Thanksgiving in London

Living outside of your comfort zone is one thing, but living outside of your comfort zone on Thanksgiving is quite another. I woke up bright and early and although I didn’t have to work, Josh did. To me, working on Thanksgiving is sacrilegious and I was personally glad to have the day off.

I figured it was only right to do something to celebrate while I waited for the evening’s dinner plans—at a French restaurant—but I didn’t know what to do with myself. I thought about watching the parade on the computer, but then remembered that while it was 9am in England it was only 4am in NY. The clowns may have been rising, but they definitely weren’t shining. So after posting a “Happy Thanksgiving” message on Facebook and snooping around to see what everyone back home was up to, I went about my usual business.

Even though I know Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated here, I sort of hoped I’d come across some type of acknowledgement for the day, like a turkey decal in a shop window or a Black Friday sale advert. Alas, there were none. In fact, I had to explain Black Friday to a co-worker and she looked at me like I was a heathen. In hindsight, driving to Walmart at midnight and clawing your way through throngs of people for half-priced electronics doesn’t make for the most heartfelt Thanksgiving story.

Flashing back to a few weeks before Thanksgiving, I’d invited another American couple over for a traditional turkey dinner the weekend after the holiday, as I figured our five-course French tasting menu wasn’t exactly authentic. My plan seemed completely doable and just plain necessary.  You can take the girl out of America, but you can’t take the America out of the girl. While Thanksgiving Day may have been anti-climactic, the thought of Saturday’s dinner plans lifted my spirits.

I started the process by researching recipes and interrogating family and friends on their tried-and-true cooking tricks. Though I graduated from culinary school, the Natural Gourmet focuses on health-supportive food that also happens to be primarily vegan. No roasted turkeys or sausage stuffing, and certainly no metric system.

After watching countless episodes of Barefoot Contessa and talking to Thanksgiving pros, I knew exactly how to cook a six-pound turkey at 350 degrees Fahrenheit—but what did that mean to a Londoner? It meant that I had to do more math this past week than I’ve ever had to do in my life. My preparations felt more like homework than cooking. If a turkey weighs 2.7 kilograms and it should cook for 20 minutes per pound at 350 degrees Fahrenheit, how long does it need to cook in a Celsius oven and at what temperature? After many equations and matrices, I learned that the turkey had to cook for approximately two hours at 176.66 (repeating) degrees Celsius. Impressed?

The process went on as such and my head swirled with gram and kilogram and milliliter conversions. You’d think I was mastering the Theory of Relativity with the pages of notes I was working with. Fractions and decimal points kept me up at night and worries of salmonella poisoning sent chills down my spine. Yes, it’s safe to say I was sufficiently and excessively stressed. But it was Thanksgiving and without a parade or Black Friday sales, the least I could do was serve a properly cooked turkey.

Cheese Platter

Despite two weeks’ worth of over analyzing and agonizing, dinner turned out as I’d hoped—fun, festive and full of food and wine. I’ll admit there were blunders, burns and tears along the way. I can tell you that I have blisters on my knuckles from my tiny oven and I had a near meltdown when the grocery delivery service sent me frozen broccoli instead of fresh broccoli. Not to mention that the farm I purchased my turkey from called me the day before to change my order (including the size and type of turkey), which meant I had to redo my entire cooking chart in the 11^th hour. But all mishaps aside, I’m happy to report that by 7:15pm on Saturday evening four friends sat down to a feast of food that served as a little reminder of home. It may not have been perfect, but it finally felt like Thanksgiving.

Apps - forgot to take pics after this point!

This year, I am thankful for the opportunity to live in London. I am thankful for wonderful friends and family. I am thankful for those of you who helped me plan my dinner and those of you who cheered me on along the way. I am thankful for Cindy, Greg and Josh for being my Thanksgiving Day guinea pigs. I am thankful for my blog readers (become a follower by clicking the “Follow” link at the bottom of the page). And for the first time, I am thankful for my former math teachers, who inadvertently prepared me for my first Thanksgiving abroad. I never thought I’d say this, but they were right. You do use math in your everyday life and you won’t always have access to a calculator. Who knew?

