Tuesday For The Trade

I woke up Tuesday morning feeling the effects of having picked up my beloved Amy from the airport the night before. We picked her up and whisked her off to Tracy’s to celebrate her visit, many wings, fries, beefy sandwiches and far too many cocktails later we headed home and shared a bottle of 2008 Salavard Unique Sauvignon Blanc, ($11.99) because you know, we needed just one more glass….ugh. Even in my, “state” I was able to appreciate what a wicked little value this wine is, bright, tangy, more lemon than grapefruit flavors with just a touch of wet stone and a mouth puckering finish, everything I love about Sauvignon Blanc and sporting a price tag that makes it an everyday drinker.

Tuesday morning I made the one-eyed-stumble to the coffee pot and nestled into my little corner of the couch, eyeballing, (or one eyeballing) the remnants of an evening of over indulgence; empty wine bottle, wine glasses still holding that “final” sip….as if we both came to the conclusion that finishing that last glass was going to make some kind of difference…and a box of Wheat Thins nestled between two cans of, “Squeeze Cheese”, Amy favorite guilty pleasure, something we now stock for Amy’s visits. I sat there trying to reconnect the dots as it were and began to giggle as I relived the, “Squeeze Cheese Tasting”.

“Samster, (what she calls me when she is all buzzy) you want one?” Amy asked while covering a Wheat Thin completely with the oddly orange goo. “Um, no thanks” I replied, “Why not?” she asked looking at me like I must be high, “Because I don’t like it”…now you would think, by looking at her face, that I had just pooed the floor. The rest went something like this….




Her- “How do you know you don’t like it?”
Me- “I’ve tasted it and don’t like it.”
Her- “When was the last time you tasted it?”
Me- (chuckling) “What you think somewhere in the evolution of my palate I have now become ready for cheesy goo?”
Her- (loading up a Wheat Thin) “Just try it”
Me- “No!”
Her- “Samster, just try one then if you don’t like it I will believe you”
Me- “I don’t like Wheat Thins either”
Her- “How can you not like Wheat Thins?! Something is wrong with you. Give me your finger”

So there I sat at whatever-too-late in the evening/morning, with my tiny muse squeezing, not one but two flavors of “Squeeze Cheese” on my fingers. The outcome, well I sat there on Tuesday morning taking a bunch of tiny sips of coffee trying to stave off the that pre-gag saliva that was building in my mouth and throat just thinking about it….least she believes me now.

I waited for my coffee to kick in, got a blog post up, hopped in the shower and prepared myself for the Beaune Imports trade tasting. Amy and I had been asked to join the visiting winemakers and Michael Sullivan for dinner so we booked a room at the SLS Hotel in Beverly Hills, (we used points, we aint that fancy) knowing full well how these evenings tend to pan out, we knew we had better NOT attempt the long drive back from LA. We packed an overnight bag and headed to, “The Hills”.



When I walked into the SLS I became instantly afraid that I was going to make a complete ass of myself, it was a blood red lobby, dark and full of mirrors…I could just see myself stumbling in after a long night of wine and whatever comes next and face planting into one of those Fun House mirrors, sigh. We tossed our bags in our super fancy room, called a cab and made our way over to the tasting.

Now Michael never does little tastings, he always pulls out all the stops and has consistently put on some of the best tastings I have ever been to but this one, well this one was even more special as he had with him a gaggle of French winemakers, there to pour and tell people about their wines. As someone that believes in the very personal connection between meeting the people behind the bottle this kind of event is the kind of shit I live for. Hugs and kisses to the folks I had met before and we jumped in with both feet. We moved from table to table tasting the wines, making quick notes and listening as these winemakers tried to make us better understand their vision.

And just who was at this event pouring their wines? Um….

