Ben's Cookies

Ben's Cookies are not British or American cookies - they're simply amazing cookies.  I first discovered Ben's as a visiting student at St. Catherine's College, Oxford and loved how similar they were to Chef Jeff's cookies at MHC's Blanchard Student Center.  Gooey, ever-so-slightly-raw in the middle and sold by weight (yes, by weight), Ben's Cookies are perfect for an afternoon pick-me-up (or in the case of Adeline, a form of breakfast before yoga).  If you buy a tin of 5, you get one thrown in for free, which makes them the perfect gift for a host or hostess at a dinner party.  Best of all, their logo was designed by none other than Quentin Blake - everyone's favorite children's illustrator.  My favorite is the standard milk chocolate chip, but they also have other wonderfully creative flavors, such as ginger and dark chocolate or white chocolate and cranberry.

I Miss This View ...

I miss this view.  It's the view of Mt Rainier from the dining room table of our house in Edgewood (well, it was the view before the trees grew too high) and the view I used to see when rounding the corner to my high school (hence my elementary and high school names, Mountain View Elementary and Emerald Ridge High School).  Seeing it for the first time when I went home this past Christmas reminded me just how much natural beauty is in Washington state alone.  Don't have mountains like that around here.  Sigh.

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Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate

I adore the street names in England, particularly in older cities like York (above) and even in London.  You see, I come from a town where the streets are mostly numbered and it's much more exciting to say I'm going to Leather Lane than the corner of 122nd and Meridian.  When I'm not people watching on the bus, I like to look out for a "favorite street name of the day" which I collect in my mental Rolodex of cool street names.  Back in the days when I lived in East London, I really liked Half Moon Passage, but Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate in York is my all-time favorite.

Eating Out

You might not have noticed, but I love food and I love to eat out.  I blame it on my upbringing.  Friday and Saturday evenings were always reserved for eating out - and I don't mean McDonald's or T.G.I.Friday's.  I mean really eating out.  Whether we had Thai, Japanese, Indian or Italian food, my parents always made it a point to take us out for nice meals where we dressed nicely, minded our manners, and ordered whatever we wanted.  I don't think I ever took that for granted, but as I went to college and became an adult, I quickly realised that not everyone had the same childhood experiences and that eating out was simply not as important or - and this is crucial - affordable to everyone.  So when I moved to London, I was pleased to discover table booking services such as Toptable where you can book tables online and take advantage of special offers or set menus at restaurants you'd not usually think twice about going into.  And because of the Current Economic Climate (or "the CEC," as I like to call it), no one cares if you've booked through Toptable.  Recently, I took John to Bentley's Oyster Bar and Grill on Swallow Street for his birthday dinner.  It became pretty apparent as soon as I entered the fur-filled, Prada-clutching, Rolex-wearing room that I was the only one who had booked the "offer."  I sank low in my seat, waiting for John to arrive and listening with embarrassment to the table next to me ordering starters and mains worth more than the clothes on my back.  "Um, excuse me," I said to the waiter, handing him the menu.  "Um ... I booked through Toptable," I whispered.  "Toptable?  Of course, no problem," he said, whipping away the menu and presenting me with the set menu.  "Are you ordering from the set menu?" asked the sommelier.  "Would you like a carafe of red or white wine with your meal?"  By this time, John had arrived and wanted red, while I wanted white, however this was not a problem as the sommelier easily suggested we have smaller carafes of our own.  Lovely.  The food was exquisite but the experience even better - and it made me think, I wish there were more places like Toptable in the US (I know it's available in NYC) to make dining experiences like ours more accessible.  Everyone deserves to have a good meal out (Michelin-starred or not) once in a while and not have to pay an arm and a leg for it.

Trashy Television

When I come home from a hard day's work (sort of), I like to veg out in front of the TV (please note, I don't currently own a TV ... this is back in the day when I used to have one).  Specifically, I like to watch trash TV - preferably American reality shows if they're available.  Yes, I'm confessing my worst vice:  I love, I repeat, love trashy TV shows.  The trashier the better. 

This is a problem in the UK, where trashy TV shows are lacking and the worst you can get is either Eastenders (or similar prime time soap operas with terrible acting) or Big Brother, which we Americans were over like, so long ago.  No, these days, when I come home and switch on the TV, it's "The Best of British Gardens" or "The Complete History of Scotland Part I of XIV" or "Antique Roadshow" or "Jamie Oliver's Great American Whatever" (which sucked by the way, he needed to stop calling every Latino or black person "bruvva" and reinventing their already fantastic recipes). 

It's the end of a frustrating day.  Do I really want to watch an incomprehensible Geordie give me the low-down on Scottish history?  Do I want to find out the best way to prune the plants in my non-existent garden?  Or find out how much Claire's mother's ex-partner's great-great-great grand relative's moldy chest is worth today?  NO.

I want to watch vacant blondes who don't pronounce any vowels in their words ("Srsly?  Rly?  Yu nd Jsn?  Tghthr?") prance around the screen in pretend situations (The Hills).  I want to watch rich bitches from Orange County/Manhattan/Atlanta/New Jersey (The Real Housewives Of series) teeter in their Louboutins and ask their multi-million dollar husbands for more money. 

Judge me all you want, but I'm not ashamed.  Everyone has their own way of "unwinding".  I just wish England would stop being all classy and start acting a bit trashy.  Never gonna happen.

