hakka it to me, baby


in the span of two days, i have taken photos of twelve hakka spots around the fair city of toronto. and by toronto, i mean scarborough. and by fair city, i mean scary ghetto.

this is how it went down at every.. single… one…..

me: “hi, i’d like to photograph your restaurant.”
waiter: “okay, i prepare food for you to photograph.”
me: “great!”
*15 minutes later, waiter brings out heaping servings of delicious & spicy food, each more appealing then the next.
me: “these looks delicious.”
*snaps photo*
me: “all done!”
waiter: “you take food?”
me: “ahh thanks, but i’m fine.”
waiter: “you… take… food?”
me: “i appreciate the offer, but i honestly can’t. thank you, though.”
waiter: “you take food.”
me: “no, really, i’ve already ate. it would be a waste”
waiter: “YOU TAKE FOOD.”
*cut to inside of car. white plastic containers, bulging with noodles, chili chicken, and shrimp paneers, litter the backseat. there is no backseat. white plastic containers have swallowed it.

i drove around in minus ten degree weather with the windows rolled down for fear of smelling like fried food. my pores are STILL oozing sweet and sour sauce.

if i never eat fried chinese-indian food again, i would die a happy woman. GASP. I NEVER THOUGHT THOSE WORDS WOULD EVER COME OUT OF MY MOUTH. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

goddamnit. journalism has ruined my life. and by life i mean a delicious food that i like to eat, occasionally.


One Response to “hakka it to me, baby”

  1. maybe you could give some to your friends.

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