Eureka!

Since my arrival in the UK, Fi's kept vigilant watch for outlets supplying my favorite American & Mexican foodstuffs.  She knows what sort of cooking I like to do, & having developed a taste for burritos & queso during her visits to NYC, she's now got an interest in sourcing things like dried chiles too.  Unfortunately, foods like Stubb's BBQ sauce & pinto beans, considered run-of-the-mill in any TX household (& more or less easy to find in NY), are difficult to come by in England.  We've located Chipotle Tabasco & American cheese in random stores around London & Oxford, but Ro-tel, the holy-grail of Tex-Mex ingredients, is nowhere to be found.

That is.. until now.  Enter Melbury & Appleton, online grocer & importer of coveted N. Amer viands.  Fi found these guys on the interwebs last week, & we placed an order with them almost immediately.  Check out the treasure trove they delivered:

Glorious, isn't it?  Provided we don't go hog-wild with the queso, that batch of goods combined with the parcel of dried chiles my mom sent should put us in good stead for a couple of months, at least until our next American visitor!

Dig for Victory

It is an auspicious day here in Oxford.  According to internet meteorologists, temps climbed into the high 20s centigrade, which, for those of you in the civilized world, translates to nearly 80 degrees, fahrenheit!  Though summer officially began earlier this month, heat in England, I'm told, doesn't happen often, ever.  Even during clasically hot months like July & August, a typical day in Oxford still measures around 65 degrees, maybe reaching 68-69 at the hottest point of the day, but never lingering there for long, & almost always cooling with a bit of precipitation.  Having grown up in Houston, I really enjoy England's mild climate, but I'm very much in the minority.  People here complain about the cold & rain constantly, so a 'hot' day like today is reason for excitment!

Since the steamy weather warrants something special, I thought it fitting to mark the occasion with a post celebrating Fi's horticultural achievements.  A few weeks ago, she planted a small garden in pots & boxes on the landing outside our front door.  It's quite a pretty sight & has made walking in & out of the apmt a considerably pleasanter affair.

 The garden's composed of nearly everything a respectable city kitchen should have fresh on hand: herbs of all shapes & sizes, tomatoes, zucchini, beans, peas, arugula, & even a couple strands of twinkling lights.  Altogether, these make for a delightful medley of greenery.

 
Now, it's early yet, so the harvest to date has consisted of little more than a handful of rocket, but the tomato plant's sheltering a couple clusters of grape-sized globes beneath its leaves, & the zucchini's blossoming, so I have high hopes for later summer.  As time passes, I'll try to post pictures of the fruits.  In the meantime, hasn't she done well?  Victory!!!

Kedgeree!

Sunday morning of this past weekend, Fi & her mom treated me to one of my favorite breakfast dishes, a British Indian delight called Kedgeree.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with this goodness, the Oxford English Dictionary (what, what!) defines kedgeree as "An Indian dish of rice boiled with split pulse, onions, eggs, butter, and condiments; also, in European cookery, a dish made of cold fish, boiled rice, eggs, and condiments, served hot."  It's sort of like a breakfast jambalaya with smoked haddock & boiled eggs as the proteins.  The word 'kedgeree' originated in India, deriving from the Hindi khichrī, itself the offspring of Sanskrit k'rsara, which means ‘dish of rice and sesamum’.

At first glance, it may seem like a strange thing to substitute for bacon & eggs, something out of far left field, but the British have a lengthy colonial history with South Asia (they established their first permanent outpost in Bengal in 1612).  In that part of the world, rice wouldn't be uncommon on the breakfast table, & a dish putting to good use the leftover fish from the night before would be a triumph of thrift for the household. 

Britain's long-standing relationship with India impacted culture in a number of areas outside the culinary too.  One of my favorites is in language.  Take, for example, the term 'Blighty', an appellation used by the English to refer to, well, England.  It's Army Slang in origin, arising from the Hindi Bilayati (Wilayati), meaning 'foreign'.  19th century British soldiers serving in India borrowed this local word referring to their homeland, & upon their return to England, 'Blighty' came along in tow. 

When I first heard 'Blighty', I knew nothing of its origins & naively suspected it had something to do with blight, as in some sort of plant disease, like potato blight.  It seemed reasonable enough that the English would adopt a disparaging term of endearment for their homeland, esp considering how much they complain about it (ahem, the weather).  Embarrassing, I know.  I still have much to learn.

Morris Minor Alert!

As I was walking the other day, I happened upon another Morris Minor!  This one was parked in a lot off Oxpens Rd, just a stone's throw away from the Post Office, where I was headed to pick up a package.