Pascal Agrapart, (looked a little like Russell Crowe but more regal) of Agrapart & Fils
Samuel Guibert, (seriously dreamy) of Mas de Dumas Gassac
Stephane Dupuch, (adorable and so much fun) of Chateau Sainte-Marie
Antoine Durrbach, (also very cute but very shy) of Domaine Trevallon
Marie-Claire & Pierre Fort, (not so much with the English) of Domaine Mouscaillo
Bruno Schmitt, (one of my personal favorites and smoking partner) of Rolland Schmitt
Claude Drouhin, (statuesque, pure, just like her wines) of Chandon de Briallies
Etienne de Montille, (friendly but formal and charming as hell) of Domaine de Montille




We made it through most of the wines, even though we were spitting there were just far too many wines to taste and we wanted to save our palates for whatever wicked cool wines Michael was bringing to dinner…well, that was the plan anyway. It was 3:00 and while shoving corks into the bottles Michael announces, “We have reservations at 8:00”….crud, what were we going to do for 5 hours?! My first suggestion was to go back to the room, maybe freshen up and just relax before dinner, I was vetoed. So just what do wine people do after a wine tasting and before dinner, yeah. Headed out to The Farmers Market on 3rd and Fairfax for tacos and beer, there’s a palate saver right? We hung out there for a couple hours and found that we still had 2 more hours to kill, next thing I know there is a caravan heading to Korea Town for drinks at a “cool dive bar”….surrender, I just had to surrender any hope that I had for a civilized evening.

Wine, beer, tacos and dive bar drinks and we are on our way to dinner in Venice. We all arrived at the same time and because I am unsure of who fouled up, (that’s a nice way to say fucked up) the event planner or the restaurant I am going to let the spot we ate dinner remain nameless. It was okay, the food was somewhat under seasoned and there was far too little of it for a group our size, (think there were about 15 of us at a table that sat 12…super fun, that) and things just didn’t quite come together, again unsure of where to point the finger I will just say, dinner was “fine”.



Now comes the point in the evening where the group splits, happens every time….one chunk of people want to go back to their room and sleep, (those are the smart or old people) and the other part wants to keep going, so guess where this, “not too smart and not too old” girl found herself? Kissing,” Goodnight” to those that were parting and walking down the street to a raging bar in Venice…dammit. Now this crew had been travelling together for over a week now, their relationships were formed, they were already buddies, it was Amy and I that were the outsiders…so funny things happen when you feed a bunch of French dudes Jack & Coke and Tequila shots…they like open up and junk. At one point, (do not ask me which) of the evening I found myself dancing in front of the live band, next to some crazy hippie chick that was dancing like she was having fits….if speaking in tongues had a dance, she was doing it…and some drunk ass Frenchmen and a “on his way there” importer, surreal is a gross understatement.



Amy and I end up back in our fancy SLS room, did I hit a mirror…no freaking clue, (I did however scan the many mirrors on the way out the following morning/hours and did not find a sweaty face print, so if I did that fancy schmancy place covered my tracks) but somehow the mini bar sounded like the greatest idea ever to me and my tiny muse. Felt less than great when the alarm went off three hours later, merde! Stumbled out of bed, called room service, Bloody Marys were so in order and crawled out to the rooftop pool to sip our drinks in the sun…in our jammies…. “The Hills” well they found their “Billies” that morning.



A quick wash of the face, reapply of makeup and hair tossed in a ponytail and my girl and I are on our way back to Long Beach to set up for……another tasting with our crazy new French friends.

Sometimes It Just Doesn't Work Out As Planned

You know those moments when you’re on a blind date and you find yourself thinking, “This is so not going to work out”…yeah, me neither, never been on a blind date. I do have a few semi-regular customers that continuously ask me, “Are you still married?” because they have a friend that is, “perfect” for me. This coming from people that really know nothing about me, I can only imagine what kind of person they have in mind that would be perfect for me….must be some poor sap that is into being bossed around or some sad chubby chaser dude…ugh. I always assure them if my husband should either wise up of keel over, they will be the first to know. Anyway, the point being that no matter how much someone tells you that a match might be perfect, sometimes for you…it just aint.

