Your Royal Sweetness

I love British cakes.  I specially love the creamy ones which, though laden with stuff, are never overwhelmingly sweet.  At least not to the level of their sugar-packed American descendants.  The Christmas cakes are such interesting visual treats as well, to add to my delight.  A sampling from the local Sainbury’s for instance:

A “madeira cake” –

How cute is that? A sleeping polar bear, and note the little Christmas pudding beside it!

    A fruit cake:

Reindeer and sleigh....

A…. chocolate cake (I think)….

Rudolph, someone squished your red nose onto the packaging!

and an “iced cake” (fondant) with a small poinsettia decor –

Prettily decked with a little poinsettia....

Speaking of poinsettias (and other Christmas icons), we have no tree or Christmas decor in the house, on this my first Christmas in England.   According to the Hubster, his Christmas tree is probably the one we saw at his parents last weekend.  Since he had spent his last 5 Christmasses with me in the US or Canada, he left the tree to them instead.  So, 2 nights ago, when we stopped by the Co-Op, and I picked the reddest poinsettia on the last minute to brighten up our living room.   Well, hopefully it’s doing the trick best as it can:

Yes, that's an antique safe that we use as a side table in the living room.

I cannot believe that Christmas is but 6 days away– the calendar pages are just flying.  I have yet to catch the Holiday spirit.  We did our Christmas shopping for (his) family three days ago, …. in addition to the gifts I brought over from the States, at a huge mall called the Trafford Centre.  The hubby reminds me that I haven’t chosen yet what I want for a Christmas gift.  But truth is, I don’t know that I want anything.  At this point, I am just overwhelmed with the stuff I have yet to move across an ocean.  And, I honestly am alright without a fancy gift for Christmas.  It’s really not the material things, and I mean it.  Besides, I’m also thinking to myself… “man, don’t you get it that for a change I want to be surprised?”  I just don’t want to be bothered wracking my brains for something that he has to buy. 

Anyhoo, the hubby is (fingers crossed) done with his site consults next week, and we can spend more time together going around, enjoying Christmas without being hampered by work.  Maybe we can watch a good movie, or drive around, or watch a play or concert.  On my agenda of “to-do’s” in this life is a live experience of Nine Lessons and Carols at King’s College …. but realistically that will probably come a couple of years from now still.   I keep reminding myself I should stop feeling like England is a place I just visit.  It is in fact supposed to be “home” for the next couple of years, until we move to the US “in due course” (his words).  So I really want my first English Christmas to be Christmassy, and really memorable.  I want to be able to recall it in a flash and vividly.  Hopefully, we’re getting there, on our way to the holiday spirit, …. and counting.

To Be Or Not To Be — Adorably

Emmy-award winning Scottish actor, Brian Cox, coaches “Theo” to quote the third soliloquy of The Bard’s Hamlet.  This little kid is very talented (note how he catches the inflections of his drama teacher ….), and woh— those curls!!!!!

 

p.s.,  What’s not to love about that accent — even if uttered by a child!!

The Hot Water Bottle As Heating System

I first came across it in the Next store in Manchester more than a month ago.  It looked interesting enough — a colorfully knitted, flat-ish, matryoshka-design doll, lying among the “specials” arranged by the entrance to the women’s section.  But when I lifted it, it was heavier than I expected and had a wobbly feel to it.  What on earth is this?  I looked at the tag, and, surprise, surprise …. found out that this knitted “matryoshkha doll” was but a casing that housed a hot water bottle underneath.  Curious, I asked the sales attendant what exactly it was for.  “It’s something you can bring with you to bed to keep your bed warm.”  Oh.  Ok.  How ingenius I thought. 

I would soon find that this in fact is a popular Christmas item in most stores — at least among women and ladies.  (Note:  Hubby didn’t know that these hot water bottles came in “designs”, although he DID confirm that warming beds with hot water bottles was fairly common).  That’s one thing I’ve had to adjust to, coming over to the UK.  I used to gripe a lot about how cold it was/is/can be here in the UK, in response to which the Hubby would often remind me that “It’s not even close to the kind of cold you have in Chicago.”  Which is very true, … and for a while there I couldn’t figure why it just felt colder here in the UK.  THEN IT DAWNED ON ME.  The reason was largely due to the fact that in Chicago, once I get INDOORS of anything — a store, a building, even the bus – there would be heat.  The condo where I live in Chicago has centralized heating (with each condo unit having its own regulator to switch on and off) as part of your monthly association dues.  Over here (UK), you have to knock the heat on and it takes a while for the radiator to get busy.  And you can’t just keep the heat on forever because it is expensive.  So we usually keep it on by the hour and dab to extend the timer if the house isn’t warm enough.  Of course, we DO have a small fireplace which mostly heats just the living room, leaving all other rooms cold.  So the best, most efficient, low-cost and maintenance way to warm your bed?  A water bottle, of course.    Who woulda thunk?   

