English food, good? Quoi??

Today I finally had good- nay, fantastic- food in London. That's not to say that everything I'd eaten til now had been abjectly disgusting, but none of it had been amazing (probably due to the fact that Britons are obsessed with meat and it's nearly impossible to find a decent selection of pescatarian/vegetarian tasties). I mean let's face it, London: you do a lot of things well, but food isn't exactly one of them (unless you are one of the few who adore various odd organs of sheep, cow, etc). Of course, the food I had today wasn't exactly native British cuisine (pretty sure hummus didn't originate anywhere near the fair Isles), but still- it was food, it was good, and it was in the UK. So that's got to count for something.

I happened upon the fabulous 'Hummus Bros' today on my way back from a flat-viewing (more on that later), when I was in the lovely first stages of food/water/sodium (according to my neurologist)-deprivation which for me involves short periods of blacking out whilst still remaining lucid and being only just able to remain upright. No big deal. Anyway, when this happens I know it's time to stop for a bit of a snackie. So I popped into the first place I found that looked remotely affordable, and it happened to be my NEW FAVORITE, Hummos Bros. I ate alone and didn't even feel like a loser, that's how good it was. I was too busy thinking about how DAMN GOOD the hummus was to worry if anyone was thinking, 'Wow, why is that wee American girl sitting all by herself with nary a book or magazine to distract her?" (Though to stave off any excessive staring I did text the lovely Stephen during my meal, just so everyone would know I *did* actually have friends.)

Anyway, get this-- this place is actually a HUMMUS BAR. Aka, you order hummus as a base and then add in stuff to go in the middle of the plate-- chickpeas, chicken, salad, WHATEVER. And of course it comes with pita bread. What I didn't know when I ordered was that this is the BEST PITA BREAD EVER- yes, better than the stuff I had in Morocco- AND, that beverages are always half-price if you're student (which in case you've been living under a rock, I AM). So all that to say, Hummus Bros is my new fave and if you come visit me here in London (which you should), I will probably drag you there and you will be obligated to say that you love it.

Because not only do they have amazing, cheap food suitable for vegetarians, but it also provided me with a much-needed link to home (whatever that even means to someone who grew up in about twenty hundred different places). Yes, I know I'm not Middle Eastern (though let's face it- loads of people I come across think I am. Okay, two people I've come across think I am.)... but hummus (and maybe having a good food experience in general) reminds me of things that are familiar to me. When I sat down in Hummus Bros and tasted the best hummus I've had in a LONG-ASS TIME, it reminded me of the amazing hummus I had (nearly every day, because our cafeteria food sucked some serious patootie) when I was in Morocco- which just happens to be the same place I made some of the most amazing friends ever. And when the dear little waiter came over and tried to get me to pour weird garlic-lemon sauce all over my already-perfect dish, it reminded me of how my lovely Stephen made the mistake of buying flavored hummus for our Bible study group and I bitched at him because everyone KNOWS that I think flavored things are unnatural, and then next time he came prepared with Original flavor hummus with nothing weird and extra added.

So thank you, Hummus Bros, for a) being awesome AND cheap, and b) giving me a strangely tangible link to some of my favorite people and memories. I'll be back soon :).

Waste not, want not!

Apparently, despite our horrible reputation as the biggest wastrels on the planet, Americans are actually quite thrifty. And British people, as it turns out, are not. (Not that I am making sweeping generalizations here at all.) The most recent incident that proves this hypothesis took place in a nice little pub in the London borough of Chiswick:

After ordering risotto [possibly the only vegetarian option on the menu-- did I mention that British people are also decidedly in love with meat?? There was, I swear, a 'meat plate' on the menu, and every dish seemed to feel the need to contain not one but TWO OR MORE types of meat, e.g. 'chicken and ham pie'. Wtf??], I was unable to finish the entire portion. Being like any normal American, and- I thought- normal PERSON, I of course asked for the remainder to be boxed up to go. After being looked at like I had sprung a second, third, and fourth head, I was told that unfortunately they were unable to accommodate such a [bizarre] request. (The 'bizarre' was added in by me- but you could tell from the gentleman's face that he was thinking it.) But, being American, I of course decided not to give up (how do you think we won the Revolutionary War??). So I asked for some foil. "I'll see what I can do... Just for you, love," was the gentleman's response. (Even though he thought I was weird he still called me 'love'- how cute.)

Well, after waiting, five, ten, nay, fifteen minutes for my foil, I pretty much had given up on outside help, so I took matters into my own hands. I looked around the table for something suitable and disposable in which to store leftover risotto and came up empty-handed. Then one of my friends conveniently told me that the glasses we were drinking out of come free to restaurants from the drink company (thank you, Pimm's!). By now you've probably guessed what I did, but if not, I will tell you. With my guilt over stealing assuaged by the fact that the glasses were FREE, I surreptitiously and expertly shoved my risotto into my empty water glass, covered it with a napkin, sealed the napkin with a hairband et voila! My very own (reusable, eco-friendly) doggie bag. If you're wondering how I surreptitiously and expertly smuggled my doggie bag out of the pub, I will tell you that too: in my friend's wee Accessorize bag, of course! Granted, about five minutes later my dear waiter came back with an entire ream of foil and I had to pretend that I'd already consumed the remaining risotto whilst in fact stashing it under the table, but still- a fairly genius improvisation, no? You're welcome, America, for restoring your name as a land of innovation, and you're welcome Britain for transplanting my thrifty genius to your shores.

Pictures of my doggie-bag adventure to come... Time to go eat my leftover risotto!

Apartment-hunting... oops i mean *flat*-hunting...

Flat-hunting in London is a form of art. It involves timing, street-smarts, and fooling complete strangers into thinking you're normal just long enough that they agree to let you a room, at which point you can begin to show your true colors (though I recommend waiting to do this until all your things have been moved in-- it makes it much more difficult for them to surreptitiously remove you if they've got to lift your 80-pound suitcase).

But first things first-- before even meeting your potential future flatmates, you've got to become expert at spotting dodgy ads. Craigslist and Gumtree will tell you not to make any transactions involving Western Union lest your money end up funding gun-runners in Outer Mongolia and the like, but I will tell you it's much more complicated than that. You've got to learn to spot the Socially Awkward lot, the Just Want Some Contact with Girls lot, the Forget to Wash a Dish and We'll Evict You lot, and any and all lots that could be fronts for prostitution rings. Not to mention learning how to spot key words that are dead giveaways to a crap living situation. For example: "Roomshare" means you will likely be sharing a room-- nay, a bed-- with anywhere from one to three persons of assorted gender, any and all of whom may at some point try to get in your pants. "Cozy" means you will likely be inhabiting a space roughly the size of a postage stamp. "Central" can mean anywhere from a five to sixty-five minute commute to the center of the city where you wish to live/work/etc. And I will tell you this for free, anyplace in London that unconditionally offers you 'pet-friendly' accomodations will likely take your money, run, then come back for your shoes, socks, and trousers, and run again.

Thankfully I managed to learn most of these things without actually ever having to share a bed with three assorted people or getting my shoes taken (Mama didn't raise no fool)... Though I shouldn't speak too soon-- I have yet to actually secure a room in a flat, and am currently waiting for a call from someone whose flat I viewed yesterday and would very much like to occupy. It feels a bit like being that desperate girl who sits by her phone all day hoping her mediocre date from last night will call... not that I would know ;).