Same thing is true of the ever desired, ever asked about, ever sought after, “perfect wine pairing”. There are plenty of books, food & wine websites, magazines and an infinite number of fancy wine aficionados that will try and give it to you. They will ooze their years of knowledge, stained palates and confit, (is there a plural of confit? What I mean is…the literal, cooked it its own fat) all over you. They mean well and I’m sure many of the suggested pairings are great, some are okay but some, well some just won’t work….for you, beauty is in the mouth of the beholder and all.

You know those people that say there has not been anything new or interesting in music since like 1963, yeah…well some wine folks, stuck in the same primordial goo. Tossing out pairings that were handed down by old English dudes so long ago that they are almost no longer relevant. Both wine and food have changed so much in the last 30 years, those classic pairings may very well still be okay or even perfect for some people but for some of us….well, there has to be something better. I’ve never been too hung up on perfect but I do truly appreciate harmony and when I look to pair food and wine, for MY palate, I look for contrast, balance and the kind of marriage of flavors that keeps me reaching for my glass…so some of those, “classic” pairings simply don’t work for me.



Pairings I Simply Don’t Get

Champagne & Caviar—Now I understand the inclination here but I think this pairing is more about the “idea”. Both things are special, a treat, decadent and caviar tastes fine when washed down with Champagne but what do those little fishy eggs do for the wine….nothing good for my palate. The caviar is too aggressive for me, kills all the finesse in the wine, masks all the delicate layers that I love in my bubbles. So maybe this is a pairing for the fish egg lover and not as much for the Champagne lover, for me…gotta go with icy cold Vodka.

Red Wine & Chocolate--- I’ve never understood this one and can only think it is much like the Caviar and Champagne deal, decadence. Same problem applies here, the chocolate may taste fine but pairing something sweet with wine does little more than rob the wine of fruit and then what is the point? I once had one customer so convinced that all red wine went with chocolate that she bought some chocolate during my Loire Valley Red Wines class. I tried to tell her that chocolate and Sancerre Rouge, maybe not so much…but she sat there munching away telling me how delicious it was, and kept trying to get me to try it…I took a tiny taste, freaking nasty and whatever delicate fruit was in that wine was destroyed…tasted sour, tart and bitter, as someone that loves and is trying to sell wine…not at all what I am looking for.



Champagne & Cake--- Well no wonder more people don’t drink Champagne, tastes like bubbly piss with cake. Why? Why do people feel the need to do this? Celebrating Granny’s 90th, sweet have some bubbles and potato chips and finish with cake. Stupid pairing, just stupid and this one I do not blame wine folks for…none of us would tell you this was a good idea.

Zinfandel & BBQ--- Had one of those butting heads moments with a staff member over this one. A woman came in looking for a wine for BBQ and he blurted out “Zinfandel” without really even thinking about it. I held back, let him do his wine sales thing and then…I fixed it. “What kind of BBQ?” I asked while ringing the woman up, “Carolina pulled pork” she responded and I grabbed the Zinfandel and put it back on the shelf…”This is so NOT going to work” I told her. Pork, which is meat but super mild, and vinegar, is so not a match for Zin, hell it’s not even a red wine friendly dish, she needed white. The whole BBQ thing is too loose a term, are you grilling or barbequing, makes a difference when it comes to pairing wine and all. I think this “classic” pairing was born with the whole, “all American” idea in mind….not unlike Zinfandel with Thanksgiving, (gag, wretch and gag), sure it’s a cute idea but…..ewe.



Gewürztraminer & Indian Food--- For me this is one of those, “way too much going on” deals. I get the idea but these two things together just crash against my palate and leave me reaching for water or tea. I crave balance and grace, this pairing has neither…kind of like having Godzilla march across my palate…veto.

Sauternes & Foie Gras--- Now I know I’m gonna get shit for this one….but I just hate this pairing. Sauternes and Roquefort I get but to pair something as rich and fatty as Foie Gras with a soft sweet wine, well it just skeeves me out, gives me the shivers and a bit like washing down a piece of fudge with a milkshake, ewe.