These loveable little heating systems are found in ALL the major stores.  They come in the guise of dolls, reindeers, cows, — and just as they are, hot water bottles but in their winter coats:

From Next:

From John Lewis:

For a while while searching I had thought TopShop was spared this wonder of a merchandise…. until I looked  underneath at the lower rungs — aha, there you are hiding….

And in that girl-paradise of a store, Accessorize (the stand-alone accessories store of the Monsoon chain):

And even the Charlie-and-Lola series have their own.  I found these in an indie store on Cockburn street in Edinburgh:

There is a  small side story to all this, closer to home:  A few days ago, at the end of an 8-hour overnight flight from Chicago to Manchester, I came home to an house underheated due to the hubby being away on an off-site project.  Extremely tired, I barely made it through the usual post-flight cleaning up routine, and finally dragged myself to bed, ready to plop and bracing myself for the cold bed.  Guess what little surprise I found tucked underneath my blanket, all filled up with hot water? –

AH, THE BRITISH.  UNDERSTATED, BUT NEVER UNDER-ROMANTIC.

~Holiday Note~

This is still Miss Chicago, in a different “dress”.  I’ve decided to change my blog’s appearance just for the Christmas holidays — Christmas colors.  Christmas theme.  Even the falling snow.  I promise to revert everything to “normal” after the holidays.  :)  This year is going to be my first Christmas in the UK — far from old home, family and friends but nearer to new ones.   I arrived in Manchester from the Windy City 3 days ago, just before the snow and cold got EVEN worse.  I miss it already.  Good thing is that the harsh cold while I was there has made whatever they have here pretty easy to manage.  Weather-wise that is.

I am documenting everything about this year’s English Christmas (or should I say “British Christmas” to be politically correct?).  At least the highlights, so watch for it.  ;)  For some strange reason, while it is really never even close to as cold here in the UK as it is in Chicago (where I left under -20F weather, yes there is a minus in front of the number and yes, that is Fahrenheit), it somehow always feels colder here.  Warmth I guess operates on all levels, not just externally; and I am optimistic that things are thawing somewhat somehow over here.

Happy Christmas — which is how they say it here, more than “Merry Christmas”.  and I am wishing this Christmas will be toasty and memorable.

Thanksgiving Post-Op

This is largely a stub post, so I don’t forget what happened this year on Thanksgiving with me on this side of the Atlantic, and the hubby on the other.  I returned to Chicago from CowTown the day before Thanksgiving.  Did the usual 9 hours straight, with multi-purpose stops…. gas, use the restroom, and grab a quick drink or cookie.  At the end of the drive, where all I ate was a  cheap hotdog and lots of blueberries (let those antioxidants at work while I drive), I was, well, tired and hungry,– surprise surprise.   The nice coincidence is that my best buddies who are based in Kansas City were in Chicagoland area – for a totally different reason other than to visit me.  They took the time out to drag me out of my apartment for food.  We went to the new Sun Wah.  “New” because it  moved from its former home of 20 odd years on Argyle  a few steps east, on Broadway.  Sun Wah is one of the  hubby’s favorite Chinese restaurants in Chicago.  Well, actually, one of many.  He loves Chinese food (I wonder why?  ), and agrees that the Chinese food in Britain does not compare to the ones in the US.  Notwithstanding the sizeable mainlander Chinese and Hongky population in the UK.  We ordered a white fish in black bean sauce, a large portion of honey pork belly and char-shiew (see below….)

bittermelon in beef,  ma po tofu, and soup (their “small” fed all 3 of us a bowl each plus spare); we also had 3 portions of rice, 3 rootbeers and a coke.   Burp.  I was a piglet, and we had a ton of leftovers to box up to bring home.  The bill came to a grand figure 51 dollars which included a 10.25% tax.  That means, pre-tax the bill was around 46 dollars or roughly under 28 British pounds.  Best of all, it all tasted delicious.  I don’t know that you could get a deal like that in the UK.  I went home stuffed, exhausted from the long-drive, and too happy to be back in my own bed.  I had the perfect sleep.  

