Camden Market

Imagine every stereotype you have of England: etiquette, elegance, proper manners, conservative dress. Now picture the polar opposite and you'll get Camden Market. It's funky flair and eclectic combination of goth, emo, and hippie culture makes you feel like you've ventured into another world. 


Walking around Camden Market takes some getting used to. Everything is so blatantly exposed -- sex shops, tattoo parlors, a store called "Amsterdam of London" whose legality you have to question -- that, at first, I felt like it was wrong of me to look. But I eventually reasoned it was far better to forfeit my pride than give up my chance to inspect the tantalizing and curious sites.

First, the reason for our visit. We stopped to get dread wax for my friend from a hairdresser who scolded him almost instantly after we walked through the door, and continued to scream at us for about 30 minutes thereafter. I'm not exactly sure what was going on, but it was a fantastic experience. How many people can say they got lectured in a dreadlock salon?

We then went to this incredible techno/neon/sex shop that reminded me of a Buzz Lightyear ride at Universal Studios. Everywhere you look there are gigantic tubes with neon lights and massive robots that change colors. With orange hair and bright tattoos, even the employees look like they require a halogen bulb. With my digital camera armed and ready and a naive look on my face, I did a terrible job at blending in, and soon a member of the staff forced me to put my camera away. Luckily I was able to snap a couple shots of the merchandise before my camera was seized.

For about 80 pounds you can by this cow in a glass display case.

Or this odd aquarium with alternating LED lights. Oh, and jelly fish. I'm assuming the jelly fish aren't real, but your guess is as good as mine.

When we came out of the store, we ended up in this quaint eating area with stone paths, a variety of ethnic food options, and THIS:

Looks like the woman's wearing tights, right? Look closer.

I do believe that those tights are tattooed on. My friend Sham and I actually followed this woman (is that wrong?) and we could not find a seam where the stockings ended. You definitely don't see that every day. Very cool.

Selfridges

Think Neiman Marcus, mixed with Barneys, dipped in chocolate, and sprinkled with money and you'll get Selfridges. 
I thought this department store was just like Neimans until I saw this giant, gaudy shoe. Yuck -- this is no Neimans prop.

Then, I was told that behind the gigantic christmas-tree-shoe is the largest shoe department in the world. Touche.


I entered, and it was like the Epcot of shoes -- literally. All the worthy countries were represented.

You had Italy, Italy, France...and many others featuring their most prominent attractions.

And, like any true theme park, there was a photo booth where you could take pictures with your favorite characters.

So,it's just your typical department store with incredible clothes, shoes, photo booths, and FLESH-EATING FISH

Can you believe that this was going on in the middle of the women's clothing department, and my parents just walked by it? Sick people.

At first it looks like a pedicure set up, but in the mini tub where women stick their feet, there are little fish that are supposed to eat off all of your dead skin, "exfoliating" the foot. Yum.




I'll leave you on that note.

Welcome to Europe!

 <--- A make-up counter seat for a bathroom.

Last night was the first meeting with my entire residence hall. When I entered the basement, some older students -- whose authority is still questionable -- were ushering all the new "freshers" towards a refreshment table. One look at that spread, and I knew I was in European heaven: an army of plastic cups filled with red and white wine covered almost every square inch of the 20-foot-long table. 

During his speech, a member of the resident hall staff reminded us to eat plenty, as he knew the entire room would be drinking heavily. Seeing as only one bowl of Lays potato chips sat meagerly next to the overwhelming wine display, it was evident that either I had not seen the entire refreshment table, or the man was telling a very bad joke. However, there was definitely enough wine to go around. Viva la 18+ drinking age!

Before we left our dorm to head to a bar, some people ran back to their rooms to grab a beer for the road. I asked them if it was OK for them to drink in the streets. After a series of contradicting statements, I think the crowd finally agreed that is was "frowned upon." I'm not quite sure what this means in legal terms, but I figured I'd just wait until we got to wherever we were going.

On our walk back from the club, we stopped at a pizza stand that advertised "real Italian pizza." Our multicultural group obviously consisted of an Italian -- the real kind, who actually had his suitcase in hand because he was going back to Milan the next day. He of course argued that it was not real Italian pizza, and, yadda yadda yadda, we're all invited to his house in Italy to try the real thing.

