Inner Dome of Heaven

When my mom and I came over to London to house hunt internationally we stumbled upon this little al fresco dining area bustling with people, complete with heat lamps, Christmas lights strewn across the buildings, and an ICEBAR! 

I took this picture by the way. It's okay, you can be impressed.

That’s right, a bar made entirely out of ice! Upon further investigation, the details of the joint are as follows…

·      UK’s only bar made entirely of ice (shocker, I know)

·      Kept at about -5° C (equivalent to about 23°F for those of you not on the metric system, basically the same as Boston from January-April)

·      Everything inside is made out of crystal clear ice harvested especially from the frozen Torne River in Jukkasjarvi, Northern Sweden (not sure I entirely believe that…although there’s no way the Thames is that clear so maybe?)

·      Once a year the entire bar is completely transformed with a new design theme and layout by a team of skilled ice designers and sculptors, using new ice from the Torne River (there’s reference to that silly river again, if it even exists!)

And my personal favorite fun fact…

·      You are given a designer thermal cape with a hood to keep you warm during your visit

After that sales pitch, I was sold and vowed that I would go back once I moved here for good, perhaps almost entirely because I thought you got to keep the cape and gloves, but that’s besides the point.

So, fast-forward to Jon’s visit and you better believe I made a very special point to put this outing on our itinerary (yes, I made a very detailed day-by-day, hour-by-hour itinerary for us, no one’s surprised). I assure you we were not disappointed, that is, until the end when I had to give my cape back :(

We were on a very strict timeline, exposed to the chill for 40 minutes, and 40 minutes only, and they proudly displayed that countdown above the door to avoid any Ötzi the Iceman situations. Given our own special ice shot glasses, picture personalized ice luges, the drinks were flowing and the crowd loved it. 


We explored a little bit…

And got a little silly!

 

 

Until basically we were the last one’s standing and had to be forced out.

All in all, real fun experience, one I would certainly recommend.

English word of the day: Surgery = doctor’s office/consultation. I only know this because I registered for my first NHS GP since I have now given up my insurance in the states, scary I know, and I was told to “go on in to surgery”. Wary of what body part my new GP thought needed operation; I proceeded in to find nothing more than your run of the mill doctor’s office. Although I would have liked to hear what work I needed done surgically.

Happy Thanksgiving America!!

I am thankful for...

Bodean’s!

Where us ex-pats will be spending the holiday AFTER working a full day in the office! Nothing like a good smoked turkey at a BBQ joint with all the traditional trimmings from back home. Well, almost all, sadly I will be missing my Sweet Potato Soufflé, Manatee Rolls, Cheesy Potatoes, Green Bean Casserole and last but never, never least, my personal favorite, the Cucumber Mousse – how well do you think that travels? Can that get shipped here you think? 

I guess there’s always Christmas.

Wishing you a very Happy Turkey Day!

A funny thing happened on the way to the Underground

Funny, that is, for all those around me who witnessed it. Let’s begin the recap of my day…

London has this strange way of always looking like it just rained. You hardly ever see the rain, but the ground seems to hold this moistness that makes you grateful for your timely departure, like, “SCORE, I just missed the storm, this is going to be my lucky day!” So today began just like that. I get to the tube, my feet still damp from “the last hour’s” rainstorm, I make it to the bottom of my first flight of stairs, my shoes lose all traction, and there I go Kristi Yamaguchiing my way across the station only to land on my right shoulder, cushioned by my rather large purse. And the kicker…no one said a word! I mean I’m sure they all continued on their way to work and told the best water cooler story ever once they got there, but come on!! Granted I probably said some American profanity under my breath that completely ruined my guise as just another Brit on their way to work, but still! No one moved an inch to help remove me and my, then soaked, leather bag from the floor. I think it’s time I invest in some Wellies (Christmas present idea number 1).

I successfully made it through the rest of the day on my feet, put in a hard day’s work and was ready to head home. Completely engrossed in my 3^rd book since I’ve been here (Christmas present idea number 2), I was rounding the corner following my “Way Out” crew and it hit me! Running full speed, same height, same blindness to the crowds, only with eyes for minding the gap and making the train, a Brit…and we smacked right into each other, face to face. If it weren’t for my complete devotion to the latest twist in my book we would have landed mouth to mouth. Thank you Kindle, wasn’t really feeling like crossing off “make out with complete stranger in tube station” from my list.  