For whatever reason, this guy's front wheel seems to have been 'clamped', as this penalty is known in UK parlance.  Americans call it the boot.  I remember well my my first exposure to the boot.  It was in 1997, many moons ago, a time of suburban life at 13013 Chavile, which meant football practice after school & the Simpsons on Sunday evenings.  Fans of the show will remember "The City of New York vs. Homer Simpson", a great episode in which Barney takes the Simpsons' family station wagon, acquires a number of parking tickets, then abandons the car outside the World Trade Center in NYC, where the eponymous five must go to retrieve it.

In 2000, some four years following that Sunday evening episode of the Simpsons, I would visit New York City for the first time & stand atop the World Trade Center.  Perched there, admiring from above the numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies, I was a million miles away from the idea that another four years' time would find me living in New York, adapting to a city beat, riding the subway to work, & eventually feeling like Brooklyn was my home.  Funny how life works out, sometimes.

Okay... enough of that.  Remember to pay your parking tickets, everyone, esp if you're lucky enough to drive a Morris Minor!

A Brit & two Yanks out on the Town

While Mollie & I were out gallivanting on Friday, Fi was busy writing the dictionary, but come the wknd, mi prima y yo gained ourselves a proper English guide.  First on her itinerary was an edibles extravaganza called Borough Market, a sprawling bazaar off Southwark (pron. suhthuck) Street in the center of London.

Borough Market's quite a cool place.  It's home to a collection of food & wares vendors operating out of stalls, economically packed into a series of covered spaces beneath the railway viaducts.  In walking through, we encountered all manner of produce & meats on offer, any number of baked goods, & just as many cheeses, most of which had been handily pieced into sample-sizes for tastings.  It's a browsing man's paradise.

A word to the wise: over-stimulation is an ever-present threat at Borough Market.  I feel like I spent hours coursing up & down the stalls flip-flopping about which sausage was most deserving of my purchase.  As tends to happen in such situations, the three of us eventually grew weary & decamped for the South Bank, needing strong drink to boost our spirits.  A short walk later, we found an inviting pub on the river's edge called the Old Thameside Inn & obtained a few pints from the landlord. 

Our spirits boosted for the moment, Mollie thought she'd like to see the London School of Economics, where her brother Samwise will be undertaking a brief course in July.  Hopefully we'll find an opportunity to feature him on the Sausage during his stay.  From the Thameside, then, we made our way across the Millennium Bridge.

As it happened, Saturday was the Queen's Birthday observed, so various celebrations were taking place around town.  One of the attendant festivities included a series of aircraft fly-bys, which we could see from our vantage on the bridge.  Super cool.

Though a traipse across the Millennium Bridge is not exactly what you'd call Marathon distance, once we'd reached the other side of the river, we found ourselves in need of refreshment again.  Fortunately, our way led us past one of the first pubs Fi & I ever visited together, the George, so we stopped in to share it with Mollie.

Clearly taken by the salubriousness of the pub, Mollie played proper & ordered an ale.  Good form, Mollie.  Our drinks made for a good half-hour's relaxation at the George & reminded me why I like it so much.  Although I'd spent time in there before, this time was the first I noticed a historical plaque on the wall, outlinging a brief history of the pub.  Apparently, the 18th-century's own Samuel Johnson used to be a George-regular, even claiming it as his address for a brief time. 

Once rejuvenated by our delicious beers, repaired to the London School of Economics for a quick photograph.  There didn't seem to be any proper campus, just buildings here & there with LSE signs flanking the doorways, somewhat similar to how NYU's situated in Manhattan, so we just picked that one at random for our pic.  Looks official to me.  Our journey then took us from LSE back to the South Bank, where we paused for a bite to eat.  I tried out a new BBQ joint called Pitt Cue & the girls had Indian food from Dishoom, a fashionable establishment with a 'beach' out front.  Their food was nice, but they served Pimm's with leaves of cilantro mashed into it.  Sick.

Walking back to the train from lunch, we saw a bunch of crazies playing in an artsy fountain along the walkway.  When the sun's out, British people get excited, even if the air temp is only 65 degrees.  Fortunately for them, Saturday was a real scorcher, pushing the Mercury up to at least 71 or 72, I reckon.

Our Underground journey took us to Regent's Park, which made for a pleasant walk in the balmy temps. From there we pressed onward to the top of Primrose Hill, then cruised down the backside to a pub called The Queens, where the ladies & I refreshed ourselves with a few pints of our new favorite summer beverage, Rekorderlig Cider.

