ImageHere I am at our “table for 4” on the train trip from Glasgow to London.  This is NOT all mine but I plead guilty to my share.  We were the talk of the train car–even the porter made fun of us–to our face!  How un-British!

It wasn’t enough that we ate nonstop in the less than 48 hours we spent in London.  We took photos of our food and the people who prepared our food and each other eating our food.  Like the meal we had at “Dinner” (we actually were there for lunch), which is listed in the top 10 restaurants in the world.  Heston Blumenthal is the chef/creator of the restaurant and he takes the names and ingredients of dishes from centuries old cookbooks.  Here’s a photo of my first course–“Meat Fruit”–see if you can guess what’s inside…

They’re fairly insistent that you order dessert because, as your dessert palate cleanser I guess, they’re dying to make ice cream (and I do mean cream) table side with this spiffy little machine that they pour liquid nitrogen into.  I love science experiments, don’t you?

Now Richard has the metabolism of a hummingbird and the willpower of an I don’t know what.  It’s completely demoralizing to go out to eat with him.  When it comes time for desserts, he either quite self righteously announces to the entire restaurant:  “I DON’T EAT DESSERT!!!” or, as on this trip says:  “If someone (subtext:  not him) wanted to order the moltenlavachocolatetortewithvanillabeanicecream, I wouldn’t mind having a bite.”  SERIOUSLY?  Does he think that keeps his “no dessert streak” intact.  If we order it and he then takes a bite, does he leave us with all the calories from his portion because he doesn’t eat dessert?  Is it fair that he never gains an ounce and I feel like I just won first prize in the “Mrs. Potato Head Lookalike Contest”?  It’s a mystery but yesterday, one that was solved with a vengeance when he realized, in order to get to the homemade ice-cream course, he had to order his own dessert first. Hahahahahaha!  No longer the undefeated IDON’TEATDESSERTMAN!!  And then he practically licked his dessert plate clean AND ate all the chocolate mousse (apologies to Heston–I know it wasn’t mousse but I can’t remember the name right now–I do know that “Heston insisted” that whatever it was, it had to be served with the coffee).  And I caught him scarfing down the ice cream cone in front of those mighty clean dessert plates.  See?  (Sorry, I’m having trouble with the photo portion of this blog entry and this lovely 1910 butter dish with cow finial is not a self portrait but proof that I did do something in London besides eat, drink and be merry.  It was supposed to go at the end of this post, which is already interminably long, but my flight is getting ready to board and I suppose I’d better figure this out on the other side of the ocean.  Later!)

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