I served American pancakes and bacon to my housemate Julia the other day, and she was so impressed that went out and bought ingredients for another breakfast, even inviting her boyfriend over to share in the delights.
“It’s an amazing taste experience,” she assured him. “I’m not usually keen on maple syrup, but it goes so well with the fluffy pancakes and salty bacon.”
I smiled broadly at these words in great relief, because the first time I tried to make American pancakes and bacon here in Nottingham, it was a culinary disaster on every scale.
I love to cook, and in my five years as a food writer, I’ve picked up plenty of expert tips along with extra confidence in the kitchen. So when I realized one day that I had a hankering for good old pancakes and bacon (though I adore the English version of pancakes, they are like crepes served with lemon juice and sugar), I breezily invited three Nottingham friends over to come share my feast.
But everything went wrong. Even though I’ve been flipping pancakes since I was 8 years old, try as I might I couldn’t manage to adjust the stove top to the all-important perfect temperature. The griddle I tried to use had ridges that made the pancakes impossible to turn, and, to make matters worse, my batter recipe was off. I ran out of plain flour and had to substitute self-raising flour halfway through, and my desperate attempts to “fix” it with extra milk and flour were pathetic, to say the least. So not a single pancake turned out well, and I rather embarrassingly had to serve a stack of pancakes with scorched surfaces and slightly runny middles.
Then there was the bacon. I do like English bacon, but those rounds of fried ham are what we call Canadian bacon. I’d been informed that streaky bacon was the closest British equivalent to American bacon, though it’s saltier. So while at Tesco’s, I bought a pack of what I thought was streaky bacon.
When I got it home and opened the package, I was puzzled because, while the strips of meat interlaced with fat looked like bacon, they were cut much too thick. So I took a knife and, with difficulty, shaved it thin into the bacon strips I know and love. I put them in the pan and fried away, hoping they’d magically transform into familiar bacon. Instead, a very un-bacony aroma filled the kitchen.
“This isn’t bacon, it’s just strips of regular pork!” I exclaimed. My housemate David dug the package out of the rubbish bin, and we laughed to read that I’d actually bought “streaky pork,” a fatty cut of pork that, as it turned out, nobody in the room liked.
By this time, though, the guests had assembled and there was no other food, so I set out the plate of dubious pancakes and dish of pork. There was also a large bowl of juicy Clementine oranges. That was it.
“Just pour over lots of maple syrup and it’ll be fine,” I told my friends. Because they are my friends, they assured me that the meal “really wasn’t that bad,” and David reminded me that he can eat anything.
“That’s true,” I said, digging into my plate of pancakes. Covered in syrup, they were passable, mostly cooked cakes, and at least the flavor was tasty. But then I tried the pork. It was disgusting—salty, chewy, fatty and pretty much inedible. Even David couldn’t eat it, and the others didn’t even try.
“These Clementines are so delicious!” one friend valiantly remarked, and we burst into laughter.
“I can’t believe it,” I told them, staring at the food. “This truly is the worst meal I’ve ever served.”
“That’s OK, Steph, we love you, anyway,” they chorused, and I was reminded of a favorite scene in the film Bridget Jones’ Diary, where Bridget serves a disastrous meal to great merriment and her friends toast her personality, if not her cooking skills.
My reputation was restored, however, when I made breakfast for Julia. This time I made sure I had all of the proper ingredients (including real streaky bacon), and I cooked them in a different, much better pan. The pancakes and bacon turned out beautifully, and Julia was charmed.
“So this is what Americans eat?” she asked, reaching for her fourth pancake. “It’s brilliant.”
My trip to Ireland may have been short and centered around Dublin, but I saw and did an amazing amount of great stuff in three days.
Dublin itself was a vibrant and compelling city with a fantastic vibe. I could've spent days exploring the museums and historic sites, along with eating my way through the restaurants and hanging out in the shops. It was, however, expensive, but this view over the River Liffey, running through the city centre was, thankfully, free.
Of course, what would Ireland be without green hills, in this case manmade green hills at the ancient mound of Knowth (near Newgrange).
Strangely enough, in all of the talk about Ireland's verdant hills and meadows, etc., I never really thought about it being an island, and therefore surrounded with lovely places to watch the ever-gorgeous sunsets, like on this beach in Skerries, where my companions and I waded out amongst the seaweed and rocks at low tide, getting just a little wet but thoroughly enjoying ourselves.