Next day, … Thanksgiving, great….  What do we do? I had totally made no plans, having hit the ground running and kept going since I flew into the States 2 weeks earlier.  Carla and Rose (my Spanish teacher) were supposed to come over to my place for dinner.  But Carla has a new apartment, and this time, we agreed to use her kitchen.  As expected, Rose was late (to be fair, she had to work, even on Thanksgiving, …. ay pobrecita!), and Carla could only make the salad (following everything in the recipe book to the letter).  We had no turkey, … so I whipped up what best I could manage.  Anyway, in the end it’s all about having good wine and wonderful conversation and bonding time.   Never mind that I was half-groggy most of the time. :)  

Around 8:30 I had to go home over Carla’s insistence that I just sleep over.  I still wanted my own, familiar bed.  We were planning on our Black Friday activities just as I headed off.  I promised Carla I would look into the coupons I could use the next day and would call so that we can plan which stores hit the next day.  That call didn’t happen.  I intended to wink, but woke up the next morning.  But no one took it against me.  Carla let me sleep in heavenly peace without calling to follow up. 

I still woke up at 7:30 the next day, and yes, we did the post-Thanksgiving American tradition of shopping like it was an Olympic sport, although we played like a Third-World team.  Never mind, we saved more money that way. :p

Yeah, Thanksgiving was alright.  Wish you were here, hub.

The Pilgrims made seven times more graves than huts.  No Americans have been more impoverished than these who, nevertheless, set aside a day of thanksgiving.  ~H.U. Westermayer  

Hilarious

I read this blog post of an American’s observation on the British gal’s Saturday night attire.  I couldn’t agree with it more, and I just could not stop laughing.  Finally — my sentiments/observations exactly! – and I could not express it as hilariously! 

Flashback:  Not too long ago, while in town on Saturday in Manchester (UK), I once commented about how “different” British girls dressed on weekends.  [Note: I was honestly thinking "slutty", but the diplomatic "different" came out of my mouth.]  My husband (then boyfriend) beamed proudly and said “yeah, women here really fixed themselves nicely when they go out.”  OH.MY.GOD.

~Unless You’re Dealing With A Shyster~

This is part-gripe, part-info.  But mostly gripe.

Insider info about lawyer services, which not many who seek lawyer services understand.

Clients usually set 3 standards for lawyer services.

1. They want the advice to be GOOD (i.e., thorough and reliable).

2. They want the advice to COST LOW (I hesitated to say “cheap”).

3. They want the advice to be given/available FAST (“can you provide me the answer NOW?”).

Alas, Life holds its few truths and one of them is that you very rarely can have all 3. You can only the service meet 2 standards at a time. Thus –

1. If you want the advice good and to cost low, you can’t have it fast.  Wait in our queue of jobs till we get to your file.

2. If you want the advice to cost low and rendered fast, it won’t be reliable or complete.

3. If you want the advice quickly and good, it WILL cost you, so keep the checkbook fat and ready.

And if your find a lawyer who promises that he can provide you all 3, he/she is either:

1. in love with you (Take advantage of this period of non compos mentis before his/her feet touch the ground!)

2. is not really licensed attorney. 

3.  Most likely, he/she’s just lain lying.  What haven’t we learned about anything that is too good to be true?  

A final note, if you’re for free legal advice, we don’t mind those once in a while. In fact, they come plenty-in-a-while, and yeah we take ‘em.   But please tone down on the cheekiness.  Case in point, I was asked (via a social networking website) to represent a person in court (Insult Number 1: me? go to traffic court?.  And he is an acquaintance not a friend). Said he couldn’t make it to court because he had an appointment on that day to go jet-skiing with his girlfriend. ohhhhh-kaaay. I turned him down flat-out. And graciously (with much effort to do it that way) told him I was not licensed to appear in Cow State’s local courts. Bless his insolent 22-year old heart (yup… THAT generation). No decent lawyer would cover for you that way. And worse, we’ll only be appalled by your gall.

I am sure I will pull this blog entry down in a few days.   But for now I’m keeping it up just because I need to gripe.

Comfort Food

It’s a funny thing about being away :  When I come ”home” to the US, I catch myself ”missing” food I used to take for granted.  I want tastes that are familiar.  Sweetness that’s sinful; saltiness that shoots your blood pressure out of the stadium; and deep-fries that churn out oil shamelessly, in OPEC proportions.  I want huge chunky pieces in my ice cream, drippin’ juiciness in my hotdogs, everything with “everything on it” overflowing from containers that can barely contain all that weight.  Yup.  I want the all the overload and diversity that American food is known for.   

