Au Paris

Going to try and catch up on a little travel blogging here, my friends…

While the WI Girls Take London adventures were no less debaucherous than expected - complete with missed tube stops, stolen champagne bottles, certain people defenestrated from cabs, and a lot of crawling over each other to get around my tiny flat - I will focus on the weekend visit to Paris.

That’s right, weekend, because you can do things like that when you live in London.

After booking the hostel at 11pm the night before (you’ll see why this is important in one second…), we got ourselves up and out, and hopped on the 9am Eurostar to Paris - I tried to book the 6:40 but was overruled - and we were in Paris by 12:30 local time. All Tonimarie wanted to do was see the Eiffel Tower and quote Sex and the City, but we kept her in suspense while we stayed below ground and navigated the Metro all the way to the Bastille Monument to find our 5-Star hostel. Naturally they greeted us with champagne, fresh baked cookies and chocolate covered strawberries at the door before showing us to our room. Not quite. The reality was we walked up the very narrow, very untidy, very uneven staircase to our closet/cupboard, and when I opened the door, I cannot tell you what I would have paid to have the girls’ faces on camera… Three twin beds, all in a line, touching so that it was like one big king bed, maybe 6 inches from the foot of the beds to the wall. Luckily, or so we thought, we had our own bathroom. Until we had our first experience with the showerhead on a string + no shower curtain…Yea, our showers, if you can call them that, didn’t go very well the next day on account of our lack in coordination of showerhead holding + soaping and washing capabilities. Welcome to Europe ladies!

Once we dropped our stuff and headed out I began them on one of my, now infamous, walking tours of European cities. Walking literally from one end of the city to the other, we hit up all the major tourist attractions with one goal in mind – get them to the tower (+ keep everyone fed and happy so no one wanted to bite each other’s head’s off). Notre Dame, the Seine bridges, the Louvre, the Louvre Courtyard (personal Harvard girls’ favorite! OUR courtyard), the Tuileries, Ab Harris’ favorite obelisk (fun fact Cailin taught me), the Musee d’Orsey, and finally…. I turned them down this side alley because I thought it was a shortcut, and low and behold, there she is. I thought they were going to cry. Surely the highlight of the trip!

After surveying the line for the elevators to the top, someone had the brilliant idea to walk up the stairs…

It really wasn’t that bad, and would actually recommend it for the strong at heart, plus after level two they put you in an elevator to the tippy top (Tone almost chickened out but we convinced her otherwise). We got our beautiful aerial view, sent a picture to our parents, and were ready to be on our merry way. Unfortunately for us, crowd control at the top was not really what we’re used to in America, so there was a bit of a commotion, I thought some guy was going to punch Kate out, and then cause a bit of a ruckus amongst the rest of the tour group who I thought were preparing for battle. We somehow made our escape and got back down to elevation zero - safe and sound. I won’t go into the details, but it was touch and go there for a little bit, and we definitely added to the anti-American sentiment in our accidental attempt to cut the entire line waiting for elevators down. Oops! Je ne parle pas français!

Moving on…we were absolutely beat at this point, but I made them trudge on to the Champs Elysees because I felt we had to get a drink at one of the cafes and see the Arc de Triomphe. It was about this time when we decided that for the whole week they had been in Europe, we never sat down without having in our hands an alcoholic beverage or something to stuff our faces with, but usually both, and it was pathetically amazing.

From there, instead of heading back to the Palace Resort & Spa and changing and going out for a night on the town I convinced them to stay out and that we would go to Sacre Coeur and eat at the top of the hill. Perhaps the only thing that rivals our Eiffel Tower experience is what I am about to tell you…the best Italian food I have ever had. Sorry North End Boston, sorry Little Italy New York, we found a little place off the beaten path in Montmartre. Lured in by an Italian family sitting at a table in the window, we came to find this place owned by a family from Brooklyn. BEST mussels in white wine sauce (yes, dad better than Carrabba’s!), best pasta dishes, best prosecco, and best service + limoncello at the end (re: see we never stopped eating and drinking every time we sat our fat asses down). As travel blogs go, this is probably completely useless because I don’t think any of us got a card or know the name or even where we were, so no way we can ever find this place again, but it will live on in our memories. Capped the night off by seeing the Eiffel Tower by night at the top of Sacre Coeur where all the locals seemed to be hanging out and drinking for the evening.

