Of course the above quote is in a British accent. I am soory (in a British accent) to say--I AM picking up the accent ever so slightly...hopefully I can come back to Utah and drop the "proper English" and begin dropping my g's again (as in hunt-in', fishin', hikin', etc.)."Please sir, can I have some more?"
--Oliver
As you may guess from my post title, I would like to tell you a bit about the food here, as the food connoisseur that I am.
It's been 12 years since my last and only visit to the UK. I remember vividly the hunger pangs I felt during that 10 day trip (even though I brought enough snacks to feed myself AND the 100 other people that went on the trip with me). Even though I was able to find a Burger King in every city we were blessed to visit, I think I lost 10 pounds. So, when the opportunity presented itself to travel here to the UK again, I gladly accepted...until the memories started to surface about my food intake while here the last time. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful to have food to eat. Period. But here's the current story.
I have given the country 3 days to impress me. I actually have a say in where I eat every meal this trip, which is different from my last trip. 3 days, I have tried to have an open mind, and 3 days I've been let down (with the exception of one night when I found a Pizza shop owned by a Middle Eastern couple--good calzones!). I talked to my dad a couple weeks before I left and voiced my concerns about the food here. He had to chastise me for a minute and remind me that it was 12 years ago, at the age of 16 that I was here last. "You are older now, and your tastes have changed." Or something close to that. Okay. I will give you that Dad. You are right on that argument. So I tried not to dwell on the food factor of my trip and I tried to keep an open mind.
Well, 12 years and the food still hasn't changed. But what did I really expect? I mean, this country is older than the dirt that makes up this island (I know, I know. The dirt makes the island the country was built on, but humor me here). So, why did I expect anything different? I don't know. I think I had high hopes for the spice trade to make its way to this age-old country before I came back. I didn't think it was a desperate hope?
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Breakfast
After a disappointing trip to the breakfast buffet in the lobby of my hotel yesterday, I decided to give it another shot. I try to give everything and everyone a fair shot to impress me. So, at 8am this morning I travel down my one and a half flights of stairs to the lobby to collect my baguette and apple juice. But low and behold, there, in the distance, I see scrambled eggs, cooked ham, and fried bacon! All that was missing were the pancakes, but I think I was the only one who noticed. So back to the story. As I said, off in the distance, I could see this glorious food. IN. THE. DISTANCE. Behind about 50 tourists. From what I gathered by listening, they were UK nationals. So you mean to tell me that I am in line behind 50 tourist-type people who, according to my dialect detector, belong to this country that is smaller than the state of California? They have never taken trips around their OWN country before, and now I have to wait for them to get some breakfast? I have been on a slight fast for the last 3 days, and I finally see some edible food. I come to the conclusion, with 3 minutes until my ride is to arrive, that my drooling over some good grub is all for naught. So, I march to the front of the 50 people, pickup a bowl and serve myself some flavorless Corn Flakes, scoot over to what looks like cold milk (I distinctly remember this country only having warm milk--so this is definitely an improvement) and start to push the button on the fancy dispenser. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Yes. You counted right. 5 drips of cold milk on my full bowl of cereal. I was in disbelief! Trying to stay positive, I look over to the machine that houses the orange and apple juice. There's still hope to redeem this trip to the buffet. Shuffling to the machine, I pick up my glass, the size of a little kids sippy cup, I put it down and push the button. One quarter inch. One half inch. Three quarters of an inch. One inch. Drip. Drip. Drip. What!?! Are you kidding me? Sulking in defeat, I walk over to the brown leather couches by the front door and park it with just 2 minutes to inhale my dry cereal and wash it down with my one gulp of apple juice. Depressing.
Lunch
The depot (we call them branches in the U.S.) I am at this week, in Carlisle, is about 3 miles outside of "downtown", in the "country". (Yes, Carlisle really does have over a million sheep. I've counted them and named them myself.) Because of the location, you can't just drive around the corner to the yummy taco stand for lunch. Nina, the Office Manager, could tell that I was hungry, so she offered to drive me in her car, on the wrong side of the road into the "village" so I could grab a bite to eat. We got into the village, which consists of a bakery, sandwich shop, a co-op (sort of like a mini 7-11 or Maverick, only smaller with all the stuff you'd see in a grocery store), and a Pub. Now, as much as I wanted to go into the Pub and get pissed (NOT!), I settled for the frozen food section of the co-op. I saw only one thing that I recognized all the words on, so I bought it. Quiche Lorraine. It was definitely edible, not my favorite though. Needed a little salt. So, yes. If I had access to salt I would have used it, and I do not like extra salt on my food (if it's cooked in it's fine, I'm just not a fan of the shaker, never have been).
Dinner
I cannot tell you how bad I want a steak. A basic sirloin from say, Sizzler, Outback, even one from the butcher that I BBQ. I badly wanted a steak tonight. I decided to take a stroll down the street from my hotel and try some local hole in the wall. I located a place that had a picture on the menu of a juicy-looking steak. I walked in and waited about 30 seconds to be seated before I realized no one cared if I was there or not. I walked up to the bar and still got ignored. I flagged down a bartender (by the way, EVERY restaurant has a bar here). She told me to go pick a table, find the number on the table, come back to the bar to order my food and go back to my table to wait. Let me tell you what I learned yesterday from the Depot Manager (who, by the way, races lawnmowers--pictures on the way). Gary taught me that NO ONE tips here. No wonder the guy in Durham, my first night here, looked at me like I fell out of the sky when I tipped him £4. The restaurant employees receive a wage and no tips. The service definitely shows. I would rather have good service and tip, than to be ignored and not tip. As for the food...I ordered an 8oz. thick, juicy steak, cooked medium with a "jacket potato" (I saw butter and sour cream and chives and bacon and, and, and) and a side salad instead of peas. What I got was a cremated skinny piece of no-flavor, no-spice beef jerky, naked jacket potato, and a decent salad with a mystery dressing on it.
I just can't win in this country when it comes to food. I am definitely learning a greater appreciation for flavorful food, no matter how bad it tastes. So I have 11 days left, but if I keep having experiences like today, I think I will voluntarily take a "holiday" (that's what they call a day off or vacation) from eating for the remainder of my trip. Good thing I gained 8 lbs. before I got here.
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