I’m sure I have more but I need to get my ass ready for a trade tasting, going to be tasting a crapload of Burgundy this afternoon….poor me right?!

Still Here

Just in case anyone is wondering or worried, I did arrive home safely, did not hand over my passport and become a ex-pat or anything. Just had to jump right back into work, (the day after I got home) and getting ready for The Wine Country's big Beaune Imports tasting, seriously going to be one of the finest tastings of the year....and between the jetlag, tons of work that was waiting for me and a slowly creeping-up-on-my-ass chest cold I just have not had the time or inspiration to write much, but I'll be back.

I still have more to say than anyone wants to hear, (like most bloggers) have opinions coming out my ass and I'm about to have one hell of a wine week so there will be lots to say, lots to share and plenty of things to write about. Oh on top of that...My Amy is flying in for a visit on Monday, (insert happy dance here..looks a little like Snoopy's dance but with more swing in the hips) so if anything was going to pull my head out of my, "I'm so blah after a wonderful vacation" ass, it's her. Just thought I should let the few regular readers I have, know what's going on let you all know that this blog is not going away......just taking a few days to get caught up!

Our Way

Call-o was still feeling pangs of anxiety about hearing people break our bawls about not seeing the sights while in London, I’m thinking he was mostly fearing getting an earful from his mother…a very sweet, well traveled woman who will in fact break our bawls when we see her. The fact that there is not one photo of either of us anywhere in London is going to just drive her mad, it’s not that she is mean, nothing could be further from the truth but for her, seeing those pictures and knowing that we saw all the “important” stuff, well that means we had a great vacation, she’s more traditional that way.

So his plan for our final day was to pop on the tube, hit all the, “important stuff” and take a picture of Travel Buddy in front of all of them. Now for the sake of not making my hubby look like a total, mom-fearing-weenie he had first intended to have me snap photos of him in front of all these places but he was now on board with Travel buddy and thought it would be funny to have him be our proof of a great vacation mascot.



We woke Monday feeling a tad exhausted, didn’t sleep much after all the power outage excitement from the night, well…couple of hours before, but we had to get a move on if we wanted to take our little friend’s picture and still have time to do a few things for us, which of course meant sitting in a pub soaking up the beer, Gin and the comings and goings of a town we were now deeply in love with. “So we’ll head over to the Market, get something to eat and then hop on the tube” Call-o running down how the day was to go. “Okay, I’m ready when you are” I replied and we headed out to lunch at the little pub we were refused, (“Kitchens closed”) the night before, The White Lion.

After a plate of eggs, thick cut ham steak, chips and a pint of London Pride…well, the hubby seemed less interested in pleasing others. There was this mellow hue about him, the slightly melancholy but calm energy that I could feel from my little bench seat across the table from him. Plates cleared, second pints drained and I could just sense that he wanted to stay there, right there where he was sitting. Unsure what to do as I didn’t want to be the one to say, “Screw the pictures, let’s just do this our way” I offered a tiny solution, “We can go back out to the square, have a coffee at one of those cafes and then go take pictures” I said with a somewhat forced, perky voice. His reply, “Or we could have a coffee, blow off the pictures and spend our last day of our vacation doing what made us love this fantastic place. Let’s just do it our way”…I was so proud.

We walked around the curvy streets and found one of those little cafes that just have a few circular tables and seats that face the street, grabbed a couple of coffees, the paper and just sat there reading, sipping and watching the people go by. Listening to brief snippets of conversations that had started way down the street and would continue long after they passed us sitting on our tiny perch. A little girl, maybe 5 or 6 years old, wearing a new faux fur jacket, “What do you think of me now daddy?” tiny fists pushed deeply in the pockets of her fancy coat, shoulders standing at attention, tiny head looking up at her tall father, “You look quite idol in that, very pop star” he replied cradling her tiny head in his large hand.

“We had an argument the other day. I was firm but fair” a woman retelling of a work scuffle to her husband. “That place is very good, they have fab steaks and the set up is very American” two friends rushing by on their way to the square….we sat there for a good hour, warm coffee, flies on the wall, the ink from the paper staining our fingers….Our way.