Day 2 was a lot of the same, and all was delicious and just as fabulous as the first day. Overall, Paris was très successful and I think the girls enjoyed themselves immensely.

Until another trip, Au Paris!! Still one of my favorite cities in the world.

Also fun fact - Kate had come across this in Italy, but apparently there is a widely known tradition to "lock your love" in Paris...while we did not bring our own industrial sized lock (although we probably should have seeing the state of our All-Inclusive Luxury Hotel) we were able to appreciate the beauty this tradition created! So cool!

French word of the day: nourritre et alcool = food and alcohol, what got us through our visit. We went on a nourritre et alcool tour of Pareeeeee!

Happy 4th of July!

Being the token American of the group, I walked into my office on Wednesday morning (yes, I had to work while you were off enjoying your BBQs and games of corn hole), and had completely forgotten it was cause for celebration. Upon turning the corner though, I stumbled on this very sweet desk transformation…

Blueberry muffins, American flags, NY bagels and cream cheese, the Statue of Liberty and pretzels. America in a nutshell.

Although my colleagues were keen on making sure I felt at home in the old mother country, it was strange to me that so many other Brits had no idea it was even a holiday! I was bracing myself for a bit of hostility on the day of our secession but no, people were unphased and, for the most part, uninformed.

The biggest letdown (other than having to go to work) was that there were no fireworks to be had. I was supposed to make it to Camden for a Nathan’s Coney Island inspired Hot Dog Eating Contest, because how much more American can you get, but never quite made it past the bar across the street from work (basically our version of the bar from Ally McBeal).

They may have tried to compensate for the dearth of fireworks with the next day’s unveiling of the Shard, which we happened to stumble upon after leaving an event at the Tate Modern. Emptying out river-side after copious amount of free drinks and food which hardly passed as a canapé, we noticed all of London lined up along the bridges spanning the Thames. Thinking, okay maybe the Brits celebrate the day after the 4^th, a good riddance type thing, this might just be our shot at some real American patriotic fireworks, so we tried to fold ourselves into the crowds. After standing there for about 15minutes with no action to be had (mind you it was well past 11pm so we figured if something was going to happen it would be happening in not too distant future – no one appreciates the post-midnight firework) we decided to ask a nearby photographer what was going on, and why these thousands and thousands of people were still standing here in anticipation. He simply said, this is it. We were so confused! What was it?? We meandered our way down the river toward our tube stop and asked another unsuspecting group. They said, they were embarrassed to say, they too thought this was it, and pointed to the newly completed Shard, now the tallest building in Europe. (59^th tallest in the world)

The unveiling of the Shard was supposed to be a fantastic and spectacular occasion, and all I saw were 5 little green laser beams shooting out from its innards. With people honestly crowded on every crevice of the river’s edge and bridges, it was somewhat of an embarrassment to the pomp and circumstance the English claim to have. Some even called this “little more than a damp squib.” Whatever that means, I agree. I’ve seen way better damp squib in my lifetime than this sorry excuse for a lightshow. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed this was no indication of what the Opening Ceremonies will hold in store…

Happy 4^th America! I hope you made us ex-pats proud with your rebellious nature and ever-lacking modesty.

English word of the day: Carnage = straight up, disaster. Usually used in reference to nights of binge drinking. My 4^th of July was straight up carnage. I was a mash-up. (will explain that one later)

Stepped into a Thomas Kinkade

In light of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee we were feeling a little English Pride and decided to take a trip to the English countryside to get a feel for the countrymen and women who embody Englishness. The bus tour we opted for took us to the Cotswolds area and Blenheim Palace, one of the UK’s most historic palaces and, more importantly, the birthplace of Sir Winston Churchill, one of my top five favorite political leaders.

Upon arriving as Blenheim we were assaulted with the juxtaposition of a modern day triathlaton taking place on the historic greens of the 18^th century Palace. 

As you can see, this was not your typical aristocratic afternoon strolling the palace premises…

Our entrance admitted us to the State Rooms as well as the Churchill Story where we could see everything from his famous paintings turned Hallmark greeting cards, to the bed in which he was born, adorned by 3 locks of his curls snipped from the five year old Winston’s head (don’t worry, this part creeped me out too). Fun fact – we saw his US Passport on display at Blenheim, marking him the first person to become an honorary US citizen.

