Wednesday, December 12, 2012

You’re having...what...for breakfast?


In my last post I promised a list of food in British and American terminology. I’m sure more will emerge as I remember them, but here’s a list I sat compiling in the food court at Castle Mall the other day. In no particular order besides the one that I thought them up in.


British
American
porridge
oatmeal
jacket potato
baked potato
soured cream
sour cream
chips
french fries / fries
crisps
chips (particularly potato chips)
bangers & mash
sausages and mashed potatoes
courgette
zucchini
aubergine
eggplant
rocket
arugula 
coriander
parsley
jelly
jell-o
tea
dinner / supper (depending on context and geography)
“american style”
greasy or giant
lemonade
sprite-like sparkling lemon soft drink
cloudy lemon
lemonade
soya
soy
dippy eggs
soft-boiled eggs in which the yolk is still runny. they often dip “soldiers” (strips of toast) into these. “dippy eggs and soldiers” is a common breakfast menu item
ice lolly
popsicle
bubble and squeak
potato-cabbage hash
bap
hamburger bun
rump steak (I admit I giggled at this for a while)
sirloin
squash
citrus soft drink
boiled sweets
hard candy
sultana
GIANT RAISIN
cornflower
cornstarch
desiccated coconut (you did what to my coconut??)
flaked coconut
fairy cake
cupcake
ginger nut biscuit
ginger snap cookie
mince
ground meat
plain chocolate
dark chocolate
sweetcorn
corn
toffee
taffy
treacle
molasses
biscuit
crispy / non-soft cookie
butty
sandwich made with whitebread, mayo, and ANYTHING between the bread
candy floss
cotton candy
gammon
ham steak
pudding
dessert / sweet after-main course at dinner
beetroot
beet
chocolate vermicelli
chocolate sprinkles (when I found out this one, it just...why? THEY’RE SPRINKLES. THEY’RE AN EASY CONCEPT. the word sprinkles is what you do to them why vermicelli)
Demerara sugar
brown cane sugar. you can find packets of it at all coffee shops
polony
bologna (I thought this one looked like a disease word)

a vegetarian in the UK

Besides saving me from the horror of slicing into a piece of my food and seeing a blood vessel or chunk of gristle in an inappropriate place (such as: piece of edible food), being a vegetarian has also caused me a fair share of stress, particularly when I was first applying to study abroad. I didn’t know what it would be like for me in the UK, food-wise, and I worried that not being able to find something to eat would hinder my social integration. Hint: what social integration???

I started trying to eat fish over the summer: each time I tried some I suffered from varying degrees of pain and strange symptoms like feeling very warm and light-headed in addition to the regular pains of not being able to digest something. I worried for a while that it’d hurt every time I ate it, but canned tuna didn’t bother me, so I kept eating that until I departed for London in mid-september.

It was surprisingly easy to find vegetarian food once I’d gotten here--easier than at home with regards to pre-packaged sandwiches, salads, and pastas. Everything here that contains no animal product is labeled with a “V” that is sometimes accompanied by the phrase “suitable for vegetarians.” It’s on everything: crisps, soups, candies. It was completely opposite to my expectations, but that’s probably because I was expecting traditional British food to be the predominant locatable food.

That’s not always the case. Restaurants are good, here, about having and labeling vegetarian options on all of their menus. I thought I’d take a moment to describe some good meals that I had, mostly for fun, but the side-benefit of it is that if you’re a veg thinking of coming to the UK, you’ll know a few places around the country that’ll have good food (;

(Before you look at the prices and make some understandable judgements: people don’t tip in the UK for meals like they do in America because the tip (VAT) is already included in the price of the meal when you order it eat-in. If you order takeaway this price doesn’t apply to your meal and it’s cheaper.)

Herby Mushrooms on Toast (£6.30), Number 33 Café, Norwich
This is a thick piece of home-made rosemary and sea-salt bread, covered with mushrooms in what must be rosemary and other spices, a thick layer of wilted “rocket” (arugula to Americans), and topped with a poached egg. It’s served with two plum-sized roasted tomatoes, but I didn’t eat those. This is probably the best breakfast that I’ve had in the UK, and I’m pretty sure it’s a traditional British breakfast.