Week in Review

1. The Internet goes down for a record-breaking 10 days

2. Josh fixes the Broadband problem numerous engineers couldn’t with his patented “unplug-replug” strategy

3. Order is restored to the Croes household and Josh is dubbed, the Earl of the Internet

4. Wednesday night’s Brisket Disaster leads to the remarkable discovery that the smoke alarms are indeed working

      5. The Water Poet is officially declared Neighborhood Bar of the Year (Commencement Ceremony scheduled for next Sunday afternoon)

      6. Bikram yoga becomes the workout of choice, as we experience the healing powers of heat exhaustion

      7. Sky TV surrenders to Jet domination and finally shows a game, whereupon we bear witness to an  incredible 4^th-quarter win against the Texans 

     

      8. Promotion for Nikki’s Natural Gourmet article continues—please visit: http://naturalgourmetinstitute.wordpress.com/2010/11/04/guess-who’s-popping-up-for-dinner-natural-gourmet-graduate-alice-bamford-is-cooking-up-locally-sourced-meals-for-london-insiders/ 

     

      9. In global news, Kate Middleton and Prince William, or “Wilkat”, announce their royal engagement after a nine-year courtship

     

     10.  Nikki vows to spend the next six months procuring an invite to the wedding… all other plans are currently on hold

Travel Blog About Prague

Two weeks ago Josh and I planned our first Euro-trip to Prague. At the time, the extent of my knowledge on the city was how it was pronounced, where it was located and how long it took to fly there from London. Regardless of the fact that I knew bupkas, I was still eager to go. “Prague” had such a lovely ring to it. I pictured us wowing crowds at an art gallery opening saying things like, “Yes, well, when Josh and I were in Praaaaague…”

Being it our first vacation from London, we spent most of the time leading up to our getaway answering the less exciting questions: How many bags does Easy Jet allow you to take? How are we going to get to Gatwick Airport? What and where is Gatwick Airport? How much longer are we going to have to put our liquids in little plastic bags, because it’s really getting annoying? Etc. By the time we had squared away the logistics, we only had a few days to figure out why we were really going to Prague. We hadn’t the slightest idea what we were going to do, see, or most especially, eat!

I can tell you that after some Internet exploration and a three-day vacation, I am not only in love with the city, but I have newfound respect for it. To begin, Prague is the capital and biggest city in the Czech Republic, and is referred to as the “Heart of Europe”. It’s home to the some of the most breathtaking and cultural sights on the continent, including the Charles Bridge, Astronomic Clock, Prague Castle and St. Vitus Cathedral. It’s also composed of architectural styles indicative of the Gothic, Baroque and Renaissance periods, which add a stunning element of visual diversity to the landscape.  

What I think is most inspiring is the fact that these ancient landmarks and structures have managed to survive extensive periods of hardship and destruction, much of which occurred in the Twentieth Century. It’s remarkable that this burgeoning, whimsical city was only freed from Communist rule in 1989, and in such a short time, transformed into one of the most popular and majestic tourist spots in Europe. It’s a testament to the reliance of its people, who I might add are jovial, friendly and fierce in the kitchen…  

Which brings me to my next point—the food and beer! I can honestly say that I am now a full-fledged beer snob. The dark ales, which I preferred, balanced notes of chocolate, coffee and caramel, while the lagers were light and honey-flavored. Each beer was superb and never disappointed, even if it was just the house tap. I’d read that as the French pair wine with food, the Czech pair beer with food. As it turns out, this is so, so true. We had appetizers of pickled cheese and potato pancakes, which perfectly complemented our pints. Main dishes consisted of what I’d classify as heavy winter food—bread dumplings, sauerkraut, beef goulash and pork by the plenty.

