I know, dear ones, that you are most anxious for this report from the food scene in Scotland and London. Yet, I must begin with a wee apology. I was stressed when I wrote last and did not fully appreciate my current circumstances. Now, there still is no evidence that the food will improve overall, but the lodging is quite comfortable and I learned that my current locale is Tennessee, not the abomination of a word I elucidated from the pronunciation. Not that I might be blamed, as some of the ways these colonists use or pronounce words are unfathomable. Yet we persist.
The lad and lass ended their holiday by swooping off to London on the express train. Lovely ride. We then Ubered to our hotel. There they made a superior choice. We were at the Strand Palace in the midst of London proper. Of course we walked everywhere. I guess they never heard of the famous English taxi! Two very notable meals ensued. One at the trendy Bancone (https://www.bancone.co.uk/) nestled into the West End’s theatre district a few wing flaps off Trafalgar Square. It was, as expected, quite busy, and I feared we would be directed to a stool along the bar, but at the last moment we veered into a great table. Crisis averted. Eating a good meal without a proper chair is - well, you might as well be sitting in a caravan eating in one of those contortionist-required folding chairs. Or, dare I say, in the automobile. Shudder. Back to the food. It was a rather simple menu. Freshly made pastas predominated, yet with exquisite sauces and accompaniments. The lass ordered bucatini cacio e peppe (long, tubular pasta with pecorino Romano cheese sauce and pepper – the best macaroni and cheese she ever ate, she said). The lad had spicy chili and garlic spaghetti. A mite more adventurous than I expected him to order. It was magnifico.
I'm chuffed to bits they finally opted for a traditional British pub, The Duke of York. Why they waited this long and why they missed innumerable Scottish pubs while choosing instead to eat a cracker for lunch is a mystery fit for Dame Agatha. The Duke of York turned out to be a fine choice. It had a wrought-iron spiral staircase for access to two additional floors, and we ascended to the top one and settled into a nice window table and waited for our order to arrive. The hard-working young lady who took the order also arrived up the stairs to open a hatch to the dumbwaiter and then delivered the nice meal to our table. The lad - I could have ordered his food with a 10-second perusal of the menu, had a grilled chicken sandwich on sourdough. I ask you – in a British pub and you order a chicken sandwich? It was, however, grilled to perfection. The lass, as usual, was thoughtful and her choice delightful: a grilled halloumi (an un-ripened, brined cheese) with chili jam, marinated red bell pepper, and arugula, on flatbread. Never mind that she had no idea what halloumi was before she ordered it. She is adventurous!
The highlight of the food experience in London was neither of the restaurants, fine choices both, but the enticing and swoon-worthy Fortnum and Mason. All six floors were explored for almost two hours. The pastry, the teas, the sweets, the delicate china, and a whole area devoted to filling your picnic basket. Oh my, tha mi toilichte. Absolute bliss. I ought to have found a niche and burrowed in and then “missed” the flight to the US, but, true to my word, I am now in the Good Ol’ USA.
So, I shall see you in a fortnight and unfold the first of the Cuisine and Culture reports from America or Tennessee, not sure yet. And, please, don’t expect too much culture (or food).
Respectively Submitted,
Miss Rowena Brambleglen
