Lift!

In recent years I suppose I have become a bit of a connaisseuse in the selection of certain commodities for my own use. I like to buy unsweetened cocoa from Castroni's in Roma, leather gloves from Alberta on the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, blouses and sweaters from Balloon, and for that little bit of lift that a girl needs, foundations from Marks & Spencer (aka Marks & Sparks) in the UK. So here we are at Marks & Sparks on my own personal quest to replenish my supply, if you will. Need I say more than Mission Accomplished!

And now for some really good food

For us, our default soul food is Italian. This stems not from the fact that we've lived in Roma but from the fact that Bill is a second-generation Italian on his mother's side.

For anyone familiar with the Food Network, this is Jamie Oliver's restaurant.



He might have more than one restaurant, I really don't know. But since Bill and I missed an opportunity to visit K-Paul's restaurant in New Orleans years ago (during the eminently forgetable World's Fair there), Bill was eager to try this one.



I had the tagliatelle with truffles. The last time I had this meal was in Cervara when Davide included shaved truffles as a surprise during the primo course. This was delicious, too, but markedly different from the Cervara version, for this was made with butter while the Italian dish was made with olive oil. The restaurant offers small and large servings. I like that. I had the small plate.



Bill had the putanesca. We didn't recognize the type of paste, but it looked like shells. This is an action shot, as you can see. Bill ordered the full-size dish.



For dessert I had an almond tart with figs and nectarines. On the side was creme fraiche, something I've always hesitated to try because of the way it is made (which doesn't seem very "fresh" to me). As it turned out, creme fraiche isn't bad at all and not nearly as sour as I expected it to be.

Do you speak English?

Since we landed in the UK, every time I log into my Facebook account I am greeted in this fashion: "Hello Tricia, do you speak English (UK)?" Apparently, I don't.

Take for example the following sign that we found in a pub: "two traditional faggots braised in red onion gravy served with mushy peas and chips."

In America this would either a bundle of sticks or a not-so-politically-correct reference to homosexual males. At any rate, focusing on the words I do recognize, "mushy peas," this dish does not sound like something I would like to order in a restaurant.



So what are faggots in England? They are a kind of meatball made with offal, among other things. Here's a picture.



So what is offal? Now we're talking entrails and internal organs of butchered animals, excluding bones and muscle (thank you, Wikipedia). Isn't this how Mad Cow's disease spread in England ten years ago? This dish is still not winning my heart or my stomach.

And then there is Cockfosters (a tube termination...subway tube, you naughty readers) and bangers and mash (sausages and mashed potatoes) which, by the way is quite tasty, but sounds naughty, as well. I do hope the bangers aren't made with offal.

While at Marks & Spencer yesterday, I was told to go to the till. I asked if that was, by any chance, the cashier. It was. As I stood at the till, I noticed a reference to plimsolls. What are they? It turns out that they're sneakers, like Keds.

It is very clear to me that I do not speak English (UK) at all. I speak English (American) which means that I can use words like "pants," "fanny-pack," and "flange" proudly and without embarrassment. And so I do!

P. S. Just in case you're not familiar with black pudding (it is also served at the pub), it is a sausage made with cooking blood or dried blood with a filler (more offal?) until it is thick enough to congeal when it cools. (Wikipedia, you're making my day!)

Passings

When we first arrived at Yarnton, we took a little walk and passed by two cemeteries, one currently in use and the other, above, quite old. It was sad not only because cemeteries, particularly ones where babies are buried, as in the first instance, are generally sobering experiences, but because we had left Bill's mom in hospice less than 48 hours earlier to fly to England.

My mother-in-law had suffered a horrible fall in the spring, followed by a series of setbacks. Bill was able to fly out to New Jersey to visit her the week before the semester ended. Once the semester ended, Bill, Billy, and I flew home to be with her in her final days (Catherine had to work). The doctors had given her only three to five days to live without the ventilator, but she struggled valiantly for twelve days. It was a hard death, and she proved to be stronger than anyone anticipated. My favorite recollection of her last week was when dad came in to greet her one morning, she managed a faint smile.

Today is the visitation and tomorrow, the funeral. We will not be there, except in spirit.

Below is a picture of Catherine and Grandma taken last September. As you know, we adopted Catherine when she was twelve days old. The first thing I noticed about our new baby was her beautiful eyes; Catherine had her grandma's big blue eyes.

England: the land of imperatives

Just in case one doesn't know how to act in England, reminders are routinely issued, both verbally and visually.

Everyone is familiar with "mind the gap." However on Sunday and Monday, Bill and I were struck by just how many directives were being issued by public announcement systems on all matters of behaving with decorum in public. We were told how to cue (queue?) up in the elevator (lift) upon exiting the subway. Crosswalks were painted with the words "look right" or "look left." But our favorite imperative was issued upon arriving at the Oxford train station. We had to take the lift to a bridge that crosses the tracks. A number of people had lined up ahead of us with their suitcases in hand. As the last two travellers entered the crowded elevator, the elevator exhorted those passengers to "stay calm." When the elevator returned to carry us and another couple to the street level, we noticed that we did not receive such an admonition. Did the previous group test the patience of an elevator waiting to close its doors? How did it know?

Still in love with train stations

In case you don't already know this about me, I love trains and train stations. In fact, my honors thesis was on the evolution of trains stations and wayfinding. So the first thing I wanted to do was visit St. Pancras. When we last visited London, the new train shed addition had just opened, but the hotel was still under renovation. I was disappointed to learn that the hotel still hadn't opened. But this is the front of the building.



We went inside the terminal instead. It has been three years since it had opened, and I found that the windows were dirtier. All things considered, these windows are better maintained than those of its neighbor next door, King's Cross.



The following day we left London for Oxford from Paddington Station, below. The train stations of the 19th century have been compared with the cathedrals of the high middle ages. Paddington Station is most similar in this regard since the terminal and the train shed are combined.



Below is a good view of the "transept" intersecting with the "nave" or the main shed.



And of course, no visit to a train station is complete without a ride on the train!

A dearth of blogs

Simply way too busy. 'Nuf said!