Just when I wanted nothing more than to be home, the last incident of the evening occurred. Fighting the crowd to get up and out with my newfound aggression, taking pointers from my mystery makeout man, I found my way to the front of the queue. Now, escalator rules are very strict here. It’s always stand on the right, walk on the left. No exceptions. 

So off I go, passing the long train of people standing on the right. I can’t help it but every time I choose to be one of the up-walkers rather than the standers I have this unwarranted sense of pride and accomplishment. Almost self righteous in that I am getting a workout while these lazy people just watch. (On the flip side when I am on the right, all I think is “Overachievers!”) So, nearing the top I think I’ve made it, and I’ve beat all those standers who didn’t even know they were in competition with me, and BAM! I trip over my own two feet and put myself right back at the scene of the crime from the morning, people stepping over me as they go.

Made my way straight to the pub for a well-deserved pint.

English word of the day: Pinched = Stole! So one of my colleagues came by the other day to discuss a marketing plan for one of our new data cube products. We had been discussing getting branded Rubix Cubes and he said he found one at a corporate event so he pinched it to show me. I was not sure how pinching something can help show it to me, what kind of metaphor was that? Like pinch me, to make sure I'm not dreaming? Pinch the cube to make sure it's real? Low and behold, he takes me to his office and showed me the cube in the flesh, which apparently he STOLE from the event! Got it now.

Hidden door, Hidden door on the wall...how do I get in?

So it only took me 1 month, but I have now finally mastered the office bathroom stalls. I know you have come to expect my obliviousness, but this took it to a whole other level. Let’s begin with directions I received day one to meet my colleague “on the men’s bathroom side of the floor.” Easy enough you would think. And yes I would agree, if all the bathroom doors weren’t made out of the same material/finishing to blend in with the walls! The only thing that gave it away, after I saw a few men come and go, was a tiny, little, 2inch plaque at the top right corner of the “door” with the symbol for men etched out. How was I supposed to see that!!

AND the inconspicuousness gets worse! Once I found the women’s hidden bathroom equivalent, I opened the door to…more hidden doors! I mean really, what are these people trying to hide in the loo! Walking down the long line of doors, all trying their best to blend in with each other, I would pull one handle after another, not knowing how you could possibly know which one’s are vacant or and which are occupied. I remember thinking, what do these Brits have x-ray vision or some sort of sixth sense that tells them their mates are previously engaged?? Until one day it hit me…

Notice the lacking indication of occupation on the doors here:

Just looks like a handle.

Now, look a little closer…

Still nothing?

Try a little bit closer….

Now you see it?! That tiny pin-sized red indicator means occupied! Now I can successfully go to the bathroom without pissing off  (pun intended) all my colleagues by startling their quiet time in the stalls, pulling on every door as I pass it until I find one that is open!

English word of the day: Bap = a sandwich roll! More specifically, in my example, a breakfast sandwich made on these delicious half ciabatta/half English muffin type rolls. I’m bringing sausage, egg, and cheese baps to America. You can thank me later.

We're here to see the Mayor

Another eventful weekend in Londontown. From a 1920 Speakeasy to an American sport bar, my adventures certainly ran the gamut. Let’s stick to the fun stuff, the secret password bar. So we went to this place, The Breakfast Club, which looked like a diner. A diner with a DJ. We’ll call it the staging area. Reading online reviews we were instructed to approach the list keeper/bouncer, which we interpreted to mean the biggest guy in the bar, and say the magic words. Finding the Big Man we say, under our breath of course, this is a secret club – we’re no amateurs;

“We’re here to see the Mayor”

Ushered to a table in the midst of the dance-party-DJ-diner, Big Man told us to order some drinks and the mayor would be along shortly. Only a few carafes of sangria later he was ready for us. Rising to gather our things, Big Man directed us to the door, the refrigerator door that is, and down the stairs to see the “Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town.” On the other side of the fridge the atmosphere was completely different and they certainly achieved their step back in time vibe. It was one of those moments where I really wanted to take pictures but at the same time felt like I really shouldn’t take pictures. Here’s an idea of what the door to the bar looked like, but I’ll stop here. You have to see for yourself what the downstairs was like, that’s a secret I’m not willing to give up.  The quick and dirty, it was all wood, dimly lit, and had amazing bartenders who were incredibly attentive and into their mixology.  