Went back to the room for a brief rest and to find this chocolate that his mother had requested with the help of Google, turns out the stuff is like made by Nestle of something and it was available at ever grocery, who knew?! Rested, threw on our evening jackets and spent our final night roaming the square. We were dead tired now, not enough sleep, knowing the trip was coming to a close, wandering the antique market looking at old World War Two medals, letters still stuffed in their original envelopes…now that’s history, coffees, watching the street performers in the square, dinner and drinks in an outdoor café and we knew, just knew this was the perfect way to say farewell to the London that we fell in love with. Went back to the room early and drifted off to sleep.



We spent our vacation doing what we love, seeing the things that matter to us and found ourselves completely enchanted….what a lovely trip.

Are You Ready For Some Football...American Football That Is

So after my love affair of a brunch we headed back to the room to digest and take a little rest, (So Euro I know) before heading out for the reason we came to London in the first place, the football game. Now a dear friend of mine thought the idea of coming to London to watch an NFL game was about the stupidest thing he could think of, now this man hates football mind you, but I knew what he was really getting at. The thing is, we didn’t really fly all the way to London for football, football is what made the trip “go” as it were. The whole idea was hatched during a drunken evening with Amy and Sexy Bitch, we flew to Chicago last year to celebrate Sexy Bitches birthday and watch his beloved Tampa Bay Bucks take on the Chicago Bears. We had a great trip, travelled really well together, (different hotels, each couple taking little day trips without the other) and thought coming to London would be yet another great time…just so happened that Sexy Bitches Bucks would be playing, perfect. We got the tickets to the game and then the sky fell, or Amy and Sexy Bitch got exiled to Dallas. They went round and round but in the end they had to sell their seats but Call-o and I were so pumped, not for football but to be coming to London. So football was the catalyst not really the reason.

We rested a bit then headed out to the somewhat long trip out to Wembley. The tube was full of folks in NFL gear, both Americans and Brits, it was way exciting and when we finally stepped off the tube at Wembley there was a river of people flowing into the stadium. After a rather long hike we made our way to our area, quite nice seats at the club level, got a couple beers and settled in. The game, well it blew, was boring as fuck and the Bucks just got rolled over…it was painful and not at all exciting to watch. By the 3rd quarter I was ready to go and thinking about trying to get in the tube with the over 84,000 people that were there…dreadful. At the top of the 4th quarter the hubby finally admitted he too was ready to make a break for it, the reason…aside from the game being a total dud, he was watching other people pick up an leave, he was worried about get crunched in the tube as well.



We folded into the pack of people moving towards the station and at a few points I had to grab hold of the hubby’s jacket to keep from being swallowed by the crowd, it was horrific and I simply cannot imagine what it must have been like for those poor souls that waited until the end of the game…ugh! Once on the tube we made friends with a very charming English guy, funny how polite and friendly people can be when you have your nose shoved into their Adam’s apple. This was the first NFL game he had ever seen and he had a great time, he had us giggling and was full of questions and comments about the cheerleaders, “I am a man and my blood is red” he kept telling us…too cute. Made one transfer and got off at the Covent Garden station.



We walked into the now quite familiar square, damn thing was still full of people but the restaurants were pretty much done serving dinner at 9:00 on a Sunday night. We wandered into The White Lion, a pub across the street from The Nag’s Head, (where we had a lovely lunch a couple days before). The pub was damn near empty so we sat at the bar and ordered a couple drinks, the bartender…well, she was simply adorable. Small little thing, hair pulled back in a puffy little ponytail, buzzing around like a little sprite picking up empty pint glasses and wisecracking with the few guests that were there. We asked when the restaurant upstairs stopped serving dinner, “Well they kind of close when there is no one there, so if you go up they may still seat you” she told us…sweet. We gathered our drinks, walked up yet another tight fitting, windy staircase only to be told, “Sorry, the kitchen is closed”.

