That’s right. Still waiting to see if my pepper seeds from Wahaca at Canary Wharf will actually grow. I hope for Wahaca’s sake that they do.
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Milk, butter, & salt.
Kalamata olives, fresh rosemary, & thyme flakes.
Combine & add flour.
Melt some butter on this French Bread with Kalamata Olives, Rosemary, and Thyme and eat with prosciutto!
How did I spend my last day in London? The sex exhibition at the Natural History Museum in South Kensington and Mexican food from Wahaca at Canary Wharf. Oh yeah.
I finally got to see Isabella Rossellini’s Green Porno which I saw on that Sunday morning show that has all the suns everywhere on set. What is that show called? You know what I’m talking about it. It’s probably called the Sunday Morning show or something like that…I’m pretty sure it’s on CBS.
Anyway, I’m back in Chicagoland now so this blog will probably be on hiatus until September.
No, don’t worry it’s not the stuffed toy tiger I photographed weeks ago near Southwark Park but is located in Hedge End, Southampton.
Quite a laugh though. It seems Londoners are better at picking out the fake tigers from the real ones!
(Liverpool Street Station is a major tube stop on the Central line and also a National Rail station with trains going all over the country.)
Last year when I lived in halls one of East London’s main water pipes burst leaving us without water. What did a friend and I do? We rushed to Liverpool St. to have a wee and replenish our water supplies of course! Liverpool St. station is still east but it escaped the initial water lockdown (thank god!)
So, what else have I done in Liverpool St.’s bathrooms? It has oddly come to my attention that I’ve done just about everything in Liverpool St.’s bathrooms, and at 30p a visit mind you.
-I always meet a friend there when she comes to visit for some odd reason.
-I’ve wrote out cards and other correspondence that needed to be mailed, pronto, while sitting on the toilet (no, not in THAT way.)(Oh and I understand that this might seem weird, but I always buy my cards from the Paperchase at this station. No clue really.)
-I’ve nearly had a mental breakdown after the infamous Heathrow-epic-fail of December 18, 2010.
-I’ve seen someone go into labour.
-I’ve eaten a McD’s cheeseburger while sitting under the mirrors with friends after a night out.
Why Liverpool St.? Why ME?
I’m a grownup now!
I’ve always marvelled at these handy little pin-pad things that Europeans have. You can use it to access your account online and you can do transfers to anyone with a European bank account lickety-split.
All I know is that I get a feeling of awesomeness when I get to hear the swishing noise of the card being put in and out.
Well I’ll tell you. It is stringy and tastes like champagne, which are probably two of the things I like least in my yougurts, but hey, at least they didn’t spell yogurt youghurt.
There are some things that the UK just doesn’t have and Britons just don’t understand. Fried food in particular is a bit of a conversation starter for a lot of people. “Yeah well you guys eat fried pickles so…”
I’ve never had anything that you would consider to be “weird fried food.” Until recently, I’d only had the pretty normal fried chicken, though I’ve since had fried ice cream. And if fried ice cream is American, then how come it was served at a Mexican restaurant alongside the flan and plantains? (And if we’re the ones who will fry up anything (and you are disgusted by it) why would you have entire roads in London dedicated to fried food? Let’s take a walk down Mile End and try and get ourselves a salad. Impossible!)
The verdict: pretty good but not that weird. What is the point in frying ice cream anyway? The only result is a crunchy outer shell because you obviously can’t fry it properly, otherwise it wouldn’t be, well, ice cream. Next up: fried pickles and fried butter. Bring on the coronary.