"What's the purpose of your stay?"
"I'm on a food tour of the U.K."
"Is that right?"
"Yes, I have a food blog."
"I was thinking of starting me one of those too. Me 'n my partner, we had a name for it, 'The Wobbly Table' That's the worst part of a restaurant experience isn't it? The wobbly table. The name was taken though. What's the name of yours?"
"Feed Me Dearly."
"You got a card on ya?"
I rooted around my 20-year old blue canvas passport wallet, the one that still carries a yellowed love note from my husband written nearly that many years ago, and passed him my information in laminate form: website name, email address, social details.
The passport control agent looked at it, smiled at the three mischievous toeheads staring up from his palm, and let me through.
"Welcome to London."
London The Knightsbridge Hotel Dinner by Heston BlumenthalThree weeks before my trip I'd received an innocuous-looking email:
"Hope you're well. I wanted to introduce myself.... we're looking specifically at 4 food hubs..." I kept skimming, my eyes scanning for the part where I'm invited to dine at a restaurant in New York that specializes in regional UK cuisine.
"You would first land in London...."
Wait, what?
While I've done a few press trips within the US, namely to Oregon and New Mexico, I've never traveled internationally for food work. It's something that I've only dreamed about, but opportunities hadn't yet come my way.
I was...ecstatic.
This fall has been challenging, with some glorious highs (note: Feast Portland and my trip to the Oregon coast), and some devastating lows. In due time I may summon the courage and speak more publicly about events that happened earlier this year, because yes, it happened to #metoo and we need to share our voices and stories.
But I'll park that for now with the important punch line: I got on that plane. I knew that Britain would be good for me. I knew that I needed a break from life-as-usual, to clear my head, to get some space, to eat well, and to butcher some wild game (true story, more on this another time).
So we're talking food today. And travel....and the uncanny English sunshine that nearly ruined my trip. Where were those November clouds that everyone speaks of? I brought galoshes! (Or maybe that's the UK's dirty little secret...keep the tourists at bay with tales of a rainy season so vicious that no human or hunting dog could survive without a case of the croup. Keep the dales wide open, the moors clear and the Yorkshire puddings all for themselves.)
I visited two primary locations on my trip: London and Yorkshire. City and Country. Such wildly different experiences that they felt like separate countries unto themselves. This post recounts some of my city-based adventures, and I'll tackle the wild game and whatnot in a follow-up post.
Our itinerary was jam-packed (and by jam-packed, I mean that I ate toast with jam nearly every day, along with more eggs benedicts than I can count on one hand, two of them eaten at two different restaurants before noon on a single day). 12 pages in all. It was planes, trains and automobiles, the Yorkshire portion of my trip chauffeured by the loveliest tour guide Alan who looks and sounds just like the character Alan from Yorkshire's own "Last Tango in Halifax". Thank you Britain for providing me with the most authentic experience of all, minus the rain.
I spent three nights total in London at the Knightsbridge Hotel, part of the Firmdale Hotel Group, which aside from managing some swinging properties in New York including the Crosby Hotel and the newly-opened The Whitby, stocks its rooms with the most ridiculously fantastic-smelling products.
I'm not one of those people who stashes hotel soaps and mini shampoo bottles in her bag, collecting them each day with the hope of seizing the next day's replacement. You know who you are. Let me just say this: if all hotels stocked toiletries that smell and feel as good as Firmdale toiletries, I might become one of them.
The Knightsbridge Hotel, this may surprise you, is located in Knightsbridge. Which, if you've never been to London, is one of the hippest places in all of London to stay. You've got Harrods around the corner, where if so inclined, you can pick up one of their legendary Christmas fruitcakes (insert the raising hand emoji; my cake was safely wedged into my suitcase and flown back to the US where it sits on my counter in its handsome tin, waiting for its big debut after Thanksgiving).