Walked back into the bar our little sprite said, “Awe, were they closed? I’m sorry” with her very cute accent. “Nah, don’t worry about it, we can just drink our dinner” Call-o told her, and we took our seats again at the bar. A few cocktails later, and tons of giggles between myself and the bartender she walked up to us with a bowl in her hand…her snack, some “chips” with melted cheese. “Here, have a few of these” she offered and ran to get a coffee cup which she filled with chips and cheese, so freaking sweet of her.



We sat there for hours watching the pub begin to fill, watching all the NFL gear come marching down the street, watched this very odd youngish guy…big ratted hair, low-rise jeans showing off his very flat, and very shaved…area. He was an intense dude, kept ordering pints and sitting in his seat staring at the pub across the street, he was fixated; obsessed…I was dying to know what or who he was waiting for. I caught myself staring at him, caught the bartender staring at him, we just kept giving each other this look like, “what the hell is he waiting for?!” and then grinning at one another. We chatted a bit more with our adorable new friend, she was unbelievably charming, she was even excited to find out we were Americans. She made me laugh, made me feel welcome, more than welcome, she made me feel like we had been coming to her little pub for years, loved, loved, loved her. As we made the stroll back to our hotel I was once again feeling the very real, very palpable, ultimately powerful personal touch of this place and its people.



Got back to the room, ordered some dreadful room service, (if that was a burger than I am Elizabeth Hurley) a bottle of wine and thought about getting some sleep. The hubby, well he was restless, couldn’t sleep and saw fit to wake me from my slumber to keep him company, damn it Call-o. Now both wide awake, at like 3:30 in the morning, Call-o thought this, this was the perfect time to try and figure out the lighting system in our room….something that had been bothering him since we got here. “One of these has to be the master switch” he blurted while jumping out of bed and dashing to the light switch panel next to the entry door. Lights on, lights off, lights on, lights off, click-click-click and….complete darkness, even the bloody television shut off. “Damn it Call-o, you ate the power” I said now in a fit of sleep needing giggles. He had flipped a breaker or something and had to wander down to the front desk at almost 4:00 AM and tell them our power was out. I sat there, in the dark until Call-o and the night manager came through the door, flashlight a-blaring. Sat there shaking my head, trying not to burst into laughter, while the little manager dude stood on a chair and flipped whatever switch would undo what my dear husband had done.

After laughing for a solid 20 minutes we both drifted off to sleep not wanting to think about the fact that the next morning would usher in our last day in London.

"Driving Slow On Sunday Morning, I May Never Want To Leave"

“Let’s get up earlier and get out of the hotel before noon tomorrow” the hubby’s final words before drifting off Saturday night. He had big plans for the following day, lots of things he wanted to do before we headed out to Wembely Stadium to watch the New England Patriots take on the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I believed him when he said it, I knew he meant it but I also knew that he was up way past his regular bedtime and knowing how much sleep he requires…well let’s just say I wasn’t panicked. I was also wondering just how much was going to be open on Sunday here in London, sure the bigger tourist places might be, but I knew from my past trips to other parts of Europe, Sunday is kind of closed and stuff.

I woke up before Call-o and was half ready by the time he got out of bed, “Wow, check you out” he commented on his way to the shower but in the end it was about 12:15 before we stepped out of the hotel, again. We had plans but we needed to get a bite and I remembered reading about the traditional English Sunday Roast, didn’t really know what it was but it was what I flashed on when I thought of Sunday here, so we headed out into our little neighborhood, his plan was to just get a bite to eat, mine was to see if I could find a Sunday Roast….walked up about 2 blocks before I saw a sign on one of those a-frame chalkboard deals in front of a little bistro, “Full Sunday Roast” we walked in a were seated right away.



