A Special Valentine's Guest Post: The Secret Life of Angloyankophile ... by Mr. Angloyankophile

Do you know the REAL Angloyankophile? There are almost 600 posts here which form a picture - but is it a true, and full one? 

For example, how many ChattyFeet socks does she own? 

There are many lovely pictures among these pages, but what about the out-takes? 

Most importantly, does she ever eat IN? 

From my vantage point as Mr 'ophile, I thought I would fill in a few salient details that have mysteriously not made it onto these pages:

Jäger-what? - Meeting Ms 'Yankophile for the first time while at university, I was struck by the tales of her drunken antics at her college, Mount Holyoke. 

Falling asleep outside the club after too much beer on her birthday - impressively British! 

However, over time some further important context has emerged. 'Too much' in fact meant, basically the neck of ONE beer. And the time of said disobedience? As far as I can make out it was about 8pm; with the party having kicked off half an hour before. 

In short, Angloyankophile is the worst (or maybe the best) drinker in the world! A sip is all it takes...

(h)Angry - You all know Angloyankophile as sweetness and light, sugar and spice etc. You think that's all? Just try her if dinner is running 20mins late. Shrift is short, stares are stony and a rage over something trivial is never far away. It's enough to terrify. In fact I'd better put the oven on ...

Intimidating - This one's probably not so surprising, but have you tried spending most of your time with someone who is an accomplished business person, musician, blogger, speech maker, speech writer, and has more friends already in her adopted country than most of us do in their own?! It's pretty intimidating, (could I mean irritating?). Don't worry, for the good of humanity I try to take her down a peg or two when I can ...

Mountainfearing  - At various times I notice Angloyankophile posting photos of the brooding and spectacular Mount Rainier as, variously: 

a) a picture for a blog post on the beauty of her home town;

b) the cover photo on Facebook or Instagram;

c) evidence of her undying love of nature. 

These are falsehoods. 

Angloyankophile is neither at all awestruck by mountains, or interested in walking on, climbing up or sliding down them. Below is a better representation of her 'true spiritual home':

Ear plugs at the ready - One other topic that seems to have been strangely neglected in the blog posts among these pages is Ms 'Yankophile's COLOSSAL SNORING. Seriously; where does it come from?! I don't know, but when she gets into full swing, resistance is futile.

'SLH (small luxury hotel) only please' - Angloyankophile was recently nominated as one of the UK's top travel bloggers - presumably for her fearless, independent voyaging across the globe. 

Call me a pedant but I think something has gotten lost in translation. For Angloyankophile's real outlook on travel, think Hilton instead of hostel, BA rather than backpacking, spa not Spartan. Left to her own devices I think she'd spend most years in the same resort in Thailand (even getting her there took weeks of persuasion!). 

Mr and Mrs Smith would be proud - but come on, the odd cockroach never hurt anyone!

Footsie - Angloyankophile never shows her face on her blog posts to protect her anonymity. I'll tell you one other thing you'll never see: her bare feet. Ballet shoes put paid to that; they are now more trapezoidal than feet-shaped. Sorry. 

Arachnophobia (the phobia, definitely not the film) -  You'd assume that with such a vibrant social life, trendy friends and hobbies (disclaimer: I work in finance, so to me pretty much everything is trendy to me), Angloyankophile would also naturally have a great taste in films. 

I think she would, except for one major issue - she is totally chicken! I'm not talking about horror movies here; I think she had nightmares from Monsters Inc. So it's a Disney diet for us...

Brilliant - And, in addition to all that, she's - well - brilliant. 

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

- Mr Angloyankophile

Well, there you have it. All my secrets revealed: from trapezoidal feet to my "colossal snoring" (I highly doubt this, by the way, though the foot thing is true). Thank you, sweetie. Happy Valentine's Day :)

Travel Talk: What's Your Travel Planning Style?

Last weekend, we booked a trip to Sri Lanka over Easter Break and it was, like, the hardest work ever. At one point, I tweeted, "Does anyone else plan their holidays with thirteen tabs open across two computers and a spreadsheet? No? Just us, then."

As I've alluded to before, I'm terrible at travel planning, which is especially ironic since I've been shortlisted for the travel category in this year's UK Blog Awards and I travel quite a bit. Sometimes - shamefully - deep down, I know that we probably wouldn't take as many trips as we do if it wasn't for John's handiwork and Zen-like state-of-mind.