Back in Dublin, we toured Dublin Castle, long the seat of England's government in Ireland and, since the 1920s, the center of the Republic of Ireland. This drawing room, complete with screens to keep the fires' smoke from melting off fashionable ladies' elaborate wax and lead make-up, gives a window into an elegant era--for those lucky enough to be invited within, of course.
Of course we had to take a stroll past St. Patrick's Cathedral, but decided not to go in due to the admission fee. (I very much sympathize with those working to keep the old churches going with not enough funding, but something within me just rebelled at paying money to enter a place of prayer). However, the gardens were lovely and just bursting into springtime garb.
On our final day, we four drove to the mountains south of Dublin, where we did pay the €5 fee to explore Powerscourt Waterfall, the tallest waterfall in Ireland. It was worth it, I decided, gazing mesmerized for long moments into the falls.
Meanwhile, "me mate" Ruth stood happily in the spray.
Overall, the combination of ancient and medieval history, natural beauty and exciting city exploration was a perfect way to see Ireland on this, my first of (I hope) many visits.
The trouble with keeping up this blog is that I'm supposed to post regularly, even when I don't think I've got anything to say. Now, the idea that I have nothing to say right now is quite ridiculous, considering my last few days. I've seen marvelous things. Maybe not quite as marvelous as all that Howard Carter saw when he first peeked into Tutankhamun's tomb (I think "marvelous things" is the phrase he reputedly used), but pretty darn marvelous anyway. It's just that my last few days have been so chock full of experiences it is difficult to put them into words and not to simply resort to an itinerary. And since I've been going now for several days straight, I am very tired and my frazzled brain wants sleep and order and time to let these experiences "marinate," as my 7th-grade algebra teacher used to suggest when we'd learn a new concept like FOIL.
Probably the most marvelous sight was viewing the Book of Kells and the Long Room in the library at Trinity College Dublin. But I also saw the prehistoric sites mentioned before, including the engineering marvel of Newgrange, with a stone roof so carefully constructed that not a drop of water has leaked in during the 5,000 or so years it's been around. I saw the Georgian Dublin Castle, which was pretty cool, but also the remains of 11th century Viking castle built underneath it, which was very cool. I walked about a vibrant, verdant, expensive, bustling city, popping into shops and eating at great restaurants. I saw an impressive display of stone and bronze age items at Dublin's Natural History museum.
Then there were the natural wonders. Our group of four spent our final day in Dublin first on a sunny beach outside our luxurious seaside hotel (we splurged after a night in the hostel), then driving through the Wicklow Mountains. We stopped at the private Powerscourt estate in the mountains to view Ireland's tallest waterfall, and then hiked through the high moorlands surrounding it. We sat for a long while on the banks of a quiet stream, listening to the singing of spring birds and admiring the blossoms on the gorse bushes. Finally we drove back to Dublin, returned the rental car, and flew back into Nottingham East Midlands airport.
But there hasn't really been time to think since then, as we arrived back home just in time for my housemate's birthday party. This morning I got up early to make her requested birthday breakfast of American pancakes and bacon, much to the amusement of two American friends who are visiting (a story in itself that I will save for another day). And then I hopped into the car with my English "mum," as I call the mother of the family with whom I am lodging, for a day in the Cotswolds. It was a lovely, sunny day and we walked for four hours through gently rolling green hills, sheep and cow pastures and sleepy villages.
These past four days I've been saving brochures and business cards like crazy so that I can faithfully recommend various places I visited and ate at. I also took loads of photos, of course, but those will have to wait until tomorrow's work is done and I can post again. The most frequent thought that crossed my mind these past few days, however, was wondering if I was enjoying all of these experiences enough. I know that sounds a bit perfectionistic, and I would never want to obsess over an event so much that I cease to actually live it.
I certainly lived exuberantly and extravagantly all day today, as my "mum" and I wandered up and down the streets of Chipping Campden, got slightly lost on the footpaths around Laverton and sat in companionable silence on a hill above Buckland, eating our sandwiches, listening to the baaing of lambs and watching cottony clouds meander across the blue sky.
