Saturday, August 24th
I woke up at 4:30 AM in Newark and drank a Monster Ultra Sunrise—the orange can—while journaling. I contemplated having a slice of leftover slice of “old school everything” pizza, but too early for anchovies.
At the airport, I got a chocolate peanut butter Clif Builders bar and a bottle of expensive spring water. This is a meal that I would eat often in college.
I have never been on a flight that serves meals, so I was not sure what was in store. Airplane food: what’s the deal?
First: drinks and snacks before breakfast. I’m ever-familiar with the proprietary United snack mix that is basically Chex Mix without Chex. Despite containing everything but Chex, flight attendants only refer to it as “pretzels,” as in: Would you like some pretzels? So I had some pretzels with a plain seltzer. They gave me the whole can.
While I read Normal People, breakfast was served: “egg scramble,” with a half-frozen “croissant,” a vanilla greek yogurt, a cup of fruit, and some sort of brownie (breakfast dessert). The “eggs” had the texture of steel-cut oats, and looked so unappetizing that my phone did not even want to eat first. I could not eat the croissant, so I saved it for later.
The in-flight “dinner” was a bagged sandwich with balsamic chicken, arugula, and mozzarella cheese.1 This sandwich was very disgusting in both texture and taste: that is the deal with airplane food.
When I arrived at the hotel, Clare and I walked down to the local pub called McDonald’s. Here, I ordered a Big Mac to see if it tasted the same as in America (it does), and enjoyed some vegan friendly french fries (no “beef powder”) dipped in “sweet curry sauce” with a Fanta Zero (paper straw). We shared an apple pie (fried!) and a small Smarties McFlurry.
Sunday, August 25th
Clare bought assorted snacks and breakfast treats at the store the day before, so for breakfast I had a pour-over coffee that she made me and a hot cross bun from Marks & Spencer (kind of like if Whole Foods were Target). Hotel rooms in the United Kingdom seem to come standard with an electric kettle, like how hotels in the United States always have a bible.
Our first stop was Blank Street, which is berated online for being funded by private equity—name a non-publicly-traded-restaurant-corporation you love which isn’t—but actually has pretty good coffee. The cold brew at UK Blank Street is stronger, and if I had to guess why, I’m sure it has something to do with regulations against shipping ready-to-serve coffee to businesses in gigantic plastic bags.2
While walking around the beautiful Primrose Hill neighborhood, we ended up at a pub called “The Albert.” We ordered hummus with pita and a miniature fish and chips. This food was way better than it needed to be, and I washed it down with a pint of Lucky Saint non-alcoholic beer, which is way better than it needs to be.
We were set to have Sunday roast for dinner, and I inadvertently made a reservation at the Ted Lasso Pub. The food here was not very good, and it gave me a headache and a stomach ache. I ordered the pork loin roast with a Peroni 0.0. This came with an odd, free side of cheesy cauliflower. The pork itself was fine, but came with crackling that was rock hard and too salty. The special seasonal vegetable was a “chipotle sweet potato.” The spice on this was more sichuan: weirdly numbing and unpleasant.
Not a total bust, the night ended at a “gelateria” called Danieli. I got a scoop of vegan chocolate sorbet, which soothed me like a baby.
Monday, August 26th
Breakfast was some sort of fruit and nut bar with more hotel coffee. It tasted like dates and hazelnuts, and neither pleased or displeased me. Whenever I eat something like this, I feel like I am twenty years older than I am: the opposite effect of when I eat a candy bar.
We made plans to walk through the beautiful Kew Gardens, which is like the zoo if it had no animals and less children. On the way I stopped into Sainsbury’s and bought a Lewis Hamilton flavored Monster Energy. Lewis Hamilton is a British Formula 1 driver, and apparently the Monster R&D team “worked flat out to deliver [a] light, crisp and refreshing blend.” What this actually means is that they rebranded the American Monster Ultra Peachy Keen for the UK Market as Lewis Hamilton’s new “Zero Sugar” blend.
Lunch at Kew Gardens was awesome: a veggie burger and chips drowned in Sarson’s vinegar. The veggie burger was thoughtfully composed, as would make sense for a restaurant surrounded by government-protected and maintained plants. I drank an orange “Tango” with this, which I guess is like British Fanta. No complaints.
