Hot pink flower girl baskets. Discount sympathy flowers. Flower and fruit baskets.
Hot Pink Flower Girl Baskets
- Dianthus is a genus of about 300 species of flowering plants in the family Caryophyllaceae, native mainly to Europe and Asia, with a few species extending south to north Africa, and one species (D. repens) in arctic North America. Common names include carnation (D. caryophyllus), pink (D.
- (basketry) the craft of basket making
- A container used to hold or carry things, typically made from interwoven strips of cane or wire
- A structure suspended from the envelope of a hot-air balloon for carrying the crew, equipment, and ballast
- A group or range of currencies or investments
- (basket) a container that is usually woven and has handles
- (basket) horizontal circular metal hoop supporting a net through which players try to throw the basketball
- A young or relatively young woman
- A person's daughter, esp. a young one
- female child: a youthful female person; "the baby was a girl"; "the girls were just learning to ride a tricycle"
- A female child
- a young woman; "a young lady of 18"
- daughter: a female human offspring; "her daughter cared for her in her old age"
- used of physical heat; having a high or higher than desirable temperature or giving off heat or feeling or causing a sensation of heat or burning; "hot stove"; "hot water"; "a hot August day"; "a hot stuffy room"; "she's hot and tired"; "a hot forehead"
- characterized by violent and forceful activity or movement; very intense; "the fighting became hot and heavy"; "a hot engagement"; "a raging battle"; "the river became a raging torrent"
- Feeling or producing an uncomfortable sensation of heat
- (of food or drink) Prepared by heating and served without cooling
- Having a high degree of heat or a high temperature
- extended meanings; especially of psychological heat; marked by intensity or vehemence especially of passion or enthusiasm; "a hot temper"; "a hot topic"; "a hot new book"; "a hot love affair"; "a hot argument"
Hong Kong One 282 - Tim Ho Wan Restaurant
Tim Ho Wan restaurant, Hong Kong: the hottest meal ticket in town Michelle Wranik joins the queue at Hong Kong’s Tim Ho Wan, the world’s cheapest Michelin-starred restaurant . The three-hour queues at Tim Ho Wan could make the most patient among us feel slightly crazed. Even the woman manning the counter is agitated; hastily scrawling a number on a yellow Post-it note and shoving it unceremoniously into my hand. This is the moment I'm expected to leave, but I linger, timidly inquiring how long the wait will be. Big mistake. "Two hours!" she barks, squawking something in Cantonese into a tiny microphone attached to the register. I edge outside, mystified. It's hard to believe I've just made a reservation at a Michelin-starred restaurant. It felt more like dropping off a shirt at the drycleaners. The unseasonably chilly day in Hong Kong has shrouded the city with drizzle, and outside, some 40 people huddle around the entrance, clustered together like excited teenagers at the gates of a music festival, their chatter punctuated by the revving engines of motorcyclists and taxis. Passers-by seem bemused as they weave past. From the outside, Tim Ho Wan looks like any other nondescript dim sum canteen in the city's traffic-choked Mong Kok district. But there is one marked difference: Michelin reviewers have awarded it a coveted one-star rating, netting it the auspicious title of cheapest Michelin-starred restaurant in the world. Baskets of prawn dumplings and pork buns cost a mere 80p – a long way from the eye-watering ?250 bills that can be clocked up at other Michelin-starred restaurants such as the Fat Duck or El Bulli. It's a rare chance for layfolk to sample cuisine usually reserved for the upper echelons of society. The man behind Tim Ho Wan is Mak Pui Gor, the former dim sum master at Hong Kong's Four Seasons Hotel. Pui Gor worked at the hotel's three-starred restaurant Lung King Heen before going it alone, and despite the newly anointed star rating, he's not raising the prices, meaning Tim Ho Wan is now Hong Kong's hottest meal ticket. But if you want to eat here, take a number and stand in line. For a very long time. I'd been waiting at least an hour already, with a distressingly numbered Post-it note of 252. The last number squawked out in Cantonese was 90. A young, bespectacled couple standing next to me giggled when they heard me groan. They'd been waiting an hour and a half already, the girl explained shyly, twirling her pink-and-white scarf with her fingers. Half an hour later, gnawing hunger and obsessive thoughts of succulent pork buns turn into grumpiness. Is it worth it? It seems like idiocy to wait this long, but there's a wonton-sized shred of hope every 15 minutes: the shrill voice, the rustling sound of people checking their numbers and one lucky patron pushing their way through Heaven's Gates, leaving their hungry comrades behind. Hunger throws discretion out the window. Some of the queuers press their faces against the glass doors, ogling at poor diners trying to stuff slippery prawn dumplings into their mouths. Others give up hope. One Chinese man caused a minor sensation when he shuffled off, only to rejoin the queue minutes later, chewing on satay chicken skewers bought from a starless restaurant down the road. Counting the minutes together created a sense of camaraderie and we struck up conversations to pass the time. I chatted to Mr Leung, a robotics engineer who had been waiting more than an hour. He had number 178, and graciously he invited me to tag along on his ticket. I felt like hugging him. I was faint with hunger by the time our number was called 45 minutes later. We handed the waitress a paper menu with our dish choices circled in pen, and were seated elbow to elbow at a long table crammed with other diners, the clatter of the kitchen to our backs. No one talked – we were all too hungry and fixated on the food, a steady stream of baskets served stacked atop each other, along with a constant flow of tea from China's Yunnan province, known as pu-erh. The first dish served was Tim Ho Wan's piece de resistance, Cha siu baau (pork buns), which sell like hot cakes here (around 750 a day). They are "worth dying for" according to one of our fellow diners. They're usually served steamed, but here they are fried: the ever-so-slightly crisp sugar glaze around the pastry bun yielding to a decadent mixture of diced pork and sauce. The succulent beef meatballs, infused with dried mandarin and spring onions, could also be worth dying for. As could the wobbly turnip cakes, the prawn dumplings wrapped in delicate, translucent pastry, or the dessert – a jasmine tea jelly suffused with a type of flower petal. Our bellies full, it was time to leave. I insisted on paying for Mr Leung. Had it not been for him I would still have been outside, shivering, hungry – and grumpy. "124 dollars," squawked the lady at the counter. Less than ?10
Later Sailor (thoughts I’ve found on index cards)
Mixed media on board, 24 x 24 inches. The string series continues. * sold * * * * * * Later Sailor (thoughts I’ve found on index cards) Mummsia: eating flowers to get high. You’re sure that was it. You’re sure. Why can’t you find the word then? / Not in this office. The industrial psychopaths are on full automatic, bringing in consultants by the truckload. They colour-code everything. / Running through the forest at night, the depths of bending blackness. Stop? I’ll never stop. / His roommates were useless when it came to feng-shui; all they did was lie around, their decomposing bodies stinking up the place. / His uncle would talk to Mike the Rat, complain constantly about mysterious odours. / Destroyed in the middle of the street, this big black bird smashed down, smeared along like it had been dragged to death by lightning. / At the horse races, I sit behind the old guy with the oxygen tank and think about luck. / Spin the wheel ... are you nice or not nice? Here’s a cookie for being nice. What? Well, I’ll just take it back then. / Halfway up the stairs he hears a gunshot. / If we work together we can drag him down with us. To the hot place. / First, I’m gonna get that nurse. Then the doctor. Then the guy who bathes me. Then the old guy in the bed behind the curtain – he’ll thank me for it. Comas are so stupid. / People have no knowledge of themselves anymore, how they inconvenience others. / Two English officers have a very polite discussion on the design of an approaching tank, just before it blows them up. / Bad weather discounts only go so far. / Why are foxes considered so smart? The only ones I ever see are dead. / When the soldiers come, I run for the forest. Not so fast little one, says the soldier who sweeps me up in his arm. Where are you running to? I don’t say anything. Another soldier has a radio on his back. Just shoot him, he says. Uh uh, says the soldier who has me, and cocks his head at the American journalist with his camera. The soldier with the radio rubs my hair and whispers in my ear, Don’t worry, we’ll be back to get you tomorrow. / A little Chinese girl in a bright blue dress, her long black hair tied tight in a ponytail with an enormous pink bow, riding a purple bike with training wheels and a pink plastic basket and pink plastic pom-poms on the end of each handle and she laughs at you as she goes by, laughing like you’re ridiculous. / Who is the patron saint of fools? / All those paintings you gave away to girls are swimming their way through landfills. / Later, sailor.