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Care Packages

There are days when, no matter how many chocolate digestives I've consumed, cups of sugary Yorkshire gold tea I've gulped down, or fantastically friendly conversations I've had with people throughout the day, I'm just plain homesick and I want to be anywhere but here.  Nothing makes the feeling go away, no matter how deep I try to bury it. 

Despite a great dinner in Chinatown (yep, Cafe de Hong Kong gets a sort-of-two-thumbs-up from me) and a beautiful flat to come home to, I was feeling glum.  I trudged up the steps to the front door of my block of apartments and did the usual quick scan for any mail.  A small padded envelope with my name on it in familiar handwriting made me smile and when I opened it upstairs, this was inside:

 

Yep, that's right - an adorable Little Miss book (personalized with multiple changes to the story made with a ball point pen), the most stylish card EVER, and two chic French postcards addressed to me and John with messages on the back.  My first mail at this address.  I sat by myself in my empty flat and laughed out loud - I mean, I really laughed.  It felt great.  Thank you, Udita - for everything.

Speaking Up

With the exception of one person I can think of (Chris), I don't personally know a single Brit who would speak up if he/she was being unfairly treated and/or the quality of service being received was not up to par.  But I do.  I don't know if it's my personality or because I'm American (in hindsight, I think it's a bit of both), but damn right I will say something if I'm not happy.  In general, I think it's an American trait or quality to speak your mind and it's something I'm proud of (generally, unless my temper takes over and I get in trouble ... ask me about that some other time).  But most of the British population are too polite to speak up and even when they do, the passive-agressive tone of voice they adopt doesn't get them anywhere.  I'm not saying that shouting and yelling will get you anywhere, but directness sure does. 

I once confessed to Natalie that I had no "phone confidence", as in, I hate answering the phone at work.  I think it's either going to be an irate author or agent and I'll completely lose my cool and start stuttering.  But Natalie said quite the opposite:  "People listen to you because you're a scary American.  If I was on the other end of the phone I'd be scared.  You sound more than confident, you just sound ... scary."  Maybe.  Or maybe I just omit the "if you could ...", "perhaps" and my personal favorite "I'd be very grateful if ..." from my conversations with people.  Especially if I want something. 

For example, if I've paid for a service, I demand to have it.  A couple years ago, I was eating dinner in a pub with John and a friend (also named John ... *sigh* ... see my post a few weeks back about English names).  I decided to order a treacle sponge cake for dessert at the bar.  After ordering, I went back to my seat.  15 minutes later, it still hadn't arrived.  "I wonder where my pudding is ..." I said aloud.  One of the Johns said, "It'll be here soon."  After 20 minutes, I got up.  "Where are you going?" asked another John.  "To find out where my dessert went!"  "I'm sure it'll be here soon."  "Yeah, well I'm not waiting another hour!"  I marched up to the counter and demanded to know where my treacle sponge was.  I wanted it, dammit.  I got all worked up about its syrupy goodness.  "Oh, we ran out," said the guy behind the counter. "WHAT?!" I shrieked (ok, maybe exclaimed, rather than shrieked).  "You could have told me that HALF AN HOUR AGO."  He considered me for a minute.  "Do you want a refund?"  Did I want a refund?  No, I just wanted to give you my money for the dessert as a charitable donation.  YES I WANT A REFUND!  He looked surprised that I wanted my money back.  "Lucky I didn't listen to you guys," I said, returning to the table.  "Would've been waiting here for an hour."  But see, the difference is, they would have.  Probably.

Another incident occurred at the Regent Street location of Habitat.  This had more to do with customer service than anything else.  The thing is, I worked two pretty crappy sales-assistant summer jobs as a teenager.  And ok, I get that customer service in America is a lot different than in the UK ... there's no one standing at the door of Topshop here, greeting you in a high-pitched shrill voice with "HAYYYYY GUYYYYSSSSS HOW'S IT GOINNNNNNNN ... JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOOWWWW OUR GRAPHIC TEES ARE 2 for TENNNNNNNN OKKKAYYYYYYY????"  Not even in sales-driven stores.  No, they just generally ignore you here even if they see you're struggling.  I think it's part of the retail culture.  Two extremes.  However, it seems to me that if you're a customer, you deserve to be treated with at least some modicum of respect.

Case in point: John and I found a coffee table we really liked at this particular Habitat.  It looked like the only one left, and didn't have a price on it, so John walked over to the sales assistant standing idly 3 feet away and asked how much it was.  She turned slowly, eyed the table and said "Ask at the till."  "Ok, thanks," said John.  Um, excuse me?  "She said ask at the till," John said.  "Why can't she do it?" I asked loudly.  "It's kind of her job?" The girl heard me and glared, responding rudely, "Look on the website."  That's when I kind of lost it.  "Excuse me?  Look on the website?  What do you think I'm doing in store?"  John was mortified.  "Calm down," he pleaded.  "I will NOT calm down," I said, trying not to raise my voice.  "That is SO RUDE."  The girl glared at me and I clocked her nametag, which read "Irene."  I'm sorry, but when I walk into a not-exactly-low-budget store looking for a piece of furniture and ask a simple question - THE PRICE - I'd like to be given an answer and not have to go on a wild goose chase myself to find out.  Thankfully, a very polite and helpful assistant stepped in and rectified the situation.  I was still pretty pissed off.  It wasn't so much her laziness that bothered me, but her bad attitude and I have an inability to accept a situation that I don't think is fair in my mind.  The way I react to it is a different story.  But I think that one should always speak up if something is unacceptable, not let it go and grumble under your breath or meekly accept the rudeness.