Foolish Questions

You didn’t think I was just going to devote only one post to the concept of One-Pot-Meals did you? Heavens, no! Oh, dear, I’ve been in England too long! I’m starting to sound like one of those poncy fellows who hang out at the local, kitted out in tweeds with leather patches on the elbows, nursing a pint of cider and remarking on how the weather is very unusual this year. “There has been, according to the weather chappies, at least one point three millimeters more rain so far this year than the average”. Oh, dear God, it’s all too late, I’m using, no, worse, I’m thinking in the metric system! I’ll never be able to go back home! To the good ol’ US of A where the systems of measurement are still resolutely illogical and silly.

Oh, well. As I was saying, I have more informations on one pot meals. Not content with ginning up one pot meals that are much, much better than what KFC offers, British ingenuity has decided to go one further. Welcome to the Hot Can Christmas Dinner!

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So sorry, today I’m feeling a bit under the weather, which really doesn’t make any sense as on this day, in London, it’s cold, gloomy and rainy, and I pretty much feel just like that.

I seem to have finally caught up with one of the quadrillions of cold germs the Old World has in abundance. I blame the Tube. All kinds of sick people ride the Tube. Anyway, I’m not feeling especially writey or funny, though Mary is getting a bit of a laugh out of my pathetic mewlings. So Monday’s post will appear at a later date when I’m not adorning the laptop screen in spatterings of mucus and other, less amusing, bodily fluids.

In today’s post I take a look at some of the differences between the United States and England, without taking anyone’s side, whatsoever, even though it should be obvious by now that England shall emerge victorious. But I’m not biased.

I may have, once or twice, in the past, many years ago, said a disparaging thing or two about Kentucky Fried Chicken. It might be safe to say that if, someday, there was a reverse, deep-fried Rapture in which every KFC outlet in the world were taken up, leaving only a few scattered pools of congealing grease to mark their late, unlamented locations, I might give a quiet, understated fist pump. And maybe a little victory dance shuffle.

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We’ve had a bit of time to settle in and check out the neighborhood now. After we established that there were a sufficient number of pubs and wine bars nearby to ensure that we’d never have to worry about totally sobering up, we sought out grocery purveyors. Even though the City is primarily office buildings, there are apparently enough flats around here to support a pretty extensive group of grocery outlets.

What we’ve discovered thus far:

Tesco is the 363.6 kilo (work it out) gorilla in the grocery business. They seem to be the equivalent to Kroger and Safeway in the US. We consider them the lowest common denominator supermarket. Which isn’t the same as cheapest, as that apparently is Aldi. It is intriguing that you can encounter Tesco in a variety of sizes. There’s Tesco Express, which is pretty much a convenience store, though without the Slurpies. Then there’s the Tesco Metro, a mini-supermarket that has all the standard stuff like a small produce section, fresh bread, house wares such as soaps and sponges, though weirdly enough, no plastic containers. After the Metro, there are Superstores, which much like Ahab’s white whale we’ve only heard of but never seen. We understand these are much like American style supermarkets, though they sell meat pies, and thus are incomparably the superior of Safeway. And above that is the Tesco Extra, described as a hypermarket which frankly, sounds terrifying.

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A TV listing I’m pretty sure you’ll never see in the States:

BBC 2, 9:00pm, Dara O’Brian’s Science Club. Tonight, the world of theoretical physics.

The program is on BBC 2, which would be very roughly like broadcasting this on CBS. In prime time! And without commercials of course, so the whole sixty minutes of theoretical physics excitement is uninterrupted and completely fun free. I am, or was, an engineer and even I find the idea of watching sixty minutes of physics that I do not need for course credit intimidating and frankly, pretty much like a punishment. Maybe that’s the intent, English moms are all like, “Well, you children went ahead and set the cocker spaniel on fire, after I explicitly told you not to, so your punishment is that you have to stay up, past your bedtime, and watch a TV show about theoretical physics!”

“Aw, Mom!”

