To hell on the SoL Express, SoL13, PVD

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I should have published this guff 12 months ago. It still stirs great memories along with ice, ice, juniper and bubbly water.
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What a roller coaster the SoL Express has been. With more ups and downs than the 4th Test of The Ashes 2013, SoL13 has been brutal - brutal, mentally and physically. Plenty of mirth but also plenty of murky lows have ripped me to shreds. I have made best friends with Charles Tanqueray, but I also hate him in equal measures.

Perhaps the etiology of SoL13 started last summer when it felt like the sky fell on my head. Looking back on the pictures right now, I was extremely lucky to experience the experiences I experienced. But as with the beast of the Sol Express, the peaks and valleys were heart warming and soul destroying in equal measure. I think my best friend is myself.

In non-alphabetical order: Wanker 3, PVD Pouncer, Wankmaster, Tel

But I was with some complete safe-as-houses jokers onboard the SoL Express for a post-razz refuel at El Rancho Grande (you know who you are, wankers). Located somewhere in Olneyville, the restaurant is a small charming family run place. The daughter of the owner is as tasty as the food, although there does seem to be a disconnect somewhere between sound waves, the auditory system and the executive function...

If you ever get the chance, hop onboard your own SoL Express and be 'the most fun guy in PVD'.

The Ho Down says: Choo choo!

The beast in the East, August 2014

Apologies for taking nine months for an update. No, I was not knocked up. Being unemployed for almost a year is hard work. Time to sit and write about what goes into my mouth is harder than the shit that comes out of it. I was actually motivated by an excellent and tame rival food blog. Ale of DSD, can I guess what is on your Tinder profile? 'I am a foodie. I love travelling <insert picture of me and tiger here>'???

So what has been going on? Major life changes. Give yourself a bacon sandwich for guessing where I am right now. A clue? There are so many restaurants here that you could stuff your face in a different one everyday for the rest of your lifetime. Another clue? SAR does not stand for Severe Acute Respiratory (Syndrome). Anyway, a couple of highlights...

Din Tai Fung, Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon

A one Michelin Starred dim sum restaurant in Kowloon. Nothing much to write about. Like Manchester United, it's not all that. One thing of note was the drunken duck’s tongue. Drunk because it is supposedly soaked in some sort of booze. It tasted like it was fished from the bottom of a salt and vinegar crisp packet. A duck’s tongue is longer and thicker than you think. I was even more surprised when I nearly broke my teeth on my first bite because the fucker has a bone in it. Did you know that dogs have a bone in their penis? I sucked on multiple tongues as if I were in Magaluf but to this day I am still undecided whether I like it or not. Its texture can only be described as a Mont Blanc eraser. 

The Ho Down says: not sure if it set my tongue wagging.

Australia Dairy Farm, Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon

Now we are talking business. This place was so high up the Colonel Gadaffi scale of bizarreness, it could serve you scrambled rat dropping and it would still be great. I personally would have passed up on this place because I would have mistaken it for an Aussie outhouse, and inside looks, quite frankly, as appealing as spending an afternoon in an abortion clinic. The scrambled eggs must have been cooked in lard because it was actually really nice. The spam/luncheon meat was just out of this world in a bizarre way that altogether is gets one Gadaffi star. 
The macaroni in weird broth stuff would have definitely got the Italians reaching for Arizona State prison’s stocks of midazolam and hydromorphone, but bizarre does not follow any logic and this overcooked macaroni thing earnt a second Gadaffi star. The milky tea thing was so strange that I think Barak Obama based his IS strategy on working out what this tea thing is. To complete the third Gadaffi star, the seating arrangement meant getting intimately silent with a couple of R. Andoms and the billing system is allegedly based on the material of your cup (or something similarly ingenious). 

The Ho Down says: Like Australia, completely unrefined but something you just love seeing getting stuffed.

2nd Place cup, Sheung Wan, Hong Kong, 2014

It was another sweltering afternoon in Hong Kong. I had just bagged a free Snoopy lollipop so that mildly offset the fact that I was trekking through Hong Kong to go to The Cupping Room. Its business card states ‘World Barista Champion’, which is a good thing. But isn’t 2nd place does not equal champion? 

Anyway, luckily HK Gamer is always on the ball and took us straight there. We were greeted by a well known local (amongst a small community) HK Canadian, and with her self-proclaimed established superlative communication skills, told two ABCs to move themselves and their annoying accents so we could sit. The cafe was full of all sorts; all of them unfazed by 2nd place being lauded as a champ. 

I ordered an affogato; HK Gamer got an ice cream mocha and HK Gamer’s +1 got some freshly squeezed apple juice that looked like effluent from the alleys between Hillwood Road and Austin Road. I’m sure it tasted great though. An affogato is a shot of espresso with a scoop of ice cream for commoners like myself, and as a commoner I quite liked it. 

I decided to see whether glorious colonial traditions remain in Hong Kong and ordered a ‘Full Breaky’; i.e. full (English) breakfast. Although, when it arrived it wasn’t full; it didn’t have any baked beans. I think I also found my bookmarks in the form of the sorry looking rashers of bacon, and the bits of mushroom looked like they had just fallen out of someone’s nose. The sausages were perfectly straight for some reason and the taste did a great impression of Lord Lucan. The bread was the star amongst mediocrity as the only processing it required was to be sliced. 

HK Gamer’s carbonara was passable like a joint (it is polite to pass it around). HK Gamer’s +1’s omelette looked as fresh and fun as an iPhone 5c with lots of clean lines and colours. I didn’t take a bite because I was onboard the Frugo Survey systematically searching for the lost taste in my sausage.

To add a bit of unnecessary quirkiness, the water was served in blacked out laboratory bottles. Working in a lab, this raised my suspicions especially as there was no labelling. Didn’t matter too much though because there weren’t enough glasses to pour a glass of unmarked clear colourless liquid.

Three beverages and three dishes totalled a shade over £30. That is about £59,699970 cheaper than Angel Di Maria. Still dear, I'm afraid.

By the way, don’t get the ice cream mocha or affogato. A 100 % reliable unauthoritative inside source says that only coffee peasants order them. Good to know. Ten affogatos and ice cream mochas for me, please.  

The Ho Down says: 2nd place is the first loser.