Yesterday we headed to Irving Street to run some errands. The sunshine was welcome after the week’s earlier rain, and it was warm enough that I had to run the air conditioner on the way up to the City. It’s always difficult to find street parking on the weekends in San Francisco’s satellite Chinatowns, but a parking space opened on 24th and Irving, a good omen.
The youngster has been getting his hair cut at Maggie’s for the past ten years. Maggie took extra care with him when he was a toddler recovering from surgery, and he is comfortable with no one else. The hairdressers know us well and freely offer advice, solicited and otherwise, on a host of subjects. One of them recommended a herbal doctor for a nagging malady, so, after we finished shopping and dining, we drove cross-town halfway up Nob Hill, between Grant and Stockton. Despite the heavy traffic, we again found a space a few feet from our destination, making it the best parking experience I’ve had in years (it doesn’t take much to make me happy).
The seafood is very fresh at this supermarket.
There was one lady ahead of us when we walked into the facility, which resembled a store more than a clinic. Her husband said that Western doctors weren’t able to help her, but that, after several years of treatment by the herbalist, she was finally able to leave her bed and return to work. I listened politely, my skepticism unvoiced, but hey, as long as it doesn’t cost too much, what harm could it do?
We left a half an hour later with two bags of ingredients whose names I can’t pronounce or even spell, which is ok because the cost is not reimbursable by my health plan anyway.
This is not your father's Earl Grey. Yes, those are dried snakeskins and beetles.
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