The Palace itself was very ornate, and we came to find out built with minimal state funding, which seemed to indicate some sort of strained relationship between Queen Anne and the 1^st Duchess of Marlborough. I couldn’t be bothered with that though because I was so distracted by THIS MASTERPIECE, the largest pipe organ in private ownership in Europe. I wanted so badly to brush up against it and hit one of the keys. 

Dining room used ONCE per year at Christmas!

Lucky for me, I was restrained by my more refined friends.

Moving on from Blenheim, we were off to the Cotswolds, a range of rolling hills and villages in southwestern England. Stopping off in the villages of Bruford, Bibury, and Bourton on the Water I could not help but be transported to a Thomas Kinkade. Just look at some of these images!

It seriously begs the question….what do these people do for a living?!?! Other than shear sheep and needlepoint, I honestly don’t know what there is to do in these sleepy villages. Two and a half hours from central London we were shown what it means to be in the English countryside. 

They even had a model village replica 1/9^th the size of the original just as it was in 1930 using the Cotswold stones, complete with all the dollhouse accoutrements my little girl self could ever dream of! Sheep and bunting included!

Model Village

The kicker for me, and the epitome of what happens in the Cotswolds, we were actually lucky enough to be there to witness the weekend’s big event…Tug of War across the river! Seemed like the whole town of Burton came out to witness this spectacle, and many opted to take part themselves.

Tug of War across the river

I really wish I had a video of this. This image just doesn’t quite capture the true determination and intensity with which these guys tugged, and then celebrated thereafter. It was amazing. I guess it’s the little things out in the boonies. 

Definitely a worthwhile trip and brought me closer to the English roots that reinforce a society steeped in traditions. It was a gorgeous afternoon, although I kind of wished for a few more thatched roofs. I will be sure to log a complaint with the…sheep?

English word of the day: A phrase I came across at work when one of our male colleagues told us the women “are as thick as thieves,” translation = very close. This was a new one for me! Reminded me of Robin Hood Men in Tights. Might have to take a trip to Buckinghamshire next!

Sun on your Chinny Chin Chin

It might have taken 6 months, but finally the skies have cleared and the sun has decided to rear its beautiful face amidst the pasty arms, legs, shoulders, faces, necks, hands, and feet that make up the English populous. I give these folks a lot of credit though. They wear their fair skin proudly. Short shorts and cutoff tanks for girls, and apparently, shirts optional for guys. Not only that, but the many parks of London transform into big old pale exhibition-fests, with one ghost-like figure more naked then the next! It was like a real-life Rubens painting, lumpy fair-skinned crowd and all. While I enjoyed the scene in the moment, my favorite part might have come when the sun went down, riding the tube later that evening, and seeing all the metamorphosed lobster people staring back at me. Bring on the aloe vera, these English folks will be hurting for days!!

So, in honor of the recently sprung Summer-time weather, I wanted to post about the savory sweet that is Chin Chin Laboratories. What is Chin Chin you may ask? Well, take your good old periodic table of elements and slam it full force into the refreshing, milky dessert you know and love. You guessed it - Nitrogen ice cream.

Located in the heart of the grungiest hipster neighborhood of London, Camden Market’s Chin Chin Labs is Europe’s first nitro ice cream parlor where the scientists behind the counter create icy deliciousness using liquid nitrogen. I’m not going to try and explain the process but from what I remember from AP Chem, liquid nitrogen is very very cold. How’s that for a public school education?

Nitrogen.

Cold.

Will freeze things.

My AP Chem teacher, Mrs. Silver, would be so proud. (or rather Mrs. Ag, the periodic symbol for silver – funny enough, her maiden name was Au-stein or Goldstein for those not so chemically inclined. Au became Ag! That joke writes itself right there!)

I was recommended the basil chocolate chip (pronounced Baaaa-sil, like the sound a sheep makes), which is their take on mint choco chip. I was not disappointed. I know it sounds like a strange combination, herb flavored ice cream, but trust me it was good. Topped it off with some chocolate syrup and white chocolate chips and you had one satisfied science eater. Move over Friendly’s sundaes!! The pale ones’ nitro ice cream is here to stay!

English word of the day: Sun cream = a special English lifeline used to preserve the aforementioned condition which has run rampant throughout the UK. Also known as pastiness. Be careful not to miss a spot!

