Oh, I am so glad you didn’t burst her bubble. She was so proud and happy and you left her that way. The more English you became the more happiness you generated.
Thanks for this, Stephanie, She was a perfectly delightful woman, and, yes, I'm glad I left her smiling. It does give me cause, tough, to ponder on what gigantic assumptions we can all make about our fellow beings simply because they might, for instance, say "watah" instead of "water." Glad you enjoyed the story anyway.
Beautiful, just beautiful! I can almost forgive you - hehe - for not being more praiseful (is that a word?) of British cuisine, I'm a big fan and miss so many things.
I loved this part: "Mr. Los Angeles does not care for an andouillette. You do not, in fact, want to know how Mr. Los Angeles describes an andouillette. You indubitably do not want to know to what Mr. Los Angeles compares the smell of an andouillette. "
Au contraire, ma chérie, I do want to know, pray tell, please 🤗
Oh, Daniel, I'm not for a second putting down British cuisine, just commenting that it does tend to depend on the quality of the ingredients and may not show itself at its finest when wrapped in cardboard and cellophane. Years ago in London, I interviewed the renowned Hungarian-born British food critic Egon Ronay - it was for a regular feature in my magazine called "Face to Face with," and my editor and I gave ourselves a faintly indecent level of fun discussing "Face to Face with Egon," but that's another story. I was expecting an effete snob, but in fact he was one of the most charming people I've ever interviewed. He said that British restaurant food had improved greatly in the 1970s and I nodded wisely and said, "Well, yes, because that's when international travel became accessible and British people discovered good food abroad," which he corrected most firmly, saying that that was when the rise of the meritocracy meant that more humbly raised people could afford to eat out, that before that the toffs had only known the disgusting swill they'd been fed at school and by cook at home, but people who'd grown up being cooked good peasant food by Mum had higher standards. He was a lovely man and it was a lovely interview.
As for Mr, Los Angeles' description of the doughty andouillette ... well, Daniel, you are clearly a man of imagination, so I suggest you let your disgust factor run wild and then double it.
This had me laughing out loud! I particularly enjoyed this sentence: “I supposed that inner contentment and justice for all would come top of the list, but on most days I’d settle for finding my glasses.” But the whole article is memorable! Thank you for writing it. In any case, despite the British display, it sounds like you’ve found a great shop (btw did the British display include bacon? Beats that Yankee stuff!).
I'd forgotten about bacon, Rory! My husband and I once stayed in an hotel in Cambridge where you were required to approach the chef's station individually for breakfast. My American husband went first and waxed poetic about English bacon. When I followed, the chef announced to me, proudly, that "You won't find bacon like this in the States, Madam," and was visibly disappointed when I unveiled myself as a Londoner! Glad you enjoyed the story.
Back when I worked in Silicon Valley it was the habit of a number of us to bring back jars of marmite from our UK trips to give to fellow British people who hadn't been back to blighty in a while and were suffering withdrawal symptoms.
At the time (this was pre 9/11) you could stick them in your hand luggage which was good because I tried to do hand baggage only trips. The only problem is that the jars are a very distinctive shape which led the bloke manning the X-ray machine at Heathrow airport to comment loudly to his mate "looks like we've go another marmite smuggler here" when he saw may half dozen jars carefully wrapped in my luggage
Funny story, Francis! Back in the pre-9/11 days, we used to freeze and pack pork pies, which would arrive nicely defrosted after the London - LA flight. We always planned that if we were caught, we'd just look confused and say, "But does processed meat really count as *meat*?" But we never were caught, although I wouldn't care to try it in these times ...
I have the most sweet-natured, cat-loving, choir-singing, all-American neighbor here in Los Angeles who turns into a red-clawed madwoman should you show her a box of Tunnock's teacakes. Luckily for the peace of the neighborhood you can buy them at the local English food shoppe - we throw her pieces when the moon is full and the street can sleep in peace ...
Oh, I am so glad you didn’t burst her bubble. She was so proud and happy and you left her that way. The more English you became the more happiness you generated.
Thanks for this, Stephanie, She was a perfectly delightful woman, and, yes, I'm glad I left her smiling. It does give me cause, tough, to ponder on what gigantic assumptions we can all make about our fellow beings simply because they might, for instance, say "watah" instead of "water." Glad you enjoyed the story anyway.