Because the tube (subway) closes at midnight, we decided to take a bus home. We waited for 20 minutes so that we could get on the "free" bus. I asked why we didn't need to pay, and one of the boys from London taught me that we were waiting for a bus that had doors that open on the side, as well as in the front. We would get in through the side doors so that we didn't have to pass the driver, and, as long as we didn't make eye-contact with him, we'd be all right.

Oh, I have so much to learn!

A Theory...

I've observed a succession of events that provide evidence for a possible -- and by no means definite -- cultural difference. In order to avoid offending anyone, I'm simply going to list off these observations and let you draw your own conclusions.


1. My parents and I spent three days walking to the ends of London in search of a store that sold, or had even heard of, resistance bands. We couldn't find one adequate sporting goods store or gym, but there were pubs on almost every corner.

2. The sizing at London's American Apparel store isn't so American... 
I've always found the clothes in the US stores to run very very tiny, so I'm usually a size medium (or large, but who's counting?) In the London store, I tried on leggings in the smallest size I could find, and, surprisingly enough, I was trying to keep them from falling down.


3. Although spacious, in every London elevator ( or "lift"), there is a mysteriously low limit to the number of persons allowed inside...

Now, this limit may or may not be linked to a breakfast consisting of this:

You decide.

Tea Time

Sorry parents, but this picture is just too fantastic...

Now I KNOW I'm in England. I could stare at this menu for hours.

Move in!

Oh, the excitement of moving into a dorm that makes London look grey even on a sunny day! However, if you squint your eyes tightly, the dirt-corroded cement walls of Astor College (my home for the next three months) can have a surprising, esoteric charm. No, wait, I'm looking at the wrong building...

Juuuuuuust kidding. It's really not that bad, and there are two kitchens on each floor which makes it easier to meet people. The kitchens have very minimal appliances, but, along with everyone else in my dorm, I am not on a meal plan, so I will, in fact, be using this thing. However! Each student gets his/her own cubby/locker. Gorgeous, ain't she?

Last night, as I was running out the door to my ACCENT meeting -- a program I think Wash U forces its students to pay for with the intention of helping us adjust to London -- two Spanish girls sitting at the kitchen table asked me where I was from. I answered, smiled, awkwardly said I had to be somewhere, and rushed out the door. Thank you Wash U for hurting my opportunities to meet new people. I think ACCENT is working already!

My room here seems larger than what I had at Wash U, and it has a great big window that really opens it up. There's also a sink right in the room that you shouldn't drink out of -- how vintage!

Here's an after-shot of the room after I "paige-a-tized" it. Make note of how I moved the desk into an area where it won't be used...

Much more to come, but I have to keep you on your toes! Cheers!

London – a little Q & A

What most people want to know:

What’s it like?

Answer:

A less spectacular version of Epcot (or the South 40 for that matter)

Question for the parents:

What have I learned so far?

Answer:

That I can’t drive a car, charge a phone, or cross the street. But my dad is finally learning how to operate a camera.

A common question I’ve been getting:

How do I like it so far?

Answer:

I haven’t seen much, other than my hotel that strikingly resembles the rooms in Clue, both the board game and the movie, and frankly I’m a little concerned.

Question I have not gotten, but people should be asking considering this originally was a food blog:

What’s the food like?

Answer:

Well! Since you asked, the food is not as bad, which is too bad, as I was relying on it to reveal my true cynical wit. 

At the restaurant in the Connaught Hotel, I had the chef put a side salad together for me that had the most delicious lettuce I ever thought possible. First person to know what type of tomato this is wins.

My mom was dying for me to take a picture of her froth. So here that is….

 So, what you are viewing is some froth. I don’t remember where it came from, but it blanketed some pumpkin ravioli that my mom loved. Now, I could be polite, but why bother. If I was a judge on Iron Chef, I would have commented that it was an interesting method of presenting the pumpkin ravioli, pairing it with such a savory broth, but I found the salt overwhelming, and, if pumpkin were the secret ingredient, it wasn’t the star in this dish. The nice white foam made for a pretty presentation though, so,  well done on the froth.

Question no one has asked:

Are you in France?

Answer:

Evidently not.

My Hotdog Bar

I am so sick of / addicted to this “Hot Dog Paradise” series that the Travel Channel has been running. They scour the nation, finding these gorgeous hotdog combinations from restaurants and vendors that are completely unattainable. Honestly, “if you’re ever in Arizona,” my first instinct would be to leave, as opposed to visiting a hotdog stand on the border.