But as I was in Ireland the last few days, it so often felt like normal life. I kept metaphorically pinching myself and saying, "Stephanie, you are in Ireland! You know, the place where so many of your ancestors come from? The land of step dancing, a sport you adore, studied and even competed in just a few years back? The place you longed to visit so much you entered an Irish-American beauty pageant because the grand prize was a trip to Emerald Isle?" Oh, I enjoyed my time in Ireland, certainly. But I couldn't help thinking that it felt just like being in England or Scotland, apart from the accents and Gaelic phrases on signposts. I expect that if I'd visited Ireland straight from the States, without having spent seven months in Great Britain first, I would have been more enchanted, more awestruck. It would've felt mystical and magical. Yet I must confess that my visit to Ireland, while delightful, was in many ways just like being at what I've come to call home.
Just a brief posting today from a stool perched before the very green walls in Paddy's Palace hostel, right in downtown Dublin. The walls of this lounge are painted kelly green, the walls in our hostel room were a pale lime green, the curtain on the window was just plain green, the elevated train running outside the hostel is grass green, the leftover St. Patrick's Day decorations hanging around the hostel are shiny green, and the lampshade is made up of metallic four-leaf clovers. Green ones, of course. I do love green, but it could all get a bit nauseating except for one thing--it's so fun! Just in case I missed it, I am in Ireland, and the green is here to tell me so.
I've found, though, that tourist trappings aside, Ireland truly is a verdant, lush, velvety green, even in March. We flew in yesterday to Dublin, picked up a rental car and promptly drove to Newgrange and Knowth neolithic sites. These burial and ceremonial mounds were built between 4,000 and 5,000 years ago, and it was truly thrilling to visit them and marvel at the stone age carvings on the massive stones holding the mounds up. It was terribly windy and cold, with intermittent sleet showers, but when the sun came out it was simply gorgeous. I stood in the midst of the mounds gazing at the brilliant green carpets around me. (I'll post photos once I get back to Nottingham).
We drove back along the coast and stopped for a pub dinner in Skerries, an old Viking port. We arrived at low tide and clambered out on to the beach, shivering all the while in the fierce wind, but marveling at the purple and pink sunset clouds and the rainbow rays cast upon the whitecaps. Warmed by a hearty meal of pub burgers and fish 'n chips, we returned to Dublin to crash in our green, green room in this green, green land.
Now to see the Book of Kells and sundry other wonders!
I'm going to Ireland tomorrow with a few friends, and will be returning Wednesday evening, so I don't think I'll be able to post until Thursday, unless we have time to stop into an Internet cafe. But do check back fro stories and photos!
We tucked into an unbelievable Easter dinner at my house today: braised pork, red cabbage, roasted butternut squash, mashed potatoes, fennel, bread, cheese, chocolates, wine and more. Luckily I worked up an appetite this morning by helping with Easter activities for the children's department at my church. First we directeed 35 9- to 11-year-olds to build Easter gardens, complete with potting soil, live pansy and "empty tomb" made out of a paper cup. Then came large-group activities with more than 100 other children, including a special Easter presentation and an Easter quiz. I must admit I helped the small group of girls I was working with get special recognition for knowing the answer to "What annual sporting event is held every Easter on the White House lawn?" (The Easter egg roll, of course!)
I also discovered that English children don't receive Easter baskets. Although Easter is, on the whole, more widely recognized as a holiday here (most employees are off on Good Friday, and Easter Monday is a bank holiday), they don't give Easter baskets. Instead, children receive chocolate Easter eggs. I've yet to discover if British children actually hard boil real eggs and dye them, the way we always did at my house.
I've put this entry into the "Brits on America," category, but really it belongs in a category called "Brits on the American," the American in this instance being me. That's because this blog led to an unusual experience for me--being on the other end of the reporter's questions. Shortly after this blog launched, I got emails from reporters at the Nottingham Evening Post who wanted to do a feature on the American who's telling Chicago about Nottingham. Today's article "My really big tea break," was the result.
Note to loyal poster Brien: Although the newspaper story's sidebar about my blog didn't make it onto the online edition, the reporter quoted you. Here's the excerpt:
"Stephanie's report about a rainy day out in Derbyshire's Peak District with photos of a lamb, the hills and scenery, prompted this response from Brien Comerford, who wrote, 'Wondrous scenery and photos of England.'" Apparently the Nottingham folks were pleased, Brien, that you like their land!