Post-reginae, we had one last destination on the agenda, taking us on a long walkalong the canal to Little Venice, then finally terminating at a gorgeous pub in Maida Vale called the Prince Alfred (not the Prince Albert, Fi.)  Fans of romantic comedy will recognize the interior of this pub from the 2005 Debra Messing & Dermot Mulroney classic, The Wedding Date.

Needless to say, by then the three of us were totally exhausted.  Once our ciders ran out, we said goodbye to Little Venice & made our way back to Mortlake.  Quite a long day, all told, but tons of fun.  So glad you came to visit, Mollie!

Two Americans in London

After a short, but busy, week in Oxford, Mollie, Fi, & I took the bus down to London on Thursday evening.  I'd arranged to take Friday off work, so Mollie & I could spend the day wandering around the city together.  Friday morning, as often happens in England, the weather wasn't entirely supportive of our plans, raining down bucketfuls in East Sheen.  But we struck out nonetheless, armed with our umbrellas, a laminated map, & no shortage of dauntless American spirit.

 From the outset, our day's highest priority was riding the London Eye, a gigantic ferris wheel situated just off the Thames in the center of town.  Unfortunately, the unforgiving weather hadn't abated during our commute from Mortlake to Waterloo, & the prospect of riding up in a ferris wheel amid a rainstorm wasn't terribly inviting, so we improvised with a promenade down the Queen's Walk on the South Bank. 

By the time we'd reached the Tower Bridge, roughly 2+ miles from Waterloo Station via the river, the rain eased up enough for us to stow away the umbrellas & start taking some pictures.  As many of you know, Mollie's quite the amateur photographer.  I often found her pausing to meditate on a scene, searching up & down for a unique way to frame what many others would casually pass by.

In fact, these findings developed into something of a theme for our day. 

I expect after this post, you will feel the need to hound her about sharing some of her own snapshots here. 

After awhile, Mollie & I crossed the Tower Bridge to the North Bank of the Thames, thinking we should take advantage of the sun coming out & make our way back to the Eye.  This being England, however, not five minutes later the sky began to darken again, & by the time we'd reached St. Paul's Cathedral, the umbrellas had to come out again.

Rainfall didn't stop the shutterbug, though.  After dipping into St. Paul's for a brief respite from the wet, we pressed on to Trafalgar Square for more pictures.

Then to Charing Cross, where an artistic vision seized Mollie, & she dedicated the next 10 minutes to capturing the perfect photo of these telephone booths.

That masterpiece, I'm sure, you will find posted on her blog within the next few days.  Upon finishing up at the phone booths, our photographer was grabbed by an inspiration of another kind, one that could only be realized by that calorific pocket of goodness exclusively available at the most reputable of London's food vendors, the Cornish Pasty.

Full, so full, from that lunch, Mollie & I slowly meandered back toward the Hungerford Bridge, which led us across the Thames toward the London Eye.  Of course, the Hungerford makes for a delightful spot to linger on the landscape.

With the weather finally according with our plans, we bought our tickets & boarded the Eye, which, as you might imagine, afforded another one or two views worthy of a snap.

Very nice, eh?  As you can see, the sun shone for our trip round the ferris wheel, & we came away with a huge batch of pix to share with y'all.  Despite the occasional showers, our tour around town was quite the success.  By day's end, we'd covered some 10 miles according to Mollie's estimation (Google Maps differed, approximating 6.1, but what do computers know anyway?). 

Hooray for family visits!

Back to the Trout

Mollie's in town for the week (hooray!!! first visitor!!!), so Fi & I thought we'd share one of our favorite places with her.  If you're a fan of the Sausage, you might recognize some of the locations featured in these pics from a previous post.  Nevertheless, the walk is so picturesque that I couldn't help but bring along the camera.

What's a walk along the canal without ducks?  We encountered quite a few last night.  Did you know that the appropriate collective term for ducks depends on their location?  A group of ducks in flight is called a skein, string, or team.  Said group on the water, however, would be referred to as a raft, paddling, or bunch.  On land, they're a safe or sord.  How's that for over-complication? 

I just had to share this van with the world, if only to notify the A-team that they've got some competition.

As before, we had great luck with the weather for our stroll.  Mostly blue skies & reasonably warm temps, or rather, warm enough for walking.  Even Fi was hard-pressed to compain.  It being June, many of England's wildflowers are still in bloom, so I was able to snap a few pix for you guys. 

Pretty nice, eh?  This place definitely has its moments..., especially when those moments end up at the pub.  Come to Oxford, & we will take you to the Trout for delicious food & drink.  Thanksgiving's already booked, but we've plenty of other time-slots available, so reserve your stay now!!

 Hope to see y'all soon!