An evening with Royalty, or as we call him for short, HRH

Being in the right place at the right time continues to be my modus operandi. This week my college roommate just so happened to be sailing a regatta in London with tons of social events surrounding the day’s on-the-water activities, and it just so happened she had a plus one to all of these lovely events. Not one to turn down a royal shindig, I agreed to be her arm candy.

Eight teams from all over the world came to London vying for the Cumberland Cup, a trophy whose history began the very year us yanks were busy seceding from the mothership – just goes to show you the English government was out yachting while their country was at war, no wonder we won! Now I can’t say I partook in watching any of the actual sailing but I can certainly provide you with the play by play for all the social events. Let’s be honest, that’s all you’re really interested in anyway, right?

Night One: Opening Reception at St. James’s Palace

Sooooo many rules!!! We received very strict instructions to heed during our drinks and canapés reception at St. James’s Palace, to the point where I was not entirely sure I was going to be allowed in! Bringing back bad memories of when we visited the Vatican and my skirt was too risqué to be allowed inside St. Peter’s Basilica, I was having flashbacks of standing outside alone while my friends went in to experience all the fun and wonderment. As an example, we received the following rules to obey:

“The Dress code is jacket and tie. Suits or Club Reefer jackets are appropriate for gentlemen and ladies should confirm appropriately for a cocktail party in the presence of a member of the Royal Family in a Royal Palace.”

I’m sorry, but this just happens to be the first time I am planning to be in the presence of a member of the Royal Family in a Royal Palace, so I can’t say I have many past experiences to draw on confirming my appropriateness. Some online research brought back a list of (K)NOT’S, sailing joke intended. You will not wear any sleeveless dress. You will not wear anything above the knee. You will not wear sandals or other casual footwear. You will not wear a hat after 6:30. You will not wear white gloves. If you wear gloves you will not take them off until after you are presented. And the list goes on…

Once I selected what I thought was a suitable royal outfit I moved on to the introduction rules.

“The form of salutation when meeting HRH The Duke of York is as follows:

a.     Gentlemen: Nod/slightly bow your head from the neck.

b.     Ladies: A slight curtsy/bob. The right foot is placed behind the left heel, and the knees bent slightly.

c.      Both Ladies and Gentlemen should initially address the Commodore as “Your Royal Highness.” In conversation thereafter he is addressed as “Sir.”

With sweaty palms worrying about how to properly curtsy in his presence - which foot in front, how far to bend my knees, what do I do with my head, what if he sticks out his hand instead, do I kiss it scarface style - I am thinking oh yea right,how can I royally mess this one up. Furthermore, after I address him the first time they assume I will come up with another sentence that warrants me to address him again where I would need to use Sir instead of HRH??

Right. Game on.

Once I got over the initial paranoia that I would most certainly do something gauche, I very much enjoyed the evening. HRH kept us waiting a bit longer than we would have liked (and there were a few times where I had to ask Megan, is that him??) but when he came in he made a very funny speech, worked the room, and then we were told we could go see the throne in the Queen Anne Room before then making our way to the exit of the palace. It was the English way of saying, ok your times up, you’re allowed one more peak at something else then please get the hell out. 

And while HRH made his way swiftly around the room shaking hands with many and taking photographs with most, somehow after all that prep, he managed to skip over our little circle of people and all I got was a shoulder rub-up. Rubbed shoulders with royalty. I can live with that I guess. I will be sure to update with any professional photographs that come out featuring yours trule and HRH’s posse in the palace.

English word of the day: Do = party! Only having heard this term coupled with hair, this was a novelty to me that all parties were referred to as “dos” pronounced DUES. Leaving do! Retirement do! Birthday do! Friday night do! Love it. So casual but conveys so much party.

April swales bring Big Bumba snails

True to form, April Showers are here, but rather than bringing May flowers, I have stumbled across a new variation of the adage. Living in my wellies and permanently sheltered under my brolly, my line of vision has seldom wavered from the slippery red bricks that line the 0.7mile walk to the tube from my flat. It was with this focused gaze today that I saw not one, not two, but THREE Big Bumba snails on my way to and from work.