On the way back, we made a pit stop at The Original Maids of Honour, which is a tea house that serves pastries. We got an apricot tart to go, and ate it at a Starbucks (the coffee is just as bad there as it is here, but at least it's consistently bad).
I also made Clare stop at Greggs with me, which is basically like the UK’s Dunkin but with more food. I got a vegan sausage roll so that she could also have a bite, and it was actually great (also, less than $2.00). Greggs is a dangerous place for a guy like me.
We were set to have dinner with an old friend of mine, so we got drinks beforehand at the Ham Yard Hotel in the heart of Soho. I had a tequila soda with NA tequila and an NA beer. The former was good and the latter was so bad that I wished I ordered the former again.
Then we dined at Rita’s, which is “an independent restaurant where modern American dining meets British and European produce.” This means that they can charge a lot for a steak the size of a hockey puck and that they serve french fries instead of chips. To be fair, the food at Rita’s is quite good, but I’m not sure if it all coheres into something worth recommending to anyone other than American tourists in London, which was basically the entire dining room during our reservation. I had southern fried quail which was tasty if a bit annoying to eat—those bones are small—with fries and a Shirley Temple made with a special elderflower syrup. This drink was the best thing I had at Rita’s, which isn’t a bad thing, it’s just the thing about Rita’s.
Nothing looked appealing for dessert, so we walked over to Gelupo, a gelateria apparently recommended by Vittles. I got one scoop of cherry sorbet and one of yogurt and honey. I understood what the former was going for—so fresh that the cherry skins were still inside the dessert—but my mouth did not appreciate this textural challenge. The latter was tasty. But with only a 50% hit rate on one expensive cup of dessert, Gelupo does not get a Big Boom.
Tuesday, August 27th
Breakfast in the hotel room was coffee with Jaffa Cakes, which are one of my new favorite things. If the British have perfected anything, it is treats containing the perfect combination of chocolate and orange. See also: Terry’s Chocolate Orange.
After looking at Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace, we popped into a store for water. I noticed a funky bottle: Dr Pepper Zero apparently looks different in the United Kingdom. Unfortunately, it doesn’t taste as good as it does here.
We headed towards Regency Cafe, which is a British style “caff.” If you don’t know what that is, please consult this excellent bit of writing on caffs (and, specifically, the Regency Cafe) from Isaac Rangaswami of Wooden City. There was a long line—or, queue—so we opted instead for a “cheeky Nando’s.”3 This was my first time at Nando’s, and it was satisfactory: four boneless chicken thighs and chips with slaw, everything covered in all different types of “Peri Peri” sauce, which, if you haven’t had it, is like herby, vinegary, viscous hot sauce. There’s no Nando’s in New York City, which is fine, because if I was craving this exact meal, I could make it very easily at home.
After lunch, we visited St. George Coffee of London, which has more bread, more seating, more chilling, and about the same amount of merch as its NYC counterpart. But what they do not have is cold brew, so I was forced to get an iced americano: a common trend throughout London. And though there were no delicious sandwiches, there was one memorable cookie: white chocolate and macadamia nut, Clare’s favorite. Even in London, St. George still means business.
On the way back to the hotel, I was feeling peckish, so we stopped at Greggs and I purchased a spicy vegetable curry bake. This was even better than the sausage roll.
Clare had raved about M&S sandwiches before I arrived, so we decided Tuesday would be “meal deal dinner.” I opted for an M&S “katsu sando,” a Coke Zero Sugar with Lime, and we split sweet and spicy chili flavored “hand cut” crisps. This was all awesome, and emblematic of the way the British Empire has colonized so many things to make its own; before, antiquities, but now, just decent cheap food at the supermarket. Talk about a fallen empire.
We met Clare’s family for dessert at Amorino, a gelato chain that also exists here in New York but which I have never tried. I ordered passionfruit and lime sorbet and they were both good to the point where I wondered why I have never tried Amorino before.