Harrods also sells equally-handsome gifts for your dog. I'm positive that my 2-year-old vizsla was thrilled to open her navy-quilted winter coat with matching leather collar and leash, accented with baby blue and gold hardware. "Happy you look so SUCCESSFUL!" one of the managers announced when Happy went blazing into daycare, a flash of navy and gold, lunging for the bucket of dog treats that sits on the counter.
Aside from the shopping, there was food. On our first night in London, we (the other three women from our media tour plus our hosts) met at the Mandarin Hotel's "Dinner by Heston Blumenthal" before scattering to various parts of the country. I would go to Yorkshire, Jackie to Devon, and Laura to Scotland; Lina stayed in London eating her way through a few too many English teas before tapping out with a sudden bout of what I'll gently call "too much rich food for a dainty girl" on a tube station platform. Hopefully she'll see the humor in it at this point, it's not her fault that no garbage cans were in sight; in solidarity I shared my story of speaking to my husband by phone one evening from Yorkshire, laid out on a handsome tweed sofa, belly extended, wearing not a stitch of clothing because even a gauzy nightshirt would have been too constricting.
So yes, we ate well. Incredibly well. The richest, most soul-satisfying autumnal food you could imagine. Chestnuts and game and puddings and gravies. And the most beautiful crisp-tender green vegetables on the side. I had cheese for dessert most nights, English blues, sweet ports, thick onion jams, sliced apples for levity. This was not a week for my gluten and dairy free diet. I indulged, and I indulged with pride.
Heston's restaurant was out of this world. Based on centuries-old recipes, the menu featured items such as "Meat Fruit", "Roast Marrowbone", and "Frumenty" (which, although it's likely on the tip of your tongue, is grilled octopus and smoked sea broth, inspired by a dish from 1390.)
I was urged to try the "Meat Fruit", a mandarin jelly shell made to look just like an orange, stuffed with chicken liver and foie gras parfait. It was unctuous but balanced with the hint of citrus; the perfect schmear for some olive oil-drizzled salted grilled bread. Hands down one of the most playful and mouth-watering appetizers I've ever ordered.
But nothing quite impressed like the theatrics of tableside ice cream. Envision a 6-foot movable table, mounted with a liquid nitrogen-based contraption that when poured with cream and spun with a wheel, produces silken frozen custard a-la-minute. It was elegant but fun, an apt description for his restaurant experience as a whole. I highly recommend.
Our other city stops were York and Harrogate, and while they're nestled in the Yorkshire countryside, they both have an urban feel to them. York's skyline punctuated by the spires of York Minster, Harrogate surrounded by the stone remains of wells, water fountains, and gardens, a nod to its rich history as a center for hydrotherapy.
I ate Yorkshire puddings of two different styles - the Yorky Pud wrap (imagine: pillowy Yorkshire puddings wrapped around roast pork, stuffing, gravy, soft potatoes and roasted apples) and a more traditional version at Yorkshire Tapas in Harrogate. Piled high with brisket, gravy, potatoes and crushed pork cracklings.
I had my first proper English tea at Betty's in Harrogate. Please note this was the same day that I ate two separate orders of eggs benedict before lunch. Then Yorkshire pudding before being whisked off to downtown Harrogate for tea at Betty's. And by English tea I mean tea, champagne and a three-tier stacked tower of nibbles from tea sandwiches, to petit fours and clotted cream biscuits. This, only three hours before the crescendo, a four-course meal at Swinton Park castle with a 6-cheese dessert chaser. How I avoided Lina's tube station fate is a mystery. But, please note that my day resulted in that late-evening tweed sofa/birthday suit-wearing/beached whale-enacting phone call to my husband (also above).
It was one for the record books. London, York, Harrogate, I will be back. Hopefully with husband and kids in tow.
Next time, the English countryside....stay tuned.
York The Grand Hotel & Spa York Minster The York Roast Co. Harrogate Starling Independent Beer & Coffee House Yorkshire Tapas Prologue Cycling Cafe Bettys Harrogate(Visited 16 times, 17 visits today)
