Super Bowl started at 7:30 a.m. on a working Monday. No one here thinks about it other than a few diehard American expatriates, since, mind you, this is a busy day for Chinese but on something else: Today is the 15th day after the Chinese New Year‘s Day, the end of the celebration period. We were busy cooking rice balls for breakfast. We eat them to wish for tuan yuan, family harmony and togetherness.
But we did have a diehard among us.
Text message said there were 30 people on the other side in the U.S. I imagined bottles in extra-large coolers and calories that one needs for the cold winter.
Here, we had them too: Checkmix (authentic), Lay’s Baked chips (both the regular and seaweed flavors were awful!), American sharp cheddar with Taiwan saltines crackers, Taiwan honey roasted peanuts, of course fresh guavas and wax apples.
By the time Madonna came up, the rice balls were long gone, the morning coffee was replaced by tea; it was the turning point for beer.
Without thunderous cheers and regrets, uninvited wisdom, and many slamming of bathroom doors, the Giants won.
It turned out the kimchi pizza was a better hit.
Next year, if I were still here, I’d go for the topping with grilled squid, clam and crabmeat, mixed with peas and the Japanese Takoyaki (onion, green pepper, and sesame) for a change.
P and E, I thought of you the entire time. I miss the jokes after the games, the looks you dart at each other. You have an open invitation to the pizza feast.