Outside the Nottingham Playhouse is a sculpture that looks very familiar. Called Sky Mirror, it's another sculpture by British sculptor Anish Kapoor, also known as the man who created The Bean (formal title Cloud Gate) in Millennium Park.
Although Sky Mirror is on a much smaller scale than The Bean, it's still a marvel. I love the way it reflects the heavens and brings it to earth in a dizzying inversion of proportions. Gazing into it, one really does see the world upside down.
As Chicago Toni posted in an earlier comment on this site, Sky Mirror is also known around these parts as the sculpture that might have spelled doom to pigeons. However, I believe those fears were unfounded, as I can find no mention of even a single singed pigeon.
Yesterday I posted a widely circulated email announcing a British "Revocation of Independence" from America. Today I post one of the rebuttals. As I mentioned in yesterday's post, these humorous pieces have been making the rounds of email inboxes since the presidential elections of 2000, and are not actually authored by John Cleese, according to Snopes.com.
(Please note that the opinions expressed herein are not the opinion of the blogger, nor of the Chicago Sun-Times. Thank goodness!)
DECLARATION OF ANNEXING THE BRITISH ISLES AS PART OF THE USA
To the imperialist British colonizers:
In the light of your indecision over joining a common European currency, your dissatisfaction with the European Union, your bickering with European governments and the fact that you already almost speak our language and refuse to speak any other European languages, you are to be annexed as a State of America. Your state code will be GB. Zip codes will be assigned to replace your old postal districts. The state capital will be Stratford-upon-Avon, which is a lot prettier than London. Princess Diana will be declared a saint. You have already assimilated so much American culture that you are unlikely to notice the transition. To aid in the assimilation, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:
1. Look up "aluminum" in any good American dictionary. Check the spelling and pronunciation guide. We discovered it, we named it, you are mispronouncing it. Learn to live with it. You are, of course welcome to your idiosyncratic and illogical place names, such as Edinburgh, though if you wanted it pronounced 'Eddinburra' you should have spelled it that way in the first place. You will quit using words such as "fortnight". The correct term is "a two week period". You will learn words such as "credenza", "intern" and "chad".
2. There is no such thing as "UK English". UK English is the relic of a defunct colonialist power which attempted to impose British English linguistic superiority on a nation which has a higher number of English speakers.
3. Your film-makers should learn to distinguish the American and Canadian accents. American accents are not limited to redneck drawls or New York accents. Mainland Americans have more than enough accents to cope with in our own country, so all British dramas will now bear subtitles, especially those made in impenetrable dialects such as Scottish, Scouse or Geordie. To make life easier for mainland America, all British films and TV programs must use American vocabulary and accents, Scots characters will wear plaid, Irish characters will have shamrocks on them, Welsh characters will not be used since we don't have Welsh Americans, and English characters will wear bowler hats and pinstripes.
4. The British film industry will no longer portray all Americans as cowboys, rednecks, trailer trash or Beverly Hills billionaires. Hollywood will continue to use "Mockney" and "Posh" British accents as this makes it easier for viewers to identify which characters are British. You can have Hugh Grant back. He's a lousy actor and we don't want him either. All British films will be made in Hollywood where the weather and scenery are better. Your film industry is already unable to make a halfway-decent film which doesn't contain an American in the starring role. All American characters should be “good guys”.
5. You will learn your new national anthem "The Star Spangled Banner". It shall be sung every morning at kindergarten, high school, university and your places of work. Your Union Flag will be hung up any way we wish so stop whining about it being upside down. If there was meant to be a right way up you should have made it simpler. All Union flags will be replaced by the Stars and Stripes over a 12-month period of time.
6. You should stop playing soccer and rugby. There is no need to have two games, one of which is confusingly like Football and one of which is called football but patently isn't real football. If it doesn't require 45 pounds of padding, it isn't football. You should also stop playing cricket. Americans can't understand the rules. If you insist on playing this game, which is only played by former British colonies, you will introduce a simplified scoring system, timeouts, colored strips and cheerleaders to make it more interesting. Any match which takes longer than 90 minutes will be declared a draw.
7. In films, as in real life, we decide who the bad guys are. The bad guys are those guys who don't do as we tell them. They are also the guys who attract the biggest audiences into movie theaters. You will cease using the word "cinema". They are "movie theaters".