Wednesday, August 28th
We began the day early at Harrods, in search of extravagance in all forms. Its dining hall recently opened a hot dog restaurant called “Hot Dogs by Three Darlings,” which Clare recommended we try for lunch. We were the first to sit down at the counter, and thus guinea pigs for the staff to offer free apps—truffle tater tots—alongside free dessert—a caramelized banana hot dog and a s’mores sundae. My dog, the Filipino-inspired “chori dog,” which was topped with grilled pork adobo, spicy mayonnaise, pickled atchara (papaya) and crispy onions, was pretty good. What I liked most about the Hot Dogs by Three Darlings was that each sausage is apparently made up of a different meat blend, all listed in percentages on the menu (mine was 80% free range gilt pork shoulder, 10% Iberico pork, 10% chorizo sausage). From chef Jason Atherton, who just converted his former Michelin-starred Mayfair restaurant to a “new grill house and burger bar,” Hot Dogs by Three Darlings is yet another sign that the most ambitious thing the UK can think of, food-wise, is being more like America.
We walked around the Victoria and Albert Museum, which made me remember that much of London does not have air conditioning. I was overdressed for the hottest day of the trip, and I began to overheat. This occurred alongside the realization that I was severely under-caffeinated, which is never a problem in New York City. We stopped at Blank Street again, this time at a location within a busy train station (if they had these in NYC, people would no longer make fun of Blank Street).
We met Clare’s family again later that afternoon, and I had a very British snacktime: “squash” in water (like Mio but for people who pretend they’re not using Mio) and a Colin the Caterpillar (a Ho Ho which takes itself too seriously under the guise of whimsy).
Our dinner that night was at The River Cafe. Clare already wrote something awesome about our dining companions, so I will only be sharing thoughts on the food. Our first course was an assortment of fresh devon crab which looked like basmati rice served with tomatoes and basil aioli. It was refreshing, and tasted like Labor Day weekend. Great.
We shared a simple pesto and pecorino linguine and a tagliarini with blue lobster, golden tomatoes, white wine, and basil. Both were simple and expensive, which is most of the food at The River Cafe. But they were also both delicious, perfectly sauced and seasoned, with flavors more suited to relaxing at home than being seated somewhere between Sir. Michael Caine and Greta Gerwig. I would not call them unmemorable, that was just the reality of our situation.
Our main course was the turbot, which was baked with potatoes and mushrooms and served with salsa verde. So fresh, so light, so clean. For such a rich fish, it was a delightful palate cleanser.
I had been eyeing the strawberry and almond tart all evening, so we ordered it for dessert with a couple decaf coffees. It was as you’d expect, which is to say devoured before we even got our post-dinner drinks. Walking back, I told Clare that I’d love to be a regular at The River Cafe so that like Odell Beckham Jr. beside us, Ruthie Rogers would also call me her “sweetheart.”
Thursday, August 29th
Before heading out we got an early takeout lunch. I tried a shawarma sandwich from a place called Beirut Street Kitchen: there is much better Lebanese food in Michigan, but I was hungry, so I finished it. In fact, I was so hungry that I suggested that we finally try the veggie burger—called the LOVe Burger—from this fonty chain called LEON. It thankfully wasn’t terrible, and Clare pointed out that for a vegan burger with vegan cheese at no extra cost, it was actually a bargain ($8.50). Go figure.
Dinner was at my family’s house. We had tuna steaks and an assortment of roasted vegetables with halloumi: simple, healthy, tasty. The meal was a restorative salve for all emotional terror inflicted at The River Cafe. I left with an empty head and a full stomach.
Friday, August 30th
We finally broke the hotel coffee streak, and I got us mediocre lattes with oat milk (oat lattes, as they say there) for breakfast. The tea thing is not a joke: they really have yet to figure out coffee in London.
After a morning walking around Kensington Park, we settled on Dishoom for lunch. It was a meal of epic proportions: salted lassi, khichia with apple chutney, crispy fried prawns, black chickpea salad, paneer tikka, jackfruit biryani, mawa cake with yuzu ice cream, and basmati rice pudding. I ate too much, because everything tasted so good. Last month, I asked Clare why there wasn’t just a Thai Diner for every type of cuisine, and now I know that there is at least one, somewhere, for Indian food.4
Dinner was with Clare’s family at their local pub. I got a burger against my better judgment, and it was overcooked and flavorless. The chips were fine, but not crispy enough. Overall this did not really redeem our earlier pub experience, except for the sticky toffee pudding, which I later told Clare was perhaps the best thing I ate on our entire trip.
