My boss, to be frank, openly talks shit about her staff. I remember thinking when she first shared an unflattering take on a colleague with me that I, too, will not be immune from this behavior. I don't tend to agree or disagree with her when she airs her thoughts. I just appear to listen. If the language were couched in concern or was, somehow, productive, I wouldn't mind as much, I guess. (I would rather she not do it all.) Some of it seems like school-yard bully behavior and has absolutely no place at work like the time she made fun of my co-worker's walk when he was away on break. Yes, she DID that. My boss and I are the same age, share some similarities in terms of how we were both raised and espouse similar political beliefs. I wish, however, that she would treat me, all of us, as if we were her equals. I don't mean that we should all be 'the boss', but what I mean is that we all have unique strengths in the work place and that should be acknowledged and fostered. I tend to want to take ownership of what I'm doing and not constantly want to check in before making a decision, but the boss will undercut one's autonomy either by blocking physically or verbally. It's to the degree that I find myself walking on egg shells a bit in order to avoid being told that I'm doing something that she thinks should not be done. For example, taking out a full bin, time permitting, should be allowed. If she thinks the bin isn't full enough, then she'll block your move. If she wants to go on a small walk-about, then she'll take the bin out (now it's full enough, amirite?) and go 'round the market hall before coming back. I guess it kinda comes down to 'do as I say, not as I do' and working under that proviso can be wearing.  

***

My sign has done fuck-all to stop dogs from using this California poppy plant as a pissoir. 

After one particularly rainy and windy night I went down to the beach to look for driftwood with which to decorate my garden. I came home with the below beauties-- 

Drift log!

Sticky fingers and Super Bowl 60

Over the weekend, I stopped a theft-in-progress. No, I don't want to risk my well-being for a box of chocolates, but I actually recognized the would-be thief as someone who has sporadically visited the shop over the past year. I recall our having had friendly chats; he had even made at least one purchase with me. I also had a feeling he wouldn't react violently when confronted. Fortunately, I was right. 

The scene unfolded like this: I was near the front display area ribboning a box when I heard a thud. I turned to see this dude, who I recognized as a somewhat infrequent shop visitor, pick up a box of Valentine's Day confections ($98.) that he'd apparently just dropped on the floor. We looked at each other and I turned back to ribboning. As with any retail job, one must keep one's head on a swivel, so, within seconds, I had turned back to look only to see his swift departure from the shop and the box of fallen chocolates tucked neatly under his arm, partially obscured by a coat. I thought to myself, 'Not today, kitten!' and took off like Tom Cruise after him. This was Saturday, the day before the Super Bowl and the day of the large Farmers' Market at the Ferry Building, so I had to sort of wend my way through the crowd, reaching him a couple of store fronts down the corridor. Tapping the man gently on the shoulder, he turned and I quietly said, 'Give me the chocolates'. He did and I took the box and walked quickly back to the shop. 

***

On Saturday night I left work to find a throng of people standing around the sidewalk out front of the Ferry Building, on the street car platform and further west by Justin Herman Plaza nearer to the BART station. They were gazing up at a light display projected onto the side of the Ferry Building. The colors of Super Bowl 60, a sort of Miami Vice meets 80s neon clothing store in a shopping mall, were on display. Thursday's projection, if you can believe it, was a little more tame--

Thursday night, light on visitors, but not on LIGHT.

One could not see through the crowd to the other side of Embarcadero Blvd. Leaving the Ferry Building almost felt like being up front at a massive rock show where, when trying to move, one has to bob and weave in order to get to the exit. Temporary bollards had been installed anywhere a vehicle could drive up and access people, too. A grim reality, I know, but given how vehicles have been used as maiming machines here and abroad, it seemed prudent to have them be installed here. 

Demos a-plenty

Happening very near where I work in downtown San Francisco were two demonstrations last week. One was an anti-ICE demo and one an anti-choice. (The organizers actually call their wanting to restrict women's repro healthcare and their wanting to eradicate Planned Parenthood 'Right to Life' cuz women's lives do not much matter, eh?). The anti-choicers began by marching down Market St. and ending at the Embarcadero near the Hilton Hotel. The anti-ICE folk also happened to be convening at that same spot that afternoon. We saw folk from both contingents post-demonstrations come through the Ferry Building en route to lunch, to ferry services, to the toilet, etc. I could not help but give those anti-choicers the stink eye when the came past my work place. There was one, older white woman who kept her anti-choice placard aloft as she walked past our store-front. I hissed an aggressive 'BOO!' in her ear as she strode by and felt pretty good about it, to be honest. 

Two women from the anti-ICE march came and bought chocolates from me and I asked them how their demo went. They mentioned that all went well enough save for those anti-choicers who spoke up in defence of ICE and their deadly shenanigans. Apparently, not every life is, in fact, sacred. 

***

Today is a day of anti-ICE walk-outs across the country. I am off of work, fortunately, but am ill, so did not get out to Dolores Park to be with others in solidarity. I have read that some businesses here in town are closed for the day while others will be donating a portion of their proceeds earned today to organizations that support immigrants. Lowell High School and other SF schools have engaged in a student walk-out. I'm proud of those kids (and everyone else, for that matter) for standing up for what is right. 

Image from the anti-ICE demonstration today at Dolores Park