Tough picture, will search for a non-nocturnal one to replace this

For those who may be missing the reference here – Big Bumba (buhm-bah) is a longstanding family word, originating on, what else, the good old softball diamond. Primarily used to aid in teaching the receiving position of the first baseman, with applications to participation in run-downs as well as the act of catching stealing runners, Big Bumba was The Skip’s go-to term for describing why you needed to get out of the way of the runner. Modestly using himself as a Big Bumba example, The Skip would “barrel” down the line (by barrel I mean shuffle his feet, move his head from side to side, and wave his arms around) to mock run into/knock down whoever was standing in his way. It has since become the standard term used for any being that is extremely larger than the norm. (and in softball, they were more likely to be Bumbas than non)

It should also be noted that this was very much contradictory to everything he taught me about soccer, preaching to his little munchkin daughter “the bigger they are the harder they fall,” but that’s neither here nor there for this story.

Back to the snails. Growing up in Long Island you never would have blinked twice if you saw a monster slug crawling across your driveway, but THIS was something I couldn’t ignore.  These were the English, more proper, slightly better dressed slugs from my childhood! Seems that over here even the mollusks are stuffy and pretentious enough to always cover up with extravagant, vintage shells. 

Until this wet weather subsides I would imagine I will be seeing more of my single muscular footed, mucous layering, hard-backed friends, and I will keep a running tally, so far Snooty Snails - 3, Slum-of-the-earth Slugs - 0. I guess no one told the snails that London was in a drought right now, with the Environment Agency last week extending the drought zone up to Derbyshire (wherever that is?)?? I think Big Bumba begs to differ with that decision.

English word of the day: Put paid to = an expression which means to put an end to something. For example you could say that sun put paid to the snail invasion, meaning they stopped venturing out once it stopped raining.

The Girl with the Swedish Massage Groupon: Story One of the Millennium Trilogy

April 21

I am going to go ahead and file this in the “Things that will never fly in the US” folder. It all started with an email…

Groupon, one of my favorite pastimes, was offering to “Get kneady with a 60 minute full body hot stone or classic massage at B&K Lifestyle Spa. Facing out on to the sumptuous streets of Westminster, and featuring shelves stacked with DECLÉOR products inside, the luxurious B&K Lifestyle Spa puts pampering on the map. Between the rosy reaches of the Regent's and Hyde Parks, the salon's esteemed beauty therapists are multi-lingual, with staff speaking several Euopean languages, and they work alongside adventurous hair stylists, creative nail artists, and merciful waxers.”

Perhaps because of my love for the fabulous pun, I clicked buy, no research required. When I called to book, the only Saturday appointment they had was two months out so I figured it had to be good! Right? Wrong. Oh so very wrong.

Fast-forward to today. After consulting my trusty google maps I decided it was quicker for me to run there than to take public transport. Calling to ensure they had shower facilities available I spoke with the first of my Swedish accented women. Multi-lingual European staff, CHECK! Assuring me they did have showers, I strapped on my backpack and was on my merry way.

I got there and I was faced with two doors. Both labeled #104. Door number one had the B&K Spa sign, door number two was open, and seemed to enter into a long hallway. What was behind door number one? Not much! Expecting it to open up to a large spa-like atmosphere with zen music and aromatherapy candles burning, I found myself in a 5x20 sad excuse for a hair salon. Skirting around the lone hair styling chair I cleared my throat to get the hair washers attention. She asked if I had an appointment, I said yes, she had have a seat. After a quick 360, I saw my options were: vacant chair behind the desk, hair salon chair which was clearly to be used when the hair washer was done, manicurist chair, or back outside on the stoop of the sumptuous streets of Westminster. Mimicking a nail technician, I took my place in her swivel stool.

Five minutes later, when it became clear the hair washer was running somewhat of a one-man show I asked where I could find the showers. With a perplexed look she remarked in her Swedish accent, “Usually people shower after their massages…”

I tried to explain to her that I had just run there, was sweaty, would rather not subject the masseuse to my sweatiness, etc. and she said hold on 1 minute. Reappearing, she said fine, I could use the shower and took me out into the hall (what was behind Door #2) and directed me down the flight of stairs, and said to go to the end of the hall and look for the woman with the red hair. Finding her in what was a kitchen with a bathroom off it, it became clear they were running this “Spa” out of the comfort of their own home. If you don’t believe me, please see for yourself:

Shower "Facility"

Clothes drying. No big deal.