Courgette + Pepper Quiche (£6.45), Jarrold’s Café Benjamin, Norwich
In Britain, zucchini masquerades under its French name. Then Café Benjamin puts it into little individual quiches and adds red peppers to it and serves it with a side-salad and seasoned chips. The chips are half of there reason that I order this meal, besides the fact that Café Benjamin is located in an up-scale department store and the environment is very pleasant.

Spinach and Potato Curry with basmati steamed rice and roti (£5), Indian food stall at The Stables in Camden Town by “We Love Pizza” and Bubble tea stalls, London
This was possibly the best meal I have had the whole time I’ve been here with the exception of the Herby Mushrooms for breakfast. I love Indian food, and this is comparatively cheap for other Indian food I’ve had here, and I absolutely 100% think that roti are on my top 5 list of breads in the whole world and I am a bread person. I ordered a regular-size order which included a small aluminum tray of steamed basmati rice and a lot of spinach and potatoes and cost £4, and bought the roti for £1. This meal’s leftovers became my dinner that night. If you’re ever in The Stables and like Indian food, you need to eat here! I’m sorry I can’t remember what it’s called, but you’ll see the pizza place next to it. 

Spicy Veggie Sandwich Meal (£4.45), MacDonald’s
You can find MacDonald’s (Macker’s) pretty much anywhere in the UK, especially in malls. There are two within five-minutes walking distance in the Norwich city centre, but I’ve only been to the one in the mall before. Anyway, the concept of MacDonald’s having a sandwich for me to eat was completely foreign (SEE WHAT I DID THERE) to me because we don't’ have any main vegetarian dishes at really any fast food restaurants where I live in California, and where I live in California is full of veggies like me. The Spicy Veggie Sandwich is basically a long bread-roll filled with puck-like veggie patties (that to me tasted like greek-style falafel and were delicious), cucumber slices, iceberg lettuce, and a sweet chili sauce. It’s very good, and was especially so the first time I had it after walking toward the Golden Arches expecting to have fries and a coke for lunch.

Tofu Panini (£6) and Sweet Potato Chips with chili mayonnaise (£2.20) at Pulse Café & Bar, Norwich
You can order this sandwich as a wrap or as a bruschetta, but I prefer the panini style, which is different than what an American would expect when ordering a panini: in the UK panini refers to a heated open-faced sandwich (and the term “toastie” refers to a pressed, hot sandwich that we’d call a panini in America). This one is full of smoked tofu, tomato slices, iceberg lettuce, cheddar cheese and barbecue sauce and is very difficult to eat knife-and-fork as is the British way, so I picked it up and ate it with my hands, American-style. I ordered it with my favorite snack/side-order to be found in the city (by...me, anyway), thick-cut sweet potato chips (re: fries, if you’re American) that they serve with a chili or garlic mayo dip. Chili is my favorite, and I don’t like spicy things, so anyone could handle this level of heat. This mayo isn’t like the stuff you scoop out of plastic jugs with a spoon and get all over your finger-tips when it’s time to get a new batch, either; it’s denser somehow and stands up to being a dip for these chips. I love sweet-potato fries, but these ones were baked and crispy rather than fried, so that I could eat more of them they were healthier. Remember to ask for salt for them, though! 
P.S. everything at Pulse Cafe & Bar is vegetarian, but there are also vegan and gluten-free options on the menu. They serve a range of gluten-free cakes and treats.

American-Style Pancakes (£6.40), Number 33 Café, Norwich
These aren’t really American-style; they’re not those fluffy, inch-thick clouds that you associate with square, yellow pats of butter and Aunt Jemima’s. They’re more like a hybrid crepe-pancake and are a bit chewy, but they’re wonderful anyway and they come with a small pot of syrup and a cup of fresh fruit, including raspberries, which are a favorite of mine.

