One good employee does not a bun shack make.

I mean, it definitely helps to once again have someone you can go, "I'll be back in an hour. Call me if you are on fire," to, and waltz out the door secure in the knowledge that a capable, intelligent individual is going to do a good job in your absence as you tend to the actual business of running a business[*]. In fact, it is a lot like a drug, and I am currently doing huge rails of "I'll be back in an hour" at every available opportunity. Can't get enough.
But, like most addicts, I need more. I want ONE WHOLE DAY where I am not at work while it is open. Something I have not had since ... 2019? 2020 maybe?

Wow. I think it was actually still the ass end of 2019. So three years ago. It has been three years since I had enough capable employees simultaneously to leave the fucking restaurant unattended for a full day without closing it. It is realisations like this that make it incredibly difficult to get out of bed in the morning, let alone go to work, let alone maintain a distressingly perfect physique carefully concealed beneath soft, expensive fabrics, let alone a rich, fulfilling intellectual life full of semi-forgotten literature, let alone the consistent production of promotional materials made from repurposed mid-century advertising, let alone a masterful capacity for keeping far too many houseplants (and one fat lizard) alive, and still make time for HBO's House of the Dragon every week, chronicling the slow decay of Viserys' body and his daughter's entire life.

But hey, that's the job, you know?

Someone has to do it.







* Every time you see me making buns, or assembling a huge and ridiculously well-priced Korean Taco Bowl, there is a figurative mountain of admin and supply runs, phone calls and banking, vendor relations and site maintenance that I am ignoring because I am understaffed. I am never supposed to be chopping spring onions. That is how newbies are supposed to improve their knife skills.

Our time is brief. Let us make of it then what we may.

A play in one act.

Scene: NANIKA, a semi-abandoned noodle bar in the rough outskirts of Govanhill. Daytime. Cabs and buses occasionally trundle by, also migrants on electric bikes working for corrupt delivery companies which inflate consumer cost and simultaneously rob independent businesses of profit. The sun struggles to escape cloud cover. The pavement is covered in litter and puke.

Enter: MR. WEDNESDAY, a cat.

Mr. Wednesday: "This place looks like shit. Who works here, some butthole? I have never eaten, not one day in my life."

From downstairs emerges MR. JUSTIN. He is covered in flour. He is grotesque. A human monster, blinking and unkempt. His fleece is beautiful, however. Any man would kill to own it.

MR JUSTIN: "Well well well, if it isn't Mr. Wednesday-on-a-Sunday! Could you- Could you not-

MR. WEDNESDAY shoves his whole face into MR. JUSTIN's face like a soft and stupid battering ram. He is screaming for food.

MR. WEDNESDAY: "Well well well, if it isn't Mr. That's-My-Lunch. You got any ham, friend? You got any cured pork? Sausages? Beef jerky? Tuna in hummus? WHAT ABOUT CHICKEN, PAL? I HAVE NEVER EATEN. LOOK AT ME FOR GOD'S SAKE I'M JUST FUR AND BONES OVER HERE. LOOK AT ME. WHAT, YOU CAN'T LOOK AT ME BECAUSE I AM HITTING YOUR FACE WITH MY FACE? HUH? MAYBE I'M TRYING TO RATTLE SOME CHICKEN LOOSE, YOU EVER THINK OF THAT? No, of course not. You only think about yourself. Etc."

From a small plastic tub MR. JUSTIN produces delicious, roasted chicken and quietly admonishes MR. WEDNESDAY.

MR. JUSTIN: "Dude, this is my lunch. I specifically brought this for me to eat today. For lunch. And I'm already kind of late so-"

Mr. WEDNESDAY ignores the pile of chicken that is now on the floor. He screams for food. His voice is deafening. An atonal bleat. MR. JUSTIN carefully picks a strand of pulled chicken from the pile and proffers it, wincing.

MR. WEDNESDAY: "YES. CHICKEN FROM YOUR SAD PATHETIC HANDS TASTES BETTER THAN FLOOR CHICKEN. YOU ARE A WORM. BEG ME TO EAT YOUR LUNCH, MAN OF FLEECE. REMAIN AT EYE LEVEL AND SPEND FIFTEEN MINUTES DOING THIS. IT IS MY WILL. Also, have you thought about painting or something? This place looks grim. You have to do Spring cleaning, even in late September. Unused spaces get that dusty look, you know? And the plants need watered. I'm a cat and even I can tell - DO NOT PET ME JUST PUT CHICKEN IN MY MOUTH. Etc."

MR. JUSTIN: "Dude, for real. That's more than half. Half of what I brought for me, a human man. I brought enough for a fully grown human man and you are the size of like ... both my feet. You do not need that much chicken."

MR. WEDNESDAY screams. He is a void that cannot be filled.

MR. JUSTIN: "I am just going to go back downstairs and grab the buns. I will be right back. Stop screaming."