Washing Machine - ON

Embracing the ridiculous situation, I was warned that “someone else was using the shower gel,” but still for some reason, I took the “fresh towel” the British Warrior Queen Boudicca handed me, straight from the dryer (could have gotten it myself!), and hopped right in. It didn’t take long to figure out why they hadn’t wanted me to shower at the moment. Since the washing machine was also in the bathroom, I saw so clearly it was on, therefore…no hot water. Gave myself a nice freezing cold rinse and got the hell out of that basement communal shower “facility.”

Resuming my position as manicurist upstairs I waited to be called. Luckily it was all uphill from there and I was taken to a proper massage room with a legit massage bed and masseuse.

Through this whole ordeal though, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the time Cyndi and I were in Manhattan to see a show and found ourselves face to face with a solicitor who managed to sell us a coupon for a list of beauty services including a haircut and blowout, color, waxing, massage, makeup application, and manicure/pedicure. We of course bought it for something like $100, went over to the salon, and found out we could only use 1 service per visit. The $20 return LIRR tickets made this “deal” impossible to be profitable for us. Accepting defeat we got our haircut and blown out and made our way over to see, ironically enough, Legally Blonde.

Well played B&K Lifestyle Spa, well played, you got me! Not that it was a great feat. Great little homegrown, home-run scam of a spa. Just look at the website! They would have fooled you too. Next time I will read the reviews before I go hastily clicking the buy button.

English word of the day: Nutter = crazy person. As in, I must be a nutter to purchase a deal I didn’t seriously research. Lesson learned! No harm, no foul.

Enter a World of Pure Imagination

To follow-up on the world’s largest Easter Egg Hunt, for a pre-Easter, secular celebration, London puts on a fabulous Chocolate Festival! Located on the Southbank I strategically placed my run to partake in all the chocolate goodies – with a very special recommendation for the Chili Hot Chocolate. While the weather here has done a complete 180 from Friday to Saturday, that hot cocoa with a kick sounded right up my alley.

The outdoor festival featured all my favorite British chocolatiers and chocolate companies, with dozens of stalls selling chocolate-related products – everything from chocolate covered coffee beans, nuts, berries, and fruits, to chocolate infused wine, to chocolate beer, to millions of egg shaped chocolate filled things (note: British are OBSESSED with chocolate eggs. Every day someone new comes into the office with a chocolate egg. And these aren’t tiny Cadbury eggs, these are huge, head-sized hollow eggs typically filled with something else equally delicious. Very strange.) and much much more! Making my way through the stalls I failed to stumble across the chili hot chocolate that was praised by my friends. But instead, tucked away in the back was my holy grail…

Chocolate ARANCINI!

Okay I will admit I was taken aback a bit when I saw the name residing next to the black turd that was allegedly “an arancini,” but my curiosity got the best of me. I had to have it. Anyone who has ever tried a SueCro rice ball will call this blasphemy, and I went into it thinking they would be proved right. Accustomed to craving the perfectly fried outside and equally gooey inside of risotto, cheeses, hams, and peas, this came as quite a palette shocker. Equally fried on the outside and gooey on the inside, but this time the gooeyness was the melted chocolate hazelnut with hint of orange peel and almond. I know what you’re thinking….how can my love for cheese ever be overcome, let alone by some mushy nutella like spread?! I assure you this lactose tolerant girl will never let that happen. Although I will say, my sweet tooth has grown significantly out here surrounded by all the buttery, chocolatey goodness on every corner. Despite its less than appetizing appearance, my chocorancini (trying something out here – go with it) was amazing. Might even try to make them myself and present them as the main course dessert to a Mrs. Susan Cronin next Sunday dinner I am in town for. (I understand it will still pale in comparison to her perfected Italian craft, but a girl can try!)

What else I ended up with…

Admittedly not as exciting as a chocolate rice ball but dark/white chocolate with PEPPER and chocolate bark with sea salt and nuts. All around win on the day for this guy.

Fairly successful day (minus the chili hot chocolate, but I don't want to talk about it). May even try to present my family with some of the spoils for Easter. That is if I can keep my paws out of the goods. Re: not likely.

English word of the day: VIT-amin, as in you should make sure to tak your VIT-amins so you don’t get sick. Pronounced like BIT-amin or PIT-amin. Same meaning, but this came up on the back of a separate conversation with one of my coworkers asking where in the states Ar-KANSAS was. Pronounced like KANSAS. Silly Brits, they say things all sorts of funny.