And I'm not the only one. Recently, a friend admitted to taking the escalator straight up to John Lewis, plonking herself down in front of Kuoni travel specialists, and letting them plan her trip to Thailand. Another confided to me over a bowl of pho about how her upcoming trip to Burma was being "handled" by a group of travel agents. "It's just so much easier," she said, with a sigh of relief, and I was a little envious at that weight that looked to be actually visibly lifted from her shoulders.

But I think my travel planning style says more about my personality than anything else, i.e. anxious, anxious, anxious. Two weeks before our trip, I print out every single hotel confirmation, flight confirmation, rental car booking confirmation and carefully tuck and fold them into a (tabbed and labelled) plastic document holder, which also holds my travel insurance information.

I also travel with a near-complete medicine cabinet with me at all times (this is one habit of mine that I've never regretted).

You see, my first instinct when planning a trip is to panic. I'll look at a map of whatever destination we're going to and go, gulp. Whereas John ... John moves through five, distinct phases of travel planning. It's fascinating to observe.

Phase 1: Gathering information. "We're thinking of going to Vietnam," he'll mention casually to friends and colleagues at work. "Have you ever been? What did you think?" This is the informal stage of planning conception (I'm sorry to relate it to childbirth, but seriously. It's that's painful to me).

Phase 2: Study the guidebook. One of my favorite parts of travel planning is taking a trip to Waterstone's together (mostly because I spend ages looking at cards in the stationery section before getting distracted by a ghostwritten D-list celeb memoir) to buy a Lonely Planet. John will go home and flip through it thoughtfully for ages: before bed, on weekends ... and dog-ear pages of interest. I will point to pictures of beaches and say helpful things like, "I want to go there."

Phase 3: Browse accommodation. Are we the only ones who book trips around accommodation? That might be a slight exaggeration, but if there's a hotel we're dying to stay at (Sala Samui in Koh Samui was the best thing that's ever happened to me), we'll consider structuring a trip around where we'll lay our heads at night. This is also where the multiple tabs start happening ... from i-escape to Mr. and Mrs. Smith to Tripadvisor, we meticulously comb through reviews, pros and cons, and transport considerations. This is the lengthiest phase and one that I give up on easily.

Phase 4: The Spreadsheet. To help organize our trip, as well as to keep track of costs, John creates an Excel spreadsheet that magically calculates the cost of a 3-night stay in a luxury resort with a few clacking of the keys. Since I get a serious case of #smugface when I manage to merely sort and filter columns in Excel, I stay away from this phase, except to occasional tap John on the shoulder while he's working away to whisper things like, "I want to stay in the chocolate hotel. Okay? The one with the chocolate. Facing the mountain." (It's this one in St. Lucia, in case you're wondering.)

Phase 5: The Commitment. This phase involves a credit card and is the one that I fear the most ... heck, even buying flights back to Seattle freaks me out. But what if I got the wrong date? What if I change my mind? What if something happens and I can't go? What if this hotel has roaches and no one bothered to mention it? What if we missed that one Tripadvisor review that said the food gave them dysentery? WHAT IF? This is the point where, I run into the bedroom, pull the covers over my head, until John comes over with the laptop and goes, "Hello? Are you in there? Should I book it?" and I manage to squeak in agreement.

Totally. Useless.

Please tell me that you do better than this. How do you plan your trips? Do you enjoy it? Do you use Excel? Do you research chocolate hotels?

(And, also: Sri Lanka. YAY!!!)

Safe Travels

I tend to blubber a lot when I see Runawaykiwi: we both teared up while trading stories of homesickness over Venezuelan arepas in January; I got misty-eyed when I recounted how generous she'd been in sharing blogger advice with me over bowls of ramen; and then, while we brunched at Sweet Thursday, I had a lump in my throat when she presented this necklace to me (which she'd made, natch).

What can I say? We eat a lot; we cry a lot. All the emotions.

Traditionally, the St. Christopher's shield is often worn as a pendant by travellers to keep them safe on their journeys. The silver necklace above, cast in the shape of St. Christopher's shield and inscribed with the words, "safe travels", is Rebecca's own unique take on the medallion.

From one traveller to another, this necklace is a truly special gift - and one that will accompany me on all my travels.

Thank you, Rebecca. I'll try not to cry next time we meet.

