Okay, so here's my exciting topic: British Food. I love it. It's gotten a bad rap in the past because I hear it used to be tasteless goo, but I wouldn't know. I only made my first trip across the pond last year about this time. And the food? IT WAS ACE! Didja catch my British slang? Yeah, I didn't pick that up there. I know a few Brits. And I copy.
Oh, and please forgive the quality of these photos as I didn't have nearly the same level of Photoshop skillz last year as I do now. Also, I wasn't using the phat Nikon D40 that I use a lot of the time these days. Ahhh, technology...
So, this amazing piece of fabulous Brit food... wasn't. The mushy peas were perfect and the fries were great, but that huge slab of amazing looking fish on the plate? The batter wasn't cooked through. As in, soupy shiznit on top of undercooked fish in the middle. I almost booted right there. But I managed to hold it together since the seats were packed on top of each other on the second floor of this really cool old pub and I would have spewed on someone else, for sure.
THIS on the other hand, was the perfect fish 'n chips plate. Again, really rad old pub in Trafalgar Square (where the lion statues were under construction much to my chagrin. Guess I will just have to make a trip back to sit on one soon then....)
You gotta have vinegar. You do. And UK vinegar is different than US vinegar - it's a lot milder. And gooder. Everything is gooder over there.
Britvic has crack in it. Of this, I am sure. I mean, look at my brother - he's in a Britvic coma! We had free reign of the Renaissance Chancery Court's club lounge 24/7 and let's just say that these babies were smuggled back to our room in every pocket we could manage to fit them in. A few of them even made it into our luggage.
The hotel desserty things were nothing to laugh at either. I think that cake with gold leaf on top was filled with a light peanut butter mousse and rocked my socks off. Literally, they came off.
Even St. Paul's Cathedral had good prepackaged sammiches in the crypt. Is that what you call it? It was the basement. There were bodies under there. It was spooky and rad. Mostly rad. And okay, maybe the sammiches were so good because we had just climbed up 530 stairs to the top of the dome and then trekked back down. I think Taylor was uber excited to eat the chutney that he picked out (see peace sign fingers), but then discovered it wasn't so great. Being a good sister, I offered half of mine and I picked the tomatoes off half of his and chomped through it. Like I said, we were starving!
Mmmmm... great pizza in Covent Garden. Even Hippo had to partake.
Totally had to have coffee at Windsor. It was a necessity. And I was bored waiting for the train. Nope, it wasn't as good as Seattle espresso. Sorry Windsor! :(
This was where a pancake stand stood earlier in the day and I am certain the pancakes sold here are nothing like American pancakes so I had to try one!!! By the time we got there... it was gone. BIG SAD FACE!!
What I am trying to relay here is that food in London is a delectable celebration in your mouth... Even the pigeons go ape.
In parting, I leave you with me faux sitting on a spire. Because what's funnier than someone mistakenly stabbing themselves in the arse?
God, I miss my pink hair.
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