I learned something new the other day – winklepickers. I commented that the toes on men’s shoes here are getting so long and pointy that it’s just a shave and a haircut away from starting to curl up like those old shoes you’d see in Turkish harems in the movies. Yes, perhaps I might have watched a few too many movies set in Turkish harems, but then hasn’t everyone gone through that phase? Like this classic, which I just encountered a couple of months ago while channel surfing.  Anyway, Mary suggested I check out the wiki on winklepickers, which I’ve included here, because I’m all about sharing the informations. How shoes that rockers were wearing back in the Sixties have become bankers’ attire today is a complete and total mystery.

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So they replaced the Lord Mayor of the City of London this weekend, a position that is not the same as the Mayor of London. Yes, it is confusing, no wonder our predecessors all moved to the America, where we simplified things, like casting votes for our next President, so that the Electoral College can tell us who won.

As opposed to the United States, where parades usually involve giant chicken wire and tissue paper floats, high school marching bands, and let’s not forget the guys wearing fezzes riding in tiny cars, things in London are much more staid. The Lord Mayor’s Show has representatives from each of the Chartered Companies that represent the City. The Chartered Companies are the successors of the medieval guilds, such as the Candle Makers Guild, the Fletchers Guild and, of course, the Worshipful Company of IT Professionals. As you can see, new guilds are being created all the time, so that no one needs be left out.

Besides the Guilds there were a bunch of military marching bands, because apparently high schools don’t have their own marching bands here. I blame the lack of American style football. Besides that, there’s just a weird and wonderful miscellany of groups and vehicles that make up the rest of the parade.

The Lord Mayor’s Wheels

Apparently the Lord Mayor only gets to ride in this coach during the parade and it spends the rest of time in a museum. Which is a shame, since it’d be cool to get to ride around in this all the time. Though this year the coach broke down during the parade, even though it doesn’t have an engine, a stereo or even air conditioning. An axle seized up, just another example of shoddy Eighteenth century workmanship. The Lord Mayor had to finish the parade in a Land Rover, which seems a bit of a comedown.

And then there’s the list of things you don’t see typically in American parades:

Yeah, Snoopy, Bite On This. No, Bad, Dog, Bad Dog!!

My favorite float, and I mean float, literally this time, was the giant suspended rib roast sponsored by the Worshipful Company of Butchers. This is something you just cannot make up. There they were, a phalanx of butchers, aprons and all, marching down the street while towing their oversized meaty raison d’être. Those giant balloons of Snoopy in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade seem quaint by comparison.

Why Don’t Americans Have More Parades With Missiles In Them?

Anti-aircraft missile launchers. I can see how these might be useful to have if you’re ever under aerial attack from Liverpool. Actually, the day after the parade there was an article in the Telegraph with regards to how the City of Manchester was graciously offering to handle some of the overflow from Heathrow airport, so London wouldn’t have to build another runway. Perhaps this was a not too thinly veiled warning to Manchester not to try and horn in on London’s airport business.

Ignore The Long Skirt Like Cloaks, These Guys Are Bad!

Cavalry. Yeah, sometime you see kids wearing little cowboy outfits riding Shetland ponies in parades in the US, but here in the mother country they do things up right. Cavalry with sabers and polished brass helmets, yeah! Just putting the surrounding communities like Kensington and Mayfair on notice that the Queen has the Lord Mayor’s back. Or possibly it’s more complex, like the Queen is saying I have Household Cavalry and all you guys have are giant floating rib roasts, so just remember to whom you’re pledging fealty. Personally, if I had some Household Cavalry I’d have them just gallop up and down the main streets periodically, like a biker gang, so that everyone knows who is the Big Cheese.

Fear The Wicker Giants!

Gog and Magog. I even read the wiki on these and still have no idea why they are associated with the City of London. Somehow, I can’t see anyone really being intimidated by giant wicker statues.

Parades in the United States:

Parades in the United Kingdom:

‘Nuff said.