Lunch @ The Twenty Six, Tunbridge Wells

Hey. How was your weekend? We met up with our friends Joe and Jodi in Tunbridge Wells, where they live with their sweet dog Darcy, and their (even sweeter!) 9-month-old, Elizabeth (she sits with one leg tucked daintily beneath her, and her favorite book is one about dragons. In. Love.).

Joe and Jodi are old friends ... all the way back to our Oxford days. Jodi's American and met Joe (who's Irish) while studying abroad at Catz (the same way I met John - I know, we're such walking cliches!) and they were married in the ultimate, romantic setting in Tuscany a few years ago. Joe's one of John's best friends, and we've all been close ever since (also, our names all start with "J", which is both funny and weird!). Before Elizabeth was born, they moved to Tunbridge Wells and bought a house, which they renovated and it looks amazing. All that space! An American fridge! A PANTRY. An American snack drawer! A DRYER. I could go on and on.

When we visited them in Tunbridge Wells this weekend, Jodi made reservations at The Twenty Six - a test kitchen by Chef Scott Goss with an ever-evolving menu that's different every day. As you know, I'm really excited about seasonal eating, and the winter-warming dishes on Saturday's menu really appealed to me: small plates of beetroot and goats cheese or smoked haddock rarebit served as starters to bigger plates like the venison stew and mash (pictured above).

I wish I'd taken a picture of the interior to show you, as it's really something special. More Scandi ski-lodge than Tunbridge Wells, there are twenty-six seats for twenty-six people (get it?) and the decor is all rustic wood and simple, striped cloth napkins. Scrabble letters spelled out the name of our reservation, and the venison stew was served in a gorgeous, copper pot. It really felt as though we were dining at someone's kitchen table (or chalet!) rather than at a restaurant.

I also wish I'd known that the venison stew would be so delicious, as I ended up picking from John's plate, instead of focusing on my own (which was equally good) cep and pearl barley risotto.

The pearl barley risotto was creamy, rich, and fragrant. The addition of chestnuts was a welcomed surprise, though it also meant that the dish became a little too filling for me (even as I reached over to pick at John's plate ... forcing him to eventually ask, "Do you want to trade?" as I wordlessly took his plate from him. #sorrynotsorry).

As we chatted and watched in delight as Elizabeth gummed away at cucumber slices and pesto pasta (she doesn't have a single tooth yet! Sweetness.), I thought about what a luxury it was to eat in a restaurant that wasn't in London, where we weren't pushed out of our seats after the two-hour allotted time slot, or pushing our way through weekend crowds to where we needed to be. Everything felt simple. Easy. Relaxed.

For dessert, John and I split the rhubarb and ginger fool, which he hadn't expected to be as creamy as it was (John's not a fan of cream - weirdo).

Undeterred, I generously dug in with my spoon, helping myself to the candied ginger pieces on top of the cream, before diving into the rhubarb jelly underneath. It was a delicious, chilled winter dessert - proving that not all cold-weather desserts have to be hot puddings or warm cakes.

Before we left, we swept up pieces of rogue cucumber from the floor and had one more drink for the road before heading back to settle in front of Joe and Jodi's cozy fireplace.

A lovely weekend with friends, and one to keep in mind ahead of another busy week.

Jewellery With Meaning

Happy Friday. The weekend's so close, I can almost taste it. Can you?

I've written about wearing jewellery that's close to my heart before (both here and here), but I'd love to share with you a new(ish) bracelet that I've been wearing on and off lately.

This gold bangle was given to my mom by my dad after he visited Thailand many, many years ago. When I went home for Christmas, my mom said I could have it (on the condition that I took good care of it!) if I wanted to wear it, and because my wrist's so small (I have freakishly small wrists!), it fit me perfectly.

The bracelet depicts the animals of the entire Chinese Zodiac - I wear it so that the ox, tiger, and dragon face upwards, as they remind me of my family (yup, my mom is an actual tiger mom!).

I like having tangible reminders of home and of my family. After receiving emails for events I'd love to go to with my mom recently (a Jo Malone evening or a piano recital at King's Place), I'm feeling a little homesick and sad. Wearing this bracelet reminds me that she's just on the other end of the phone ... or FaceTime, or iMessage, or Instagram, as it seems to be the case these days!

What's a special piece of jewellery that you wear? Is it a family heirloom? I'd love to know.

Just In Time For Valentine's: A ChattyFeet Giveaway!

John and I love our ChattyFeet socks (I steal his Brad Feet socks whenever he's out of town because they look like him!). They're fun, cheerful, and comfortable.