He descends the ladder. In his absence MR. WEDNESDAY consumes another 200g of delicious chicken, then gives NANIKA a dismissive once-over before disappearing onto the pavement, up the wall, and onto the train tracks. A small stain on the hardwood floor marks the last place chicken was seen. From below rises MR. JUSTIN, his fleece a blaze of unfathomable colour against the grey hellscape that is Glasgow. He is hungry, but only has half a lunch. He glances around for signs of cat and sees only chicken juice, which he diligently cleans. I should dust in here, he thinks, then marches up the road with his buns.

End scene.

A MORE ACCURATE DEPICTION OF THE FOOD ON OFFER

In an effort to reduce waste we have consolidated the ever-present specials with the main bun menu in a compact, easy-to-read format which shall comprise "the menu" going forward.

That being said, we might not be "going forward" much longer, as there is simply not enough staff nor sales to justify OnlyBuns' continued existence.

It is time to once again return to the noodle nest that is NANIKA, to ride out the remainder of our days in steam and comfort. I have tried for several very difficult years to give Govanhill more than the initial noodle bar could provide, but I am not too blind to see the writing when it covers the whole fucking wall. Qualcosa, Betsumono, and now the bun hatch. Three attempts, three very costly failures. Consider the lesson learned.

Someone please buy one or both of these shops so that I can leave this neighbourhood/city/country. I am tired, and I want a future.

Thursday-Sunday, unless we run out.

Stop lying to Chuck Jackson

"You know what you ought to do with this place ..."

For the rest of my days I will aspire, whenever someone offers their unsoilicited business advice about either of my shops, strive to give half as perfect a look as Paddy Considine's suffering-a-conversation-with-Jason-Lannister/pinching-off-a-shit face from episode five of House of the Dragon.

I did not know the look I was searching for, but now I do, and I cannot thank this man enough.

Alle Nachrichten, die druckreif sind.

That was a fine, fine Friday. I give every potential new employee the whole spiel about how all our customers are regulars and the best regulars in the city at that, because we are normal people selling selling good food to normal people who want to eat it, and there is no upselling or greed from our end and thus no mistrust nor entitlement from theirs (and because we got rid of all the assholes way back in 2018, leaving only the cream of the customer crop).
Still, it's always amusing to see someone who thought you were giving a corporate induction speech have to stand by and watch while twenty people in a row come up and have lengthy, animated conversations about twenty completely different topics, everyone cursing and laughing and being normal and open and honest, all while Korean Taco Bowls and buns by the hundreds are being assembled, more than half of them saying some variant of "I'll have the usual," then frolicking off into the moderate sunshine with a bag of lunch, leaving me to go, "See, I told you."

This business exists as a functioning testament to the fact that you do not have to pay someone to optimise your search engine results and you do not have to desperately try to make TikTok videos of yourself where you basically say you'll suck some dick if only someone will buy your product(s), and there is no need to pay someone to take arty photos of food that will NOT look like that when the customer gets it, nor do you even need a sign on your own shop that says what you are.

People have been selling things to other people for a couple millenia, and the modern tactics are not the ideal. Your participation only really benefits the systems we all hate, and in the end it's the customer who suffers, and since all you small business types are customers somewhere else, you should probably ask why you're doing things that you wouldn't want done to you when you're on the other side of the till.



Small business is meant to exist in opposition to large corporate interests and their predatory behaviour. We are meant to provide an alternative, better example.

If you're just doing all the same shit but on a smaller scale, what does that say about you? And how does it serve the public, of which you are a part?

Stop worrying about your branding and start thinking about your customers. Chances are, they are awesome people once you stop viewing them as revenue.

A friendly reminder:

As we slide through September, the month where Glasgow usually briefly remembers it's supposed to have a Summer, it would behoove us all to make the most of the spot with the big exposed hatch where you order food, since I have no idea what we are going to do when it is cold. Probably march back up the road to NANIKA and remember how to make noodles.

Anyone who knows minor carpentry and could possibly help build in some seating so we can make the bun hut a ramen shack feel free to email me.

Everyone else, come get your buns/bowls/sprouts/snacks while the getting is good.

Worüber die ganze Stadt spricht

Could it be?

Are those ...

Are those TOGARASHI BRUSSELS SPROUTS?!?

Well fuck me sideways. How long has it been? A year? Has it been a whole year since the fish sauce stinking, macerated herb infused, crispy onion coated, cabbagey bastards last reared their half-roasted/half-fried little heads?

(It has, in fact, been one year. I have a calendar for this type of thing. All kinds of pertinent info on there. Papaya Salad: December 2019; Chilli Eggs: August 2021; Touched a boob: April 2022 etc.)

So come get your buns, bun freaks. Get your large rice bowls, your mango cannoli, and your weird but addictive sprouts as well. Watch my new Dutch gal dispense sauce with grace and precision. It's all happening on Allison street, Thursday through Sunday, only at OnlyBuns.

NANIKA WEEKLY Roundup: Part Nine

I recall lightning struck itself.

NANIKA WEEKLY Roundup: Part Eight

I've been in Scotland for ten years and it took a couple of weird French guys to make a bagpipe album I actually like.

Oh my god I really don't have any interest in watching the next season of The UK. I don't like any of the actors, and the plot is just off the rails bonkers at this point.

