Whenever we travel, we like to get off the beaten path and sample the local food. Last Sunday, this was easier said than done.
After walking from Abbey to Tower and back again(yes, they were actually open!), we were hungry and ready for some authentic British food.
Since we were near Westminster, our thought process went something like this: Parlaiment is here, all the staff members need to eat something besides McDonalds, therefore, if we go back a few blocks into the neighborhood, we should find local places.
It should have gone like this: give up and eat at McDonalds like the other half a million tourists that are here with you.
Foolishly, we set off down a promising looking street lined with office buildings. And then down the next one, and the next one and the next one. There wasn't one restaurant/pub in sight. Okay, maybe everyone really did eat at McDonalds.
By now, we were starved, but we had an even more pressing need: a bathroom. Once again, we thought, "If we keep going, we are sure to find something, anything local." And once again, it seemed as though we should have opted for the Golden Arches.
Finally though, the Vodaphone stores gave way to authentic English pubs and restaurants that just oozed local flavor. Only one problem...they were all closed!
Panic began to set in as we had flashacks to the previous Friday. First the major attractions, now the restaurants. What was next, the hotels? Would we return to our hotel that night to find yellow police tape stretched across the doors forcing us to wander the streets of London forever, unable to tour, eat or sleep?
Forcing ourselves to take deep breaths, we resumed our search (a bit more desperately now since we really, really needed a bathroom at this point.) Then, we saw it...an open Starbucks. God bless the USA and our giant food/drink chains. But wait. No bathroom. How do they sell eight hundred different types of drinks, but have no bathroom? What kind of sick practical joke was this?
Apparently, it was one being played on us by Cafe Nero(the European equivalent of Starbucks), Bootz pharmacy and the eight other places we tried. Do English people not need bathrooms? Exactly how big are their bladders?
Just when we were beginning to despair, we stumbled upon a local pub that was actually open (I guess they didn't get the memo). It was every man for himself as we barrelled our way through the pub to the loo, which was a single as (bad) luck would have it. Since Tim's need was greater, he went first, which gave me time to size up the place.
Small, dark and crowded with people eating mushy peas, chips, meat pies, and some things I was afraid to look at too closely, that lovely day old ale smell, greasy walls and sticky floors. Yep, an authentic local pub. Perhaps a bit too local.
"What can I do for you, milady?" came a voice from behind me. Milady? Clearly, I was not blending in. I explained to the bartender that we had wanted a table, but shucks, they seemed full up so...
No problem, he assured me and, with a flourish, he led me to a recently vacated table, pried off the dishes left by the last occupants and bade me sit down (I don't normally use the word bade, but I somehow feel it's appropriate for "milady" to do so).
Tim reappeared at that moment, unable to achieve his goal and, by mutual consent, we bolted. Suddenly, Mickey D's was looking pretty darn good.
Rounding a corner a few minutes later, we came upon it. Light and airy, quaint and charming with geranium-filled flower boxes, exposed oak beams, gaslamp era inspired fixtures, red laquered door, two loos-no waiting. The Holy Grail.
And the best part was, they had hamburgers on the menu.
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