8. November 5th is no longer a day for fireworks. July 4th is the appropriate fireworks festival. If you want a big fireworks party on November 5th, we will help you to blow up your Houses of Parliament. You won't be needing them any longer as Disneyland London will be situated there. Hunting with packs of dogs is also banned. Instead, you will go hunting with a pick-up truck, some six-packs of beer, two coonhounds and enough guns and ammo to equip a private militia. There is also no such activity as "caravanning". It is properly called "camping". The thing boy scouts do with tents and bedrolls is called "tenting".
9. Roundabouts will be banned. What is the point of turning left in order to turn right? They are confusing to Americans and are death traps. You will start driving on the right with immediate effect. Most of the world drives on the right already. You will be allowed to turn right on a red light if safe to do so, though you must check local county legislation as this is not permitted in all areas.
10. Those things which you call chips are cholesterol-soaked abominations. You will start to eat fries - light fluffy potato in crisp coating. If you want to eat British-style fried potato sticks you will need a certificate from your doctor and good medical insurance. Beer is to be served cold. The warm, flat drink you call beer is properly termed 'ale' and the FDA has determined it to be unfit for human consumption. You will also learn the difference between crackers, cookies and biscuits to avoid causing unnecessary confusion to mainland Americans.
11. All inter-personal communications between family members, even if resident in the same house, must be through a lawyer. It is compulsory to sue somebody at least once per year - be inventive. It is compulsory to have therapy three times each week and to recover false memories of your childhood which allow you to sue your parents and/or your therapist. Therapy will take the place of speaking to family members. You will be given compulsory courses on how to become dysfunctional. Name your children after interesting medical conditions.
12. You will not have guns. In the eyes of Mainland Americans you are wayward children. Children are not permitted to play with firearms unless they have a legitimate reason to do so i.e. they plan to gun down the population of a small town (self-defense) or slaughter every living creature within a mile radius (hunting).
Thank you for your co-operation. You will be assimilated.
It came again today--that email forward that purports to be from John Cleese and is all about how Britain is taking back control of the United States of America. I've seen it before and laughed (though I've never actually believed it was written by John Cleese) but today I read this supposedly British take on America with new eyes. I found it funny, as before, but I also sighed a bit over the same old stereotypes I've come against time and again as an American on English soil. That comment probably makes me sound a little cranky and crabbed, especially since I love humor (humour?) and well-aimed satire, but maybe I've simply grown weary of the myriad conversations about the everlasting cultural and linguistic differences. I think that's because, in order to discuss them, I have to make broad generalizations about America that just don't do justice to such a diverse and varied land. I always feel that I'm swimming upstream and growing quickly tired as I try to give my English friends a true understanding of the United States.
A quick visit to the uber-helpful site Snopes.com (where you can find out the truth of all those urban legends and email forwards) showed me that this piece was not, of course, written by John Cleese, but actually was written as a much shorter commentary by a Brit after the 2000 presidential election and circulated in an internal newsgroup. A week later another Brit added a few more items and published it on the Internet. The rest is history.
Enjoy the forward, which follows. I'm posting the version that appeared in my inbox today. Tomorrow I'll post one of the rebuttals from America to Great Britain (but go here if you want a sneak peek, or if you'd like to read how this piece came to be).
To the citizens of the United States of America:
In light of your failure to nominate a competent candidate for president of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately.
Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas, which she does not fancy). Your new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, will
appoint a Governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed.
To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect: (You should look up "revocation" in the Oxford English Dictionary).
1. While you’ve got the dictionary out, look up aluminium, and check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how incorrectly you have been pronouncing it.
2. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'colour', 'favour' and 'neighbour.' Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the letters, and the suffix '-ize' will be replaced by the suffix '-ise'. Generally, you will be expected to raise
your vocabulary to acceptable levels. (Look up 'vocabulary').
3. Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as "like" and "you know" is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. There is no such thing as U.S. English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell- checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter 'u' and the elimination of -ize.
4. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.
5. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not adult enough to be independent. Gun should only be handled by adults. If you're not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you're not grown up enough to handle a gun.
6. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. A permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.
7. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.
8. The Former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling gasoline)-roughly $6/US gallon. Get used to it.
9. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with vinegar.
10. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as lager. Australian beer is also acceptable as they are pound for pound the greatest sporting nation on earth and it can only be due to the beer. They are also