The place reminded me of a Paris bistro, warm brass, dark wood, white linens, heavy cutlery and a 3 foot tall face bursting with Stargazers that I could smell from my table. I ordered a glass of Chablis, Carl a cocktail and we went over the menu, I was instantly drawn to the roast beef…reminded me of my mother, we always had roast beef on Sunday when I was a kid, but there was also Eggs Benedict, with fries no less…hum, what to do?! When our server Michael, a tall, very friendly, somewhat gangly young man, returned with our drinks I just asked, “Oh well the roast beef is quite nice, goes down really easy that” well that was all I needed to hear..Carl went for the roasted pork belly and we munched on bread smeared with unsalted French butter.



I was sitting in the banquette facing the bar so I got to watch all the goings on back there, watched as one guy stocked the bar, made drinks from bubbles and juice and kind of barked at the other servers…seemed like he scared the hell out of them, there is always a pecking order in a restaurant and this guy, well he was clearly pretty high up on the food chain. While we waited for our food I watched as families came in, pink cheeked kids, sweater and scarf clad adults, all looking to enjoy a Sunday Roast together, many times meeting the grandparents as well, the place was filling before my eyes. The sound of children with their adorable English accents talking to their grandmas, the clank of heavy silverware being rested on a plate, the bar active….. pouring glasses of Champagne, pulling pints and mixing drinks…the smell of roasted meat, French fries and the faint whiff of rosemary, and those beautiful Stargazers. The music just pushed me right over the edge, little louder than one might expect for such a quaint little place, but at all too loud, in fact it was at the perfect volume and the tunes they had spinning for a room full of people enjoying a Sunday Roast, “Send me forget me not’s, to help me to remember. Baby please forget me not, I want you to remember” disco and soft rock like Van Morrison and Elton John. All of it, the music, the smells, the sound of a four year old saying, “Oh but granny I want it” in that accent, the warm brass, dark wood…it all spun around me, slowly, softly, sweetly, you that moment when you are listening to someone talk and you realize, “God, I am in love this person”…that was me yesterday afternoon at JT’s Bar and Grill, falling in love with the day, the people, the ritual…this place.



My roast beef was very nice, not as good as mom’s used to be, but good and the Yorkshire Pudding was unreal but Call-o’s pork belly, holy mother of gorgeous meat! I had pictured braised, not sure why, just how we tend to see it back home but this was a perfectly roasted hunk of pork belly with a think, crusty band of super crunchy skin on the top….drool. We ate slowly, I ordered more wine, we had coffee and I even ordered us a Bushmills just so I could be in love just a little bit longer, that was when the lyrics to that song came bouncing into my head, “Driving slow on Sunday morning, I may never want to leave” summed up my feelings exactly.

We got our bill, said thank you and goodbye and walked out into the brisk but absolutely beautiful Sunday afternoon. We walked past the square at Covent Garden where I saw couples holding hands, shopping bags clasped in the other, groups of friends sitting in the outdoor cafes, eating meat pies, drinking pints and just sharing the afternoon together. We walked past Fuel, the place we had dinner a couple of nights before and there were these groups of kids, maybe 18-20 years old and they were having a few pints, some crispy wood fired pizza and talking…not quite the horrific picture people try and paint to warn against letting 18 year olds have a drink right? They were laughing, sharing a meal, sipping on pints and behaving just like….well, just like the rest of the adults in the square. We passed people dressed to the nines, we are talking gowns and tuxedos here, on their way to a Sunday matinee at the theatre, whole families dripping in their finest, spending the afternoon enjoying and appreciating the arts.



As we made our way back to the hotel I started thinking about that stupid Tower of London tour, how people make you think to understand this place you have to see those things…utter bullshit. That may be the kind of vacation that some people enjoy, they may strive to have a photo of their ginning face in front of Ben Ben, one that looks just the one of their parents, their grandparents and that’s fine, just not the way that I choose to learn about a place. I had read about the Tower of London, watched specials on the History Channel, seeing it in person did nothing to further my understanding of it. For me sitting in that bistro, walking the square on a Sunday afternoon, passing the beautifully clad people making their way to the theatre, that made this place real for me, gave me a deeper appreciation and understanding of the people that live here, made me long for a few more days to wander amongst them…. “Driving slow on Sunday Morning, I may never want to leave”…..

Dreaming Of Game Day