Dirty Laundry (by "Judy")


Between March 1-6, I spent quality time with "companions", sampling "authentic" British fare in the London pub scene.


March 1 - Porterhouse Pub - Covenant Gardens, North London

a pint of Guiness      +6
Full bodied, rich, and properly poured. Indistinguishable, however, from Boston brew, save it was the only black in the bar.


chips and fish      +4
Reversed presentation of bland-tasting English fave...lotsa chips and a couple of frozen fish-stick tasting filets. Too busy fending off the tuna-flavor of a New Jersey girl to sample the fish.


March 2 - The Skittles Pub - West Hempstead, near the Heath, North London

London Broil      +5
Attractive 'cause of name, but quickly dissuaded by prospect of mad cow. Washed down with a cheap Australian Shiraz suggested by our No. Californian waiter who had given up on his life of continental couth culture. After noticing that a couple of companions had spent an inordinate amount of time at "the bar", search party revealed a hidden passageway in which we uncovered the last authentic London Rules skittle alley in the world. After "tossing a couple cheese" (which I am doing quicker in my old age), finished the meal, and was instructed to ask for an authentic dessert. Obliged by asking Lance for a "spot of dick", which he appeared eager to satisfy. Was ridiculed for remainder of trip for mishearing "a spotted dick". And the difference would be?

Bartender happily clarified the need to go to the Guinness plant in Ireland for the good stuff, where they take the water from the particular sludge ridden river which gives it its flavor. Thought of the Jersey girl.


March 3 - Home Cooking - St. Alban's, Hertfordshire

Jacket Potatoes
w/ beans on toast
      +8
The beefeaters can do wonders with unseasoned potatoes (pronounced potatoes), as they suit them up with all the fixin's: canned baked beans, a little monterey jack, and a few strands of the allergic feline dander which my friend graciously offered up. When his hot wife began dancing to Kylie Minogue, it all became worthwile. Also learned not to swig the dram of Glenfyditch, as it's "a sophisticated, sipping drink." Regardless, I soon found myself in the street screaming the "Redcoats are coming, the Redcoats are coming."


March 4 - Porter's Pub - Covenant Garden, North London

Braised Faggots      +9
Can you fucking believe it? Braised Faggots.

Two succulent balls of seasoned meat, coated with a translucent sauce. Accompanied nicely by an Italian Chianti, really brought out the bloody flavor.


Spotted Dick      +9
The grail had been found.

There it was, staring up at me on the menu. Could not have been more tantalizing. I quickly waved to the tall, skinny, impeccably groomed service man, and proclaimed my desire for "a Spotted Dick to go with my Braised Faggots please". Nothing could have tasted sweeter then the repeated smooth texture of the creamed custard dick, first carressing my tongue, seeping over its protruding buds, slipping to the back of my throat, and sliding down my alimentary canal, over and over again, thrusting the spoon into my mouth, accompanied by a few pickled sultanas. Evening was capped off with a cigarette, given by the spritely lass who stole a menu for me, as a permanent reminder of the time we shared together.


March 5 - Cornish Pastie Shoppe - St. Albans

Traditional Cornish Pastie      +4
As best I can tell, contrary to the American version, a cornish pastie is neither sweet tasting, nor ample. Indeed, it is reminiscent of a bland canoli, wrapping beef and onions in a pie crust and baking. It tasted like the smell in one's flatulent grandmother's kitchen. Mmm...Mmmm.

Travel Note: Despite its name, there was no corn in the pastie, nor anything otherwise reminiscent of corn.


March 6 - American Airlines - SkyChef Air Gourmet, somewhere over Iceland

Salmon Bricks
w/ baby bell cheese
      -2
Salmon tasted like cardboard. Sincerely, it tasted exactly like the cardboard I tasted in my youth. Saving grace was the "bleu cheese" baby bell wedge which could make anything taste funky. Five hours after taking my companion's unwanted wedge and storing it next to the SkyMall catalogue, my entire row soon discovered the pungency of Eaud cuisine. A perfect complement to the lack of taste of the british people...except for the artifacts which they stole from the countries which they raped over the past 300 years and ceremoniously demonstrate in their museums as memorial to a glorious time since past, in which their self-righteousness was only surpassed by their high culture.

But still better than Canada.

P.S. Did not include the feminine flavours in this culinary report. Similarly tasteless, misguidedly pretentious, but that is another report.



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