Saturday, August 30th
I bought pastries from a few different places for breakfast, but the highlight was a cardamom bun from the chain Ole & Steen, which also exists in America and is featured in the 2024 film If.
Lunch was Borough Market, where I decided on a chorizo sandwich from Brindisa. It was as simple as these things get: marinated peppers, arugula, olive oil, and fresh, hot chorizo sausage. And, because of that, bloody brilliant (as they say).
Our lunch dessert was a stupid vegan tahini brownie, which was redeemed later on when we had marginally better vegan donuts at Crosstown on Brick Lane.
I ordered a burger over fish and chips at the pub the night before, because I had this grand, romantic idea of going to a “real,” “authentic,” chippy to get fish and chips. “I don’t want a posh experience,” I said, which is the same reasoning I provided to Clare when she asked why I wanted to go to a greasy spoon for a full English breakfast. “That’s like saying you need to find a specific place to get pancakes in the States,” she responded. She wasn’t wrong.
For dinner I dragged us to a local chippy I had found without realizing it was closed on weekends, before Ubering us to another place that charged extra to eat inside. It was fine, but definitely not worth our time, and barely worth our money. Later on that night, I saw a video of Ed Sheeran saying that you should only have fish and chips in a place where you can see the ocean while you eat. Where was this advice when I needed it, Ed?
Sunday, August 31st
Taking Clare’s advice I sheepishly ventured into town to the closest place that advertised a full English. It was a pizzeria that opened, supposedly, at 8:00 AM. But, because it is owned by actual Italians, it does not open at the posted time. Defeated, I sulked into McDonald’s and ordered a breakfast roll with brown sauce, which was fine, but definitely not what McDonald’s food should look or taste like (vaguely homemade).
I brought more coffee and pastries back to the room before we got ready and headed off to the ABBA Experience, which Clare and Phil both wrote about with precision and beauty. At ABBA, I had the Swedish hot dog (recommended by Phil) which was awesome in taste, and a glass of NA rose (recommended by Clare) which was awesome in experience.
On the way home from ABBA, I decided that maybe the train was taking us to Treat City, and procured an assortment of weird foods and drinks such as Pepsi Max Mango, a train station cinnamon sugar soft pretzel, and honeycomb gelato. This all ranged from fine to ok, and was probably a waste of money, but what else is vacation for?
Dinner was at a bad, fonty, “family owned” Italian chain called Franco Manca. I had a decent non-alcoholic aperitif before my meal, but the pizzas Clare and I shared were underbaked and over-topped. And the tiramisu was bad. Maybe all of the Italians who do not know how to cook moved to the United Kingdom, which would explain why many of them own caffs, where all the food is just fried in lard, or why the most famous Italian restaurant is operated by an American.
Monday, September 1st
On my last morning, I finally had a full English breakfast at Heathrow Airport while people around me drank pints of beer at 9:00 AM. It was anticlimactic, and Clare is right in that I could make it better myself at home. I did like the black pudding, though. I treated myself to a Cadbury Fruit and Nut—Clare’s favorite—for breakfast dessert, and was delighted at the flavor and texture. It made me feel sophisticated in the way that kids think eating a Ferrero Rocher makes you feel.
My airplane food was just as bad as on my inbound flight, but luckily I had purchased many assorted British snacks and candies to tide me over until my arrival into Newark. With nothing in the house when I got home, dinner was chicken over rice from my bodega. It felt good to be back in New York, where grocery stores are worse, but restaurants are astronomically better, even the counter at your corner deli.
You can tell this was stocked stateside or otherwise the label would have said “rocket.”
This is the American system, eerily similar to the way that theater popcorn “butter” is distributed and served.
I just learned that Nando’s was founded in South Africa.
There are actually 10 Dishooms.
bosh
dishoom mawa cake & rita's cornbread were standouts to me, but the brandy cookie & abba hot dog are pretty close behind
you are single-handedly convincing me to try dishoom which everyone told us had "gotten bad" before I went earlier in the year