The newest pairing of Danny and Sandy had us both laughing out loud.

Aren't they hilarious? They'd definitely fit right into the Dalston scene. I can see Sandy grabbing a milkshake with girlfriends at The Diner before meeting Danny for a date at Rio Cinema. And best of all, since Danny looks like a plain black sock from the ankle up, John's going to wear them to work (though he did admit to occasionally slipping his shoes off under his desk when he's stressed - ha!).

Just in time for Valentine's Day, ChattyFeet is giving away 10 pairs of his 'n hers socks: 5 pairs of Danny & Sandy sets and 5 pairs of Commander Awesome & Venus sets. To enter, click on this link and follow the instructions. Which pair would you choose?

Giveaway ends on February 7th, and the winner will be selected on February 8th. Good luck!

Danny & Sandy were generously provided to us by ChattyFeet Socks, whose socks I genuinely love. Thank you for supporting the brands that support Angloyankophile!

Travel Link-Up: The Unexpected Benefits of Blogging

So. BUH-LOGGING.

I started writing this blog in 2010, but I didn't start "promoting" it until, maybe, a year or so ago.

What do I mean by "promote"? Well, I mean doing things like: tweeting links to posts, creating a Facebook page for my blog where people could effectively subscribe to and "like" my posts, signing up to Bloglovin' (another subscription platform), and joining blogger communities like Zomato, where I could meet other food-obsessed bloggers like me.

At that point, I was only very barely beginning to think of myself as a blogger. Before then, I'd shyly describe it as a "you know, a sort of thing, that I've got going on the side." Isn't that crazy? I wrote for four solid years and never thought of it as legit blogging.

I sat in a roomful of bloggers last weekend who've been blogging for 6 months, 1 year, or 2 years (at most) and not a single one of them hesitated to describe themselves as bloggers when introducing themselves. Yet, I did.

What was my hestitation?

I so wanted to be taken seriously. I still do. Truthfully? I was embarrassed by the "blogger" label. I thought that it'd incite a lot of eye-rolling and dismissive hand-waving. Because, you know, nowadays ... everyone has a blog, right?

And then there's my "real" job. I really like my job in publishing, and I'm so grateful for it - I know that hundreds of other applicants would love to be in my position and to have had the career trajectory that I've had. I know that I'm lucky to have gotten where I am without having to do a single stint of unpaid work experience or internship.

But maybe you've guessed from reading this blog that maybe - just maybe - my day job isn't everything.

And once I allowed myself to accept that?

Bingo.

I became a blogger.

I started writing posts like these, and made myself more vulnerable to my audience. In doing so, I started to build my readership, which inadvertently began a dialogue in the comments section of my posts.

And let me tell you: that's been one of the most rewarding benefits of blogging. I've told you time and time again: reading your comments makes my day. Hearing about your personal experiences, or how my story has reminded you of yours is a phenomenal bonus I receive from blogging.

And when I started following, chatting and conversing with other bloggers, well, then, I hit the jackpot. The blogging community is incredibly supportive. I've met some terrific bloggers that I'm now lucky to call friends. You know, when I was lying awake in bed at my parents' house this past winter break, mentally preparing myself for staring at the seat in front of me on the plane 72 hours later, my heart sank at the thought of leaving the comforting surroundings of my family home and returning to a grey, cold, and unfriendly London. But then I remembered that I had brunch planned with Rebecca of Runawaykiwi and that Robin, who pens the beautifully-written Second Floor Flat, was just on the other end of an email if I wanted to talk, talk.

And my heart lifted a bit. It lifted a lot, actually.

So that's definitely one of the most surprising benefits I've discovered about blogging: I didn't expect to make so many new friends. Friends who are incredibly generous with their time and friends who are incredibly generous with their knowledge. Friends who are incredibly generous with their kindness.

The free meals, products, and PR parties? That's all icing on the cake, for sure. I'd be lying if I didn't say I enjoyed those "benefits" very, very much. But the friendships?

Just ... amazing.

Becoming a blogger has been a humbling experience. It's made me realize that, while my experience may be unique, there are thousands of other writers out there expressing the very same things I've strived to express in a thousand, beautiful different ways: love, heartache, wonder, worry, amazement, and excitement.

And yeah. I'm a blogger.

Photo by Emily Tapp, taken at About Time Magazine's SETSessions. Check out other bloggers' inspiring stories about the unexpected benefits of blogging on Emma, Kelly, and Rebecca's blogs.