![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stuff yourself
Oct. 19th, 2015 11:43 pmMy cousin, and I woke up, had our tea. She packed. Then we took a bus to Borough Market. We found her coffee. Then we found truffles. And we tasted truffles in various forms. She found a little jar that she could take in her carry-on bag. She had a love affair with that truffle spread. We had a quick wander through the market, and had more conversations, and then we had to say goodbye. She had a plane to catch, and I had a friend to meet.
There is something really great about having cousins. We didn't get to know each other until we were adults, but it has been so easy to slide into relationships with everyone. Maybe I will see her next year in her city. It is only fair. But I like this experience of seeing each other once a year for an adventure.
THEN? I got to meet a friend in person that I have known in the online world. How fun! I was introduced to her via someone I knew in Seattle at cook book club. This mutual friend introduced us, as C. was about to move to England. Another American married to an Englishman, with a couple of kids. Plus she writes. And likes peanut butter, and eating. We have been chatting for a good long while, and finally we got a change to hang out.
At times it feels like there is this vast extended network of American women (often married to British folks) on this damp island, and you end up knowing every other American woman. We give each other tips for finding tamales, peanut butter, candy corn, and root beer. The important things in life.
She showed me some great things at the market. I ate donuts. And prosecco, and well everything. We talked about being married to British guys, raising kids, crazy families, living here, writing, books, you know... everything. Oh man, sometimes I desire American short-hand. Plus she is a ton of fun face to face. And really smart. It was great to look through the market. I found morbier cheese which I haven't been able to find in so long, and I bought fresh porcini! The place had so many satisfying smells, and it made me think of the pike place market. There were plenty of tourists but I also saw people shopping seriously. People finding foods they missed, and taking in the din.
After tea, and pastries, she had to take the train back to her village. I went wandering. Far and wide, through back streets, and big streets, and I found ancient walls, and strange walks, and everything. I listened to every bit of the city, and found myself in Holborn. I looked at books, watched the scenery, and then went to the flat to lay in regret over eating the most delicious donut. It was filled with caramel creme and had a shard of honeycomb. My teeth and body weren't pleased with me. BUT I got myself together and met up with K. and C. for dinner at Ottolenghi. Yes. Dinner!
We had reservations at the communal table. We didn't really notice our first set of fellow diners. Random people talking about au pairs, and school places. We got a bunch of little dishes. Beautiful things like mackerel, and lamb, and confit beet root, and other vegetables. We ate well. Then some new companions appeared. A party of older, well-heeled sorts. The women had the most amazing outfits, and jewelry. Utter confidence in their style. It wasn't super trendy, but it was so carefully put together. I think they had already had drinks. They were pretty merry. A Frenchman in a flecked jumper sat next to me, and introduced himself to us. He was amusing. He kept making comments to us when members of his party would talk. He said to me, "Never drink water. It is bad for the body." They had cocktails. Really beautiful ones. One made me think of the patterns in a Klimt painting. They had a long involved conversation about the wine. When the wine arrived one woman (with wonderful enamel earrings and this patterned top that was likely fashionable in couture in the 80s but somehow still worked.) thought the wine was off and passed it onto a woman who looked a bit like Nan Kempner but not as ropey. Nan Kempner-lite declared in a loud voice over and over, "It's corked!" Oh the chaos. Mr. Frenchman made more jokes. He said something about how the Greeks can make so much out of nothing. Then another woman launched into a thing that she has to teach this course in history and she didn't know that much but she was going to read ahead in the book. Good luck lady.
We had a look at the desserts. I was awfully full. Still too full from my day. I had a teeny little peanut butter s'more. I wish I could have finished it but oof. So much. Ottolenghi has some of the best cakes.
We paid the bill, and as we left my favorite Frenchman waved to us and said, "Goodbye Girls" (and then he winked at me. Is he from a movie?) Girls! *cracks up* There is something kind of hilarious about being called a girl at this point in life. Married Mother of two with a mortgage. Sure. I am a girl. The lighting and drinks must have been really good in there. I thank you nice random man.
We walked and walked, and then walked up Brick Lane. Where everyone was out on a Saturday night and on the pull. I think it was being cat-called that made K. side-eye the masses. I said, "Remember. It's Saturday night, and this is the one time the British male feels kinda confident about going up to a girl because they have had a few. Rest of the time they can barely look a woman in the eye." There were two guys sitting in a window with fishing poles, having had a few. K. who is hilariously vicious at times said, "eh... I hope they fall out of the window."
We saw places we want to visit next time. Always next time.
We said goodbye outside K. and C's hotel. I will see K. in December. Three times in one year!
To bed with me. Then it was up to pack in the morning. Then traipsing across London to Paddington. I arrive and look at the boards. Everyone said delayed. That always causes a bit of worry. It was brief, because things got into order. It was a case of a world cup rugby game being played out in Cardiff and everyone trying to get there. I had a sandwich and waited. I was sitting next to two American men who were talking about their tattoos, and their impressive injuries. I glanced over at one point during their tattoo talk. (lotta flash art on both, so I wasn't impressed.) They made a remark about how Americans must appear to British people. I hadn't said a word, but I have seen this sort of thing before. Where an American (obviously not most.) will say something in reference to how Americans appear to British people, and on occasion they say it as if British people don't understand English.