LifeInAFlat goes Food Blogging

I love when guests visit. Not only is it a nice reminder of home but it also gives me a great excuse to eat like a complete idiot, indulging in all the sweets, pies, wines, breads, and cheeses I want without feeling guilty! Having just somewhat recovered from my parents visit, practicing full my-body-is-a-temple behavior (except not really, unless beer and wine are included in anyone’s idea of a diet?), I was starting to get back on track when, BAM! Jon came over for a few days. Longing for our Bostonian lifestyle of long dinners, full bottles of wine, brunches, bar snacks and more we set out to recreate it all, London style. Here is our food and drinks tour of London…

Infamous Bap

1.     The Kitchen & Pantry, Notting Hill: Stop one. Site of the breakfast sandwich of a lifetime. THE BAP. Piled high with delicious Cumberland sausages, egg, and cheese (dipping ketchup optional) these are your perfect hangover cure and hearty, start-your-day-off-right, meal of champions. Or a fat kid’s dream! 

2.     The Paramount, Tottenham Court Road: The posh bar at the top of the Centre Point building, one of the higher ones in London – which isn’t saying much seeing as we were on the 32nd floor with a very clear view of the entire city. After I picked Jon up off the floor post minor anxiety attack, forgot about his acrophobia, we ordered a bottle of wine and took in the 360° view of the city – not much of skyline though I must say. 

The Paramount View

       3.     Green Monster Pub: Green Monster? Come on! As an ode to Fenway Park we followed our bottle of wine with beers, beers, and more beers while watching football with the locals. 

Bar Rumba Fare

        4.     Comedy Night at Bar Rumba, Leicester Square: FREE popcorn and some great stand-up acts. I will say we didn’t get all the British jokes, BUT seems like the Tube is a popular topic for mockery, and one that we could fully indulge in.

5.     O’Neills Pub, Soho: Nice traditional Irish pub to start off the St. Patrick’s Day revelry. Just like the good old Harp, the live band, was fantastic (and “asked for us,” right Cailin?). And for me the cover bands here are perfect because they play all American songs from about 10 years ago – which to me is still pop! You know I’m always a few years behind in the music department. 

Maggie Jones

  6.Maggie Jones, Kensington: We love this traditional English place so much we even made up a song about it. Album drops this fall. Magnum house wine, the best chicken and artichoke pies, stuffed artichokes, and tarts. Need I say more? We craved this so much by our last night that we went back again. Our waiter, who looks eerily like Balki from Perfect Strangers, now knows our order by heart.

7.     Yum Cha, Camden: I took Jon on his first Dim Sum experience. Sadly I am not the most experienced in the ordering department for dim sum, so I will admit some of my choices were less than delicious. Great place though, and I think he is now hooked on the ritual. Next time we should scan the room more and try and order like the other patrons who clearly had it down to a science.

Market Thai

       8.     Market Thai, Notting Hill: One of my favorite hole-in-the-wall spots in my neck of the woods. Rivals, but does not beat Spice’s Chicken Pad Thai in good old Cambridge. Loved the quaint atmosphere and the waitresses are the cutest little Thai women that I could fit in my pocket!

       9.     Benito’s Hat. Oxford Circus: Rounding out the food tour around the world we needed to get our Mexican fix. Perfect place for it. Some of the biggest burritos ever, and I ate it all!!! And then the rest of Jon’s.

Gained a whole other person in pounds I think (or a few stones as they say in the UK, hint 1 stone = 14 pounds). But it was a great food tour of London! Only thing we missed – curry on Brick Lane. Could have used that too, would have helped clean out our systems a little bit! Next time. There’s always next time.

English word of the day: Hay Fever = allergies. Again nothing I shouldn’t know already, but it’s all in the way they use these words! Like they’re commonplace! Which I guess they are for non-foreigners, but still. This whole understanding words through context is seriously bringing me back to grade school when every word was new and needed to be analyzed in terms of the words around it in order to understand the meaning trying to be conveyed. In this case it was the dripping eyes, running nose, and constant itching of my colleague that gave me the clues to read in between the sneezes, er, lines. Toss the chick some Claritin, and let’s all move on and stop talking abut our hay fever symptoms.