Once we got our fill of the secret dungeon, we decided to exit, this time through the back entrance of a bathroom so it looked like we were just using the loo that whole time. Instructions on some of the menus downstairs told us to get creative with this exit, maybe even leave some toilet paper remains on a shoe as we left. Playing it cool we rejoined the party-before-the-party area where the DJ was still spinning jams.  Danced a little more and we were off. 

Strange turn of events...we actually ended the night at the Queen of Hoxton (see earlier post). Apparently not that sketchy when you go in with a group of people! I was just, er, scouting it out the first time I went. I knew we'd be back.

English word of the day: When you are asked if you want your coffee "white" they are asking if you want milk in it. AND in the office if one of my coworkers takes orders to run downstairs and get us coffee,  they ask "red, green, or blue?" Uhhhhh…..see blank stare. They then realize, ah American, ok whole milk (red), 1% (green), or skim (blue)? Got it. No clue ordering coffee could be so colorful! How’s that to brighten your day!

Let them eat CHEESE

After much hype I decided to take people up on their insistence to go to Borough Market on a Saturday when the stalls were full in bloom and the crowd bursting with excitement. Although it took effort to drag my morning after pub-going self out of bed, I was not disappointed. Although I missed Apple Day (yea still not sure what that must have entailed - how many things can you do to apples) at the market the week before it was still quite the experience. Tucked away in the shadows of London Bridge, every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday these stalls appear with locals selling all sorts of things.

Popular items included:

·      Oils, in fact I tasted an amazing truffle oil that I had to buy right then and there. And I don’t even like truffles.

·      Jams and Jellies everywhere you turned. They were making jams out of things I'm not sure they should make jam out of... 

·      Hummus spreads, strangest one I tasted – apple spice hummus…must have been leftover from Apple Day.

·      Chocolate covered everything. There was this one stall with every fruit, nut, and veggie under the sun dipped in all sorts of chocolates. I put on my best, "kid in a candy store face" and sampled a nice array of white chocolate covered cranberries, dark chocolate banana chips, and milk chocolate pistachios. 

·      Fishes, meats, and cheeses. As well as beers from around the world and hot mulled red wines. Us Americans even brought in our very own pumpkin ale from the great wild yonder – Saranac Valley!

The Main Event:

I can't say I wasn't sniffing it out, because we all know I have this ingrained tendency to gravitate toward anything cheese-related, BUT the most amazing stumble upon was when I followed this line that snaked all the way through the market ending at THE pot of gold, or rather, cheese, that put all other pots of cheese to shame! This picture does not do it justice but the amazing grilled cheese creations that came from this place looked like a delicious clogged artery in a dish. They have these special cheese harnesses to melt the whole cheese wheel, and then they slice off melted gooeyness from the top, lumping it ooze after ooze on your fresh-made baguette. PLUS toppings!! If I hadn’t filled up on all the other free sampling I would have tried this heart attack sandwich with cheese on top. A true fat kid at heart, I now find myself singing the jump rope playground tune that will swiffer the United Kingdom;

"Heart Attack Sandwich, Cheese on Top. 

Tell me The Name of my Sweetheart. Is it A? Brie?....you get the point. 

Oh well, reason enough for me to go back.

All in all successful trip to the Borough. (Cronin that word takes on new meaning now doesn't it?)

English word of the day: Candy Floss = cotton candy!! This one came about when a coworker kept insisting the office smelled like candy floss. Cringing in my chair for what that could possibly mean, I knew it didn’t sound pleasant, she decided it was coming from her coffee, and she happily gulped down some more. After looking it up online, I was able to rest assured, it was nothing more than good old flavored sugar. Mind out of the gutter.