Beautiful, just beautiful! I can almost forgive you - hehe - for not being more praiseful (is that a word?) of British cuisine, I'm a big fan and miss so many things.
I loved this part: "Mr. Los Angeles does not care for an andouillette. You do not, in fact, want to know how Mr. Los Angeles describes an andouillette. You indubitably do not want to know to what Mr. Los Angeles compares the smell of an andouillette. "
Au contraire, ma chérie, I do want to know, pray tell, please 🤗
Oh, Daniel, I'm not for a second putting down British cuisine, just commenting that it does tend to depend on the quality of the ingredients and may not show itself at its finest when wrapped in cardboard and cellophane. Years ago in London, I interviewed the renowned Hungarian-born British food critic Egon Ronay - it was for a regular feature in my magazine called "Face to Face with," and my editor and I gave ourselves a faintly indecent level of fun discussing "Face to Face with Egon," but that's another story. I was expecting an effete snob, but in fact he was one of the most charming people I've ever interviewed. He said that British restaurant food had improved greatly in the 1970s and I nodded wisely and said, "Well, yes, because that's when international travel became accessible and British people discovered good food abroad," which he corrected most firmly, saying that that was when the rise of the meritocracy meant that more humbly raised people could afford to eat out, that before that the toffs had only known the disgusting swill they'd been fed at school and by cook at home, but people who'd grown up being cooked good peasant food by Mum had higher standards. He was a lovely man and it was a lovely interview.
As for Mr, Los Angeles' description of the doughty andouillette ... well, Daniel, you are clearly a man of imagination, so I suggest you let your disgust factor run wild and then double it.
Thanks for your comments, I always enjoy them.
Brilliant! Well played! A good lesson in diplomacy! Well done!
Thank you. Ruth, I am not often complimented on my diplomacy, so this is most welcome! She was a very sweet woman and I'm glad you enjoyed the story.
I LOVE this! You made me smile and giggle and delight in your descriptions of many foods.
And count me as a willing recipient of one of your jars of marmite any day.
The truck will arrive tomorrow, Anneke. Thanks for the kind comment, I'm glad you enjoyed the story ...
This had me laughing out loud! I particularly enjoyed this sentence: “I supposed that inner contentment and justice for all would come top of the list, but on most days I’d settle for finding my glasses.” But the whole article is memorable! Thank you for writing it. In any case, despite the British display, it sounds like you’ve found a great shop (btw did the British display include bacon? Beats that Yankee stuff!).
I'd forgotten about bacon, Rory! My husband and I once stayed in an hotel in Cambridge where you were required to approach the chef's station individually for breakfast. My American husband went first and waxed poetic about English bacon. When I followed, the chef announced to me, proudly, that "You won't find bacon like this in the States, Madam," and was visibly disappointed when I unveiled myself as a Londoner! Glad you enjoyed the story.
When it comes to the options for the full English, I go for the Zen Buddhist solution - "make me one with everything"
Ba-da-boom! Funny one!
Back when I worked in Silicon Valley it was the habit of a number of us to bring back jars of marmite from our UK trips to give to fellow British people who hadn't been back to blighty in a while and were suffering withdrawal symptoms.
At the time (this was pre 9/11) you could stick them in your hand luggage which was good because I tried to do hand baggage only trips. The only problem is that the jars are a very distinctive shape which led the bloke manning the X-ray machine at Heathrow airport to comment loudly to his mate "looks like we've go another marmite smuggler here" when he saw may half dozen jars carefully wrapped in my luggage
Funny story, Francis! Back in the pre-9/11 days, we used to freeze and pack pork pies, which would arrive nicely defrosted after the London - LA flight. We always planned that if we were caught, we'd just look confused and say, "But does processed meat really count as *meat*?" But we never were caught, although I wouldn't care to try it in these times ...
Will neither confirm nor deny that I may have brought foie gras into the California after that stupid law was passed banning it.
and I will neither confirm nor deny that Mr. Los Angeles and I would have been beating down your door demanding to share it!
Hahaha! I ask people to bring me cheddar from the UK. Maybe a Tunnocks tea cake. That’s it.
I have the most sweet-natured, cat-loving, choir-singing, all-American neighbor here in Los Angeles who turns into a red-clawed madwoman should you show her a box of Tunnock's teacakes. Luckily for the peace of the neighborhood you can buy them at the local English food shoppe - we throw her pieces when the moon is full and the street can sleep in peace ...
😂