Deunaw

[muckefuck]

According to the traditional Chinese calendar, today is the ninth day of the ninth month, the date of a lesser-known festival. Traditionally, one is supposed to (1) take a bag of cornel-wood, (2) climb to the highest point around, and (3) drink chrysanthemum wine while (4) watching the moon rise. Obviously, the originators weren't thinking ahead to the day when they'd colonise Chicago because (1) trees of the Cornus genus are rarer here than English-speaking cabbies, (2) looking for an elevated spot is like looking for puddles in the Atacama, (3) I can't find chrysanthemum wine--or any other variety of Chinese wine--for sale anywhere, and (4) ain't nobody going see the moon rise over this town tonight.

So what's a romantic Sinophile to do? Tonight, monshu is taking me to a Korean barbecue house on a hill. There will be moon designs in the decor, baekseju on tap, a modest rise under our feet, and we'll just have to scare up our own kind of wood afterwards.