It used to be this big, seafaring epic, but even when it kind of narrowed the focus to just the one island and the wars it was pretty gripping. Now it's just kind of a cartoon and the plot lines are paper thin. They had a literal clown in charge (whoever did his wig should be barred from the industry) and they wouldn't drop the royalty stories even when they didn't make any sense with the rest of the show. Now they have some terrible actress who is supposed to be in charge because she was like ... the most ruthless rat drowning in a barrel? I don't even know how it works. I thought they were supposed to elect people? Not the royals, obviously, but the people who make deals with businesses to avoid tax? And speaking of the royals that actress that's been on it since like ... season three got killed off so now they have the guy that looks like a corpse with Mickey Mouse hands as the focus of that whole side-story and nobody wants to watch that.

It kind of reminds me of America, which is hopefully also ending soon. That show had an awesome start and a great cast.

Remember the tea thing and the big wars? Even the space stuff was done super well. Great production values, great central themes, a solid writers room ... It should have been a mini-series. Maybe three, four seasons and then wrap it up, but the networks always want to drag these things out and just continually dumb them down for broader appeal. More and more ridiculous plot lines, shittier actors, half the budget. And it shows! I mean, look at the last few seasons of that consistently-renewed car wreck. Another clown with hair that breaks immersion, some sort of race war?!, and they still haven't addressed the healthcare thing after like ... a million episodes.

And don't get me started on the crossover. We're supposed to believe there was a GLOBAL pandemic that derailed both shows for a whole season and then everything just went back to normal or worse? No major changes were made when they had everyone's collective attention ON THE WHOLE PLANET? It's such shit writing I'm mad just thinking about it, let alone watching it.



Anyway, we made cannoli from chicken skin and there's a veggie samosa bun, so come get those or maybe something else and if you have any better show recommendations let us know because this one suuuuuuuuucks now.

138 Allison Street, starting at 12pm Thursday - Staurday and 1pm on Sundays.

Scroll down for this week's specials, which should be around every day, provided your appetites do not outstrip my prep skills.

We might, like many of our fellow small businesses, have to shrink those hours in the face of crippling energy bills since the electric bill for the shop that's not even open is now higher than the rent despite us only doing prep in it one day per week.

What a time to be alive, eh? Thank fuck we have the Tories in charge to make sure the working class' best interests are being served or we would really be in for a rough ride.

All this and Chicken Skin Cannoli?

Govanhill, we spoil you. But you already know this. We have been spoiling you consistently for years, and the most expensive thing you have consumed has cost you £10.

Earlier this evening I attended a residents' meeting at my flat regarding the resignation of the factor (really it was an owners' meeting, which I only attended to see what kind of people own the flats in the property I rent) and they informed me that someone quoted them £12,000 to replace the garage door that has been broken for two years.

I thought about that figure for hours, and about the fact that it is literally a roller shutter operated by a small electric winch, which I genuinely believe I can just repair if I can find a model-specific manual online.

I'm out here putting 36 hour dry-cured pork belly in a hand-mixed galbi sauce atop house-pickled red onions, house-made crispy onion mix, house-made taco spice, and a fat whack of rice (plus some cabbage, coriander, and limes) and charging £9.00 despite the takeaway container coming in at a breezy 75p all on its own and some fucknut contractor who is probably the brother of some fucknut middleman at the factor's office is asking for twelve grand to fix what is essentially a bike chain rigged to an on/off switch.

This country is doomed.

NANIKA/OnlyBuns will likely not be around for much longer as I refuse to participate in this asinine race to total collapse the West seems intent on seeing through to the bitter end.



Get your lunch or dinner while they last.

And try not to contribute to the death spiral of modern capitalism if at all possible.

NANIKA WEEKLY Roundup: Part Eight

If you ask very nicely I will sell you a Chicken Skin Cannoli this week. It is not on the menu. It's just a little homage to Portage, where I first learned all this cooking bullshit.

Somewhere out there Caleb and Vuong are smiling down on me. Caleb is smiling because he is stoned, and will start singing "Caleb's on a va-ca-tion far a-way!" if you try to talk to him. Vuong is smiling because he has thought of a particularly good insult regarding my appearance/skill level/insecurities/etc.

The important part is that they are smiling. Focus on that.

Or focus on the cannoli, which Vuong's wife would have hated, and stormed out of the kitchen saying something like, "Why the fuck can't you guys ever make a normal dessert? You made soup out of the strawberries and creme brulee out of the god damned beets! What is wrong with you two?" to which Caleb and I would have glanced at the ice cream maker spinning chicken skin and heavy cream into a salty/sweet semi-solid and then grinned at each other.



In a professional kitchen one must make their own fun, as well as their own desserts.

Ode to Artifice

NANIKA WEEKLY Roundup: Part Seven

Last day of the week for all the goods. That would be all twelve regular buns, three special buns, four mains, eight sides, and of course the mango cannoli. Plus coffee.

I think this little steam hut has really come together, coinsidering the entire premise started as a joke.

Come hunker under the awning, enjoy some music and chat, and grab a bag of food. Simple pleasures are only going to get fewer and more infrequent as the days progress. Might as well enjoy them while they're here.