Traditional Greek Salad (£3.49), Number 33 Café, Norwich
I ordered this as a take-away meal recently--it’d be a bit more expensive to eat in-house--and it’s a mix of calamata and green olives, feta cheese, cherry tomatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, red onions, rocket and other greens. It has a sweetish vinaigrette on it and there’s a good ratio of cheese to the rest of the salad, which, in my experience, is not always the case.

Veggie Burger Meal (£5.45), Burger King
You can find Burger King not as easily as “Macker’s” but it’s in most of the malls and in some big railway stations in London. This is also a chick-pea-base but there’s more beans and corn and carrots in there than I could tell in the MacDonald’s equivalent. The bun often fell apart on me while eating these, but there are worse things (like ordering a side-salad and fries). 

Mushy Pea Soup (£4.95), Giraffe, Norwich
There are Giraffe’s everywhere. Apparently, they’re lower-class chain restaurants, but I had a very nice starter-course soup for dinner there my first night in Norwich. They serve it with a couple pieces of garlicky bread. 

Look out for a future post in which I enlighten some of you on the terms I learned for food here and how they differ to American equivalents.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

06 December 2012


It’s 11:01 P.M. on December 6th and rain is pounding occasionally on the window. It sounds like fingertips over a hard surface in rapid tattoo. 

It’s been a while since I’ve been able to blog. I feel like I’ve been floating through my life lately, overcome in certain corners of the city or the UEA campus by love for the surrounding, for the country, for the idea that I’ve intercepted a dream with my body. I think this is why it’s been difficult to write. I’ve been in the mood to curl up and watch the snow fall, or the rain, wrapped in a blanket, and think without self-mediating. It’s not easy not to self-mediate when you’re writing out your thoughts and you can see what you’re thinking or who you are in certain glimmers.

A week from today I will have been in London for about twelve hours and I will have left Norwich behind. Perhaps for good. My heart really hurts at that possibility. Amidst all the throws of homesickness I think I found comfort in the trees and large lawns and the churches and the small-town mentality of the busses, which run on whatever schedule they please. This country has been, contrary to logic, in my heart for so much of my life and part of me wants to go back and start over, have another chance in another life where I’m smarter, more graceful, better-equipped to encounter all that the country has to offer, the people and the traditions and the weird food and the strange mentality that every British person seems to share that there is intense comfort and delight to be found in small things: a good cup of tea, a sunny day, a hot meal. 

And I look back, too, wondering, or almost wondering, about how it would have been like for me here if I were any different than who I was when I got here and I’m overcome with an overwhelming fear that this experience could be taken from me. At the base of it, underneath all my self-doubt and the boredom and the strangeness and uncomfortableness of being beyond familiar turf, I have had an amazing time here and I’m loathe to leave. I’ve packed the bulk of my things but I’ve left out litter--bus tickets, makeup, perfume, tea cups, everything--I think because it makes me sad to consider leaving. These little things are signals that I still belong in this place. My journal in the left-hand corner of this desk is definitely mine, and belongs on this surface, at least for a little while longer.

I am really looking forward to being home but I feel, while walking around Norwich for the last few days I’m here in conceivably forever, a strange nostalgia and a desperation to spend the last few days well. It’s a grasping at the current moment inside of the current moment and it really hurts. I can’t tell what parts of it are regret--wishes that I’d spent a bit more time having coffee at the riverside--and what parts of it are regular sadness at departing from a wonderful portion of life. The feeling reminds me a little of the way I felt walking across the football field at high school graduation, except I may have loved this place more intensely in individual moments than I loved high school. 

I think most people would end this kind of post with a list of things they’re thankful for about the trip and it might look like this: the friends I made, the memories I made, etc. Many exclamation points and saccharine reminiscences.