And all this gets deadlier in CowTown (can you guess yet where that is?) — where I drive down to everytime I fly back to Chicago.  Middle America is not known for healthy food.  Not here where you can buy $10 worth of food for $3.  But after a stressful day taking care of client’s needs, I feel the need to reward myself with comfort food.  Now more than ever, when I will be returning soon to a country where I can buy GBP2.00 worth of food for GBP10.00 –AND be charged 10 pence for ketchup.

Since I arrived less than 10 days ago, I’ve swung quite a broad range of food.  Ethnic to American.  I’ve eaten at ChoGa while in Kansas City (Overland Park, actually, in the ”Kansas side” of Kansas City).  I love Korean small plates (“banchan” — appetizers that generously come with your main course) :

and my favorite main dish from that restaurant is the “seafood and mushroom soon to fu.”  Very spicy (*Korean spicy is DANGEROUSLY spicy) and …. healthy.

And good ol’ Culvers for a big, fat juicy “Deluxe bacon” hamburger:

and oh-so-comforting dessert, i.e., my strawberry shake –

Yum, yum.  I’m lucky that I have a metabolism that still hasn’t given up on me.  I hope it never does.  There’s too much food out there to enjoy.  And anyway, let’s not forget that on days when I work and overwork, I do the “appropriate” thing of settling for good ol’ this –

La vie est trop courte pour boire du mauvais vin. 

“Bee British”

Even for a non-breakfast eater like me, I love the full English breakfast.  There’s nothing like it.  The heaviness and sinfulness of it all.  It’s a “The Works” kind of morning meal.  You have tea or coffee, and milk and juice, toast with marmalade, beans, bacon, sausages, sometimes black pudding, mushrooms, sunny-side up eggs (called “fried eggs”), baked beans and grilled tomatoes.  You can ask for “sauce” which translates to ”ketchup”, or “brown sauce” which translates to ….uhm… some brownish sauce.

A couple of weeks ago, I was indulging in a bit of retail therapy at a local mall (Note:  Purchases count –  Zilch.  NONE.  None with these kinds of prices, sorry).  By 2:00 p.m., the ol’ tummy began to complain and I decided to look up the food court perhaps for a pie and coffee.  I came across a little “french cafe and boulangerie” with a sign announcing that ”English Breakfast is Served All Day”, and I happily tell myself — yup that’s what I would like to have.  So, in I go, and precisely THAT, I ordered.

At the end of lunch, as I was waiting to pay, I noticed my unfinished toast moving.  When I moved the bread aside, I found a wasp (bee?) that just won’t go away.

Kept moving around — and wouldn’t leave –

But hey, when in Rome, right?  And therefore as part of my cultural immersion in this side of the pond, I do as the British.  I –

I paid up, said my polite thank-you’s, and left the place with nary a complaint.  In fact, for a while I debated whether to do the responsible thing of warning the food attendant, lest she be stung while clearing the plates.  My recently-acquired sense of propriety however tells me the more prudent thing is to let it be, and just walk away.  And that I did.

That night, I told C about this experience, every little detail –

Me :  …. and then I found a WASP in my food.  I mean, I don’t mean a WASP white anglo saxon protestant like you.  I meant a wasp-wasp.  You know, the insect.  

C (with British calm and reserve):  Oh you did?…

Me :  Yes, I did.  And you would be proud of me, because I reacted in a very British way :  The very British thing to do when you see a wasp creeping on your toast….

C :  (cutting in)  YOU ATE IT?

Yup.  Gotta love them.

The Red Socks Play in Edinburgh

What’s with British men and their socks? 

I took lunch at the “Simply Food” section of UK’s “most trusted retail store”, Marks & Sparks, on Princes Street, Edinburgh.  An English gentleman comes in, very distinguished looking, snappily dressed, — the whole package complete with BBC accent and cutting wit (he was trading barbs with the guy behind the counter).  Nice suit.  Red scarf.  He walked with long strides and I could see — woh, crimson red SOCKS to match his red scarf. 

So I took out the secret camera.  And here he is.

 

How quirkily cool!!!  Oh these British men.  As you know, they only LOOK straight and narrow, but they have their edge and kooky side hidden somewhere.  Keeps you on your toes.  And that,…  I like.

And this I-caught-you-with-edgy-socks-underneath-conservative-dress experience is not unique to me.  See this.