Back when I first visited the British Isles, one of my favorite things were the pubs. Today, some thirty years later, one of my favorite things are still the pubs. Now, back in the day, I’d hang out at whatever pub was closest to the cheap tourist hotel I could not really afford. I didn’t care what kind of pub it was, or how old it was, or whether it was completely overrun with other American tourists. It didn’t matter, because all I wanted to do was absorb the atmosphere, have a few pints, and then a few more, and at some point, shortly after eleven, stagger back to the hotel, singing ‘Rule Britannia”. And I didn’t even know the words.

Things have changed, as they inevitably do after all these years, what with the baldness, the sagging body parts and the inability of an older and less robust body to process obscene amounts of bitter. But, enough about my brother. Now pubs stay open later, and they aren’t closed through the afternoon, to reopen in the early evening. Smokers have to stand outside in the cold and the rain, about which I cannot find an appropriate comment. Many of the pubs are parts of chains, which have standardized things a lot, and not necessarily for the better. Still, even a chain pub is better than the vast majority of soul-destroying places you go to imbibe a beer  in the US, and yes, I am looking at you Hooters.

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We’ve heard that Halloween is starting to become a thing over here. You couldn’t tell it from the advertising or store displays though. We saw something every now and then, like Halloween donuts, which, yeah, I’m not seeing the point either. All the pubs put up some cobwebby stuff and serve guest ales that are Halloween themed, such as Skellington Ale, but that’s pretty much the extent of it. We surmise that some of the reasoning for adopting this ‘holiday’ was to promote partying, but really, Brits don’t need any excuse more extensive than, “Is it Tuesday? Well, let’s go down to the pub!”

Much like Americans, but even more so, the British are apparently deathly afraid that they might be caught out without enough starches to get them through the day, the week, or even the next hour. We’ve possibly gone native on this issue a little too enthusiastically, I will admit. There have been some incidents where a curry that contained potatoes was consumed with rice on the side. We may, or may not, have had mashed potatoes with gravy on the side of a Mowbray pork pie. Although we have observed others, we have not succumbed to the desire to have a side order of chips to accompany the Yorkshire pudding, that came with the entree. And then there was the couple that had each ordered fish and chips, with a side order of chips, because you know, they just never serve enough chips with the fish, so you have to order extra to make sure you won’t suffer from a deep fried starch deficiency.

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I cannot tell you how happy I am to be in a country that knows how to make a proper Gin and Tonic. Sure England’s known for so many other things, like being the birthplace of modern parliamentary democracy, James Bond and there’s always the invention of linoleum. Yeah, I didn’t know that last one either. But it’s the proper preparation of unparalleled alcoholic concoctions that I think is really the important takeaway here.

I’ve yet to encounter a bad G&T, indeed, every one I’ve had has been excellent. And you’d expect that, since the English invented the Gin and Tonic. It was originally a means to get people stationed in the Colonies to take their quinine (which has anti-malarial properties), since quinine is very bitter. And let’s face it, everything goes better with gin. On the other hand, Mary has not been quite as fortunate. She likes vodka gimlets, which were also purportedly invented in England (supposedly named after Surgeon General Sir Thomas D. Gimlette, KCB, who promoted the concoction as a means of inducing people to take lime juice to prevent scurvy). See, that’s what I like about this country. Need to take a medicine to prevent tropical or dietary diseases? No problem, just mix it with alcohol. Cold medicine would be so much better if we mixed it with tequila and called the resulting drink a Codeine Sunrise.

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Noted on the signboard of a local sandwich shop:

Tuna Mexican Salad Bap

A bap, for the uninitiated, is a small roll filled with whatever takes the fancy of the sandwich purveyor. In this case, the purveyor’s fancy appears to border on the demented. I lived in Southern California for years, and travelled to Mexico a fair number of times, and I can safely say that I have never seen anything remotely like a Tuna Mexican Salad, much less one in a bun. Mary thinks I should try it, but I believe it’s best to just accept the aforementioned bap as one of those never-to-be-explained mysteries and move on. I’d also like to avoid a case of near terminal indigestion, if possible.