My list is not that list. This is the first real thing I’ve ever actually accomplished outside of the realm of scholarship and I feel, for the first time in my life, like I’m not staring into the abyss of real life without some tools to defend myself with. Sometimes when I consider the reality of what I’ve done--how far I actually am from home physically--I almost don’t believe it. How did I manage to get myself over here? How did I fly to a country in which I’d never set foot in and live here for three months on my own? How did I feed myself, how did I manage to tuck in the tags that stuck up in the back of my shirts or jumpers, how did I take a train to a different country, how did I fly to Dublin and back, how did I learn how to stand on the tube, how am I still alive, here, so far away, on my own? How is it possible that I’ve detached from home and lived a life apart from it? I’ve never done that. I go to a college thirty minutes up the freeway from my childhood home and I live there in the school year. The cat I’ve had since I was five is still my best friend. I’m closer to my parents than any people my age. And I’ve left all of that behind and I’ve done something that I just really can’t wrap my head around when I think about the probability of me being able to do it. 

I know I’ll come home in a couple weeks and, apart from being happy for dry climates and the familiar scents of San Juan Capistrano and Irvine in the sunshine, in the heat, and the brief spastic showers that we call rain; I know I will still be a house of insecurities all kind of shaking around inside of me and I’ll still be the same girl in the same skin with the same worries. But I will also have these three months of fending for myself and having to really interrogate my beliefs and habits and lifestyle. I’m an introvert--I like spending time alone. I enjoy that privacy. But to spend the greater part of three months with myself and my brain and my illogical heart with its intense bursts of love for unnamable things in the air or across the lakes or the countryside visible from the train windows or the small patches of little white flowers in the Scottish hills--has been exhausting. I am accountable only to myself. 

But I think I’ve learned a lot--in things I can’t quite say. I know now some concrete things: like, you’re able to understand public transportation. You’re able to ride a train by yourself to Edinburgh and you’re able to get yourself safe when stranded in Northumberland at midnight. You can buy your own groceries and not die of malnutrition. You can buy your own medicine and nurse yourself out of a mid-term cold. And you can accept who you’ve become in the quiet and the still moments of your life. You can be at peace with that inner turbulence and longing and you can make sense of some things that happen and you can really, if you want to, be an optimist. 

And I think--I don’t know, I think I’ve learned how to be grateful. I seem to feel things in flashes, and I feel grateful in flashes, really deep, right in the chest. It’s incredible--I really can’t comprehend the opportunity I’ve been given and I hope that, even if I don’t know until I’m home and I’m remembering, I’ve taken advantage of it. I hope I can use this experience to somehow bless other people. I feel I’ve learned things I can’t yet understand. There’s this idea that sometimes we encounter knowledge or art that we’re not ready for yet, that someday we’ll perfect. I think this has been one of those things; every day has been full of those things. 

I was lying in bed earlier tonight looking around me at the suitcases and the scant bookshelves and the circular sticker on the top right corner of my mirror that says “THE GRASSHOPPER - AMSTERDAM” that was here when I got here and I remembered walking through a part of town called “the Royal Arcade” and encountering a lone man singing in a clear, beautiful voice, a song in Latin. I don’t know what it was, but it touched me deeply, and I looked up at the grey, stone edifice of Norwich Castle opposite me, up on a hill, and thought--how bizarre! That I’m here! And I stood for a moment in front of the outdoor stage in a small ampitheatre near the castle, read some plaques, walked to the castle mall foodcourt and ordered a vegetarian sandwich. I sat and watched three teenagers dissect a baked potato (jacket potato) at a neighboring table against the backdrop of white skies and the rooftops of city buildings, and another far-off mall. It was a beautiful, perfect day. I remember it in sea-glass greens and gradient gray, the undersides of clouds and the white sky lit behind by the sun.

I look forward to a lot of things about home; seeing my family, having Christmas together, going back to school and work...but I think I also look forward to seeing how this self re-encounters my past self’s life. I’m not saying I’m a different person in a large enough way that I’ll be living in a stranger’s routine until it becomes mine again. I just wonder--when I look at the lights on the Christmas tree, are they going to remind me of the lights flat 20 hung in the kitchen next door that I can see from far away when I walk home from class in the dark?--a soft, yellowing light, in a string of speckles across the dark glass above a hand-written sign: HAPPY CHRISTMAS