An early morning walk in Chinatown made me realize that nearly all of the restaurants had stopped serving breakfast. I was pining for a waffle, the old fashioned kind that was a little burned on the edges with a pat of butter melting in the middle. Or maybe an egg with a watery yoke. That would be fine too. But walking up and down the hills I was not able to find a place that would provide what used to be standard comfort food.
Although on the outside it is still funky and bizarre as if it is suspended in another time, Chinatown is changing subtly. The men sitting in the bakery drinking coffee and buying lottery tickets will gradually fade away, so will the homemade basement temples, and the old gangsters who talk football at one o’clock in the morning at Sam Wo. But I think in the gift shops they will always have something to sell to everyone. Like a charm on a red string, for protection.