It was the usual trip out west. The milk train on a sunday afternoon is full, and everyone is tired and kind of grumpy.
But it was good to be home again.
Now there are those loose plans of next year.... where to meet up. what to do. More theatre? More eating?
There is something really great about having cousins. We didn't get to know each other until we were adults, but it has been so easy to slide into relationships with everyone. Maybe I will see her next year in her city. It is only fair. But I like this experience of seeing each other once a year for an adventure.
THEN? I got to meet a friend in person that I have known in the online world. How fun! I was introduced to her via someone I knew in Seattle at cook book club. This mutual friend introduced us, as C. was about to move to England. Another American married to an Englishman, with a couple of kids. Plus she writes. And likes peanut butter, and eating. We have been chatting for a good long while, and finally we got a change to hang out.
At times it feels like there is this vast extended network of American women (often married to British folks) on this damp island, and you end up knowing every other American woman. We give each other tips for finding tamales, peanut butter, candy corn, and root beer. The important things in life.
She showed me some great things at the market. I ate donuts. And prosecco, and well everything. We talked about being married to British guys, raising kids, crazy families, living here, writing, books, you know... everything. Oh man, sometimes I desire American short-hand. Plus she is a ton of fun face to face. And really smart. It was great to look through the market. I found morbier cheese which I haven't been able to find in so long, and I bought fresh porcini! The place had so many satisfying smells, and it made me think of the pike place market. There were plenty of tourists but I also saw people shopping seriously. People finding foods they missed, and taking in the din.
After tea, and pastries, she had to take the train back to her village. I went wandering. Far and wide, through back streets, and big streets, and I found ancient walls, and strange walks, and everything. I listened to every bit of the city, and found myself in Holborn. I looked at books, watched the scenery, and then went to the flat to lay in regret over eating the most delicious donut. It was filled with caramel creme and had a shard of honeycomb. My teeth and body weren't pleased with me. BUT I got myself together and met up with K. and C. for dinner at Ottolenghi. Yes. Dinner!
We had reservations at the communal table. We didn't really notice our first set of fellow diners. Random people talking about au pairs, and school places. We got a bunch of little dishes. Beautiful things like mackerel, and lamb, and confit beet root, and other vegetables. We ate well. Then some new companions appeared. A party of older, well-heeled sorts. The women had the most amazing outfits, and jewelry. Utter confidence in their style. It wasn't super trendy, but it was so carefully put together. I think they had already had drinks. They were pretty merry. A Frenchman in a flecked jumper sat next to me, and introduced himself to us. He was amusing. He kept making comments to us when members of his party would talk. He said to me, "Never drink water. It is bad for the body." They had cocktails. Really beautiful ones. One made me think of the patterns in a Klimt painting. They had a long involved conversation about the wine. When the wine arrived one woman (with wonderful enamel earrings and this patterned top that was likely fashionable in couture in the 80s but somehow still worked.) thought the wine was off and passed it onto a woman who looked a bit like Nan Kempner but not as ropey. Nan Kempner-lite declared in a loud voice over and over, "It's corked!" Oh the chaos. Mr. Frenchman made more jokes. He said something about how the Greeks can make so much out of nothing. Then another woman launched into a thing that she has to teach this course in history and she didn't know that much but she was going to read ahead in the book. Good luck lady.
We had a look at the desserts. I was awfully full. Still too full from my day. I had a teeny little peanut butter s'more. I wish I could have finished it but oof. So much. Ottolenghi has some of the best cakes.
We paid the bill, and as we left my favorite Frenchman waved to us and said, "Goodbye Girls" (and then he winked at me. Is he from a movie?) Girls! *cracks up* There is something kind of hilarious about being called a girl at this point in life. Married Mother of two with a mortgage. Sure. I am a girl. The lighting and drinks must have been really good in there. I thank you nice random man.
We walked and walked, and then walked up Brick Lane. Where everyone was out on a Saturday night and on the pull. I think it was being cat-called that made K. side-eye the masses. I said, "Remember. It's Saturday night, and this is the one time the British male feels kinda confident about going up to a girl because they have had a few. Rest of the time they can barely look a woman in the eye." There were two guys sitting in a window with fishing poles, having had a few. K. who is hilariously vicious at times said, "eh... I hope they fall out of the window."
We saw places we want to visit next time. Always next time.
We said goodbye outside K. and C's hotel. I will see K. in December. Three times in one year!
To bed with me. Then it was up to pack in the morning. Then traipsing across London to Paddington. I arrive and look at the boards. Everyone said delayed. That always causes a bit of worry. It was brief, because things got into order. It was a case of a world cup rugby game being played out in Cardiff and everyone trying to get there. I had a sandwich and waited. I was sitting next to two American men who were talking about their tattoos, and their impressive injuries. I glanced over at one point during their tattoo talk. (lotta flash art on both, so I wasn't impressed.) They made a remark about how Americans must appear to British people. I hadn't said a word, but I have seen this sort of thing before. Where an American (obviously not most.) will say something in reference to how Americans appear to British people, and on occasion they say it as if British people don't understand English.
It was the usual trip out west. The milk train on a sunday afternoon is full, and everyone is tired and kind of grumpy.
But it was good to be home again.
Now there are those loose plans of next year.... where to meet up. what to do. More theatre? More eating?