Well, I’ve decided to fight back by satiating my craving that’s been building for six months. I assembled my very own hotdog bar.

Starting with the essentials and soon getting carried away, I ended up with nine different hotdog toppings. 

And the winners are (in no particular order): 

sliced pickles, spicy brown mustard, relish, diced sweet onions, coleslaw, jalapenos, avocado, American cheese, and freshly sliced pineapple. 

(And you can imagine my excitement upon finding the ramekins to go with them.)

I started off with a bang: mustard, diced sweet onions, melted cheese, and jalapenos – this ain’t my first rodeo.

Another favorite was a dog loaded with melted cheese, mustard, jalapenos, avocado and coleslaw.

But the most bizarre, and surprisingly enjoyable, concoction of the night was my mix of onions, avocado, and pineapple. 

I contemplated throwing on some barbeque sauce, but this wasn’t some crappy pizza (no offense to my previous blog post). However, the sweet juice from the pineapple was just the condiment I needed to give the dog that added zing!

Homemade Pizza Tricks

:: Disclaimer: Do not try some of these moves at home without a drop cloth ::

I recently baked my own pizza with no more training than occasionally watching Giada De Laurentiis operate a rolling pin. Using my guess-and-check-and-make-do method, I navigated my way through raw pizza dough – and a slight altercation with moldy mozzarella cheese – rather successfully.

First – a quick foreign language lesson. Kraft does not mislabel their packaging. If your bag of mozzarella has blue pieces in it, it is not bleu cheese. The blue chunks do not make your food gourmet, but rather they make you run to the bathroom. Aah, why is it that the French pronunciation always sounds so much better?

As my cheese proved insubordinate and unusable, I moved onto the dough, where I managed to tear a hole within minutes of rolling. 

Fine. I simply divided the dough into two pizzas (which soon turned into three after a similar incident) and I was back in business!

The key is in knowing when to stop rolling and start stretching the edges of the dough with your fingertips.

However, there are always those select few who refuse to just put the pin down…

Then came the dangerous part – the attempts at pizza-dough-spinning. I’m not sure as to how much this risky act impacted the overall appeal of the dough, but it truly was beautiful to watch. 

Just look at that determination.

I’d like to take a moment to direct your attention back to the photograph above so that you can fully take in what you’re seeing. Superb.

I dusted the first pie with oregano before adding the sauce, new bag of cheese, and pepperonis. As simple as it may be, this pizza won everyone over.

On the second pizza, I spread barbeque sauce, mozzarella, lightly sautéed red onions, and filet mignon that had been tossed with a little more barbeque sauce.

Out of respect for my mother, I decided it just wouldn't be right to show a photo or even discuss the contents and results of her pizza, but two pizzas were more than enough for us!

James Beard Award-Winning Shack

Scribbled on a whiteboard that hangs outside of a shack built of wooden planks with cracked paint, dry erase markers list off the options at a restaurant in South Thomaston, Maine. However, the menu isn’t just a list, it’s an outline of a culture; and the shack isn’t just a restaurant, it’s a James Beard Restaurant Award winner.

Being the only restaurant in the area that has BYOB, empty wine bottles advertise this option around the perimeter of its “indoor” seating area. The room was quaint, but, after reviewing our options, we decided to dine al fresco....

I ordered the crab melt, and, based off of its rather pathetic first impression, you must realize how great of a leap this melt had to take to become appealing. 

With only pulled crab and white cheddar stacked atop what seemed like a hamburger bun, this sandwich may have been the best thing I’ve ever eaten off of a paper plate.

The crabmeat was hand-pulled freshly after ordering. It was so succulent that the crab must have been tossed with a little mayo, butter, or some other holy condiment. One slice of cheese – barely softened – was all it took to transcend this sandwich to “melt” status. Served open-faced, I could barely make out the butter on the delicately toasted bun, but you better believe it was there.

To ask why this sandwich was so good would be to ask why butter is so good. Dumb question. With a bag of Lays Classic potato chips, this sandwich served as a testament to how exquisite simplicity can be.

Waterman’s Beach Lobster

343 Waterman's Beach Road, South Thomaston, Maine


wblobsta@midcoast.com

207-596-7819 * 207-594-7518

http://www.watermansbeachlobster.com