The Old Town Square fast became one of our favorite locations for visiting and eating. At one stall, baguettes were carved out on a spike, making a pocket just the right size for hot dogs and ketchup. (It’s a trade secret I’d like to bring to the US.) Other stalls included spits that roasted whole pigs and a life-sized cast-iron skillet that was used to sauté boiled potatoes with chunks bacon and chopped onions. Desserts of rolled dough were roasted on spinning skewers and finished with powdered sugar and cinnamon. When the wind picked up, there was no better way to get warm than with a cup of hot wine flavored with mulling spices. It was like being at the tailgating party of the century. If someone had brought out a football, we might’ve never left!

Material World

It’s been just about a month since we moved to London from New York. Two weeks before that the movers put all of our possessions, minus two suitcases, on a boat headed for our new city. In total it’s been about six weeks since we’ve seen most of our stuff from cutlery and cooking supplies to clothes, snowboarding gear and about sixty boxes of whatever else. So when the movers called and said our things had arrived, it goes without saying that I was beyond excited. I was ready to cook and wear something other than one of the three sweaters I brought with me. I was looking forward to eating off our Villeroy & Boch plates and using silverware as opposed to plasticware. I wouldn’t go so far as to say we were roughing it, but it definitely hasn’t been easy.

On Friday, Josh left work at around 2pm to accept the delivery. I was at work and had my phone sitting next to my computer, waiting for him to confirm that everything made it in one piece. By 3pm, I had called, texted and emailed twice. You’d think I was expecting news about the arrival of a newborn baby, not a shipload of belongings.

When I finally got a hold of Josh, he sounded deflated. He said it all came, but he was knee-deep in boxes and packing paper and lots of things he couldn’t make heads or tails of. It was my secret fear come true. While I could finally set up my kitchen and curl up with my Snuggy, I wasn’t looking forward to finding a place for all the material items we’d acquired.

Funny thing is, we’d become accustomed to certain things that have no place in our lives. Yet for some reason, we had trouble getting rid of them. For example, we shipped a box of candles—the same box of candles that was sitting in the closet in our last apartment. We don’t even own a lighter! We shipped not one, not two, not three, but four down blankets. We could warm a small country with our surplus of hats, gloves and scarves. And on that note, I’d like to point out that I’ve since discovered that I have some sort of weird Freudian obsession with hats. I counted five conductor caps, three berets, two tribly hats, a knit hat and a bucket hat. Seriously? You’d think I was an eighty-year old bald man.

The point is that aside from my roll bag of knives, which I literally blew a kiss to, pots, pans, plates and utensils, we really don’t need the rest. It’s actually almost sickening to think of how much we’d gotten rid of in New York and how much we still had. And it’s even more shocking to see the pile of clothes, shoes and other non-essentials we plan on donating now. In a way, I think we got used our simplified life, devoid of the useless crap we for some reason were lead to believe we couldn’t live without. Not to mention we had enough room to do cartwheels—that is if we were talented enough to know how.

If this experience has taught us anything, it’s that the people in our lives are irreplaceable and the “things” in our lives are disposable. Not the other way around. Sadly, I think society lets us forget that. We have no problem collecting and carrying around baggage, yet we’re too busy to phone a friend.

From now on the goal is to go with this feeling and purge as much as we possibly can. Pants (or shall I say trousers) I’ve had since freshman year, the leis we got in Hawaii, the Dirt Devil we can’t plug in in the UK and even two of my precious hats.  Without all that clutter, we might actually be able to reclaim our guest room for guests. Now isn’t that a better use of space?

There's No Place Like Home!

The honeymoon is officially over! I mean, I still love it here, don’t get me wrong. But after our first week of fun and tourism, it was time to snap back into reality. I have to say, work wasn’t even half bad. I freelanced and Josh got back into the swing of things in his new office. What did us in wasn’t work at all, nor was it more issues with cable and Internet and everything else. It was Ikea! That place has it out for us. And after our second weekend in a row wasted in its blue and yellow vortex, I now refer to it as Dante’s Middle Rung of Hell. Dramatic, you say? I think not!

It was a brisk Saturday morning and after a relaxing yoga class, Josh and I ate lunch while watching one too many episodes of Super Nanny USA. Feeling energized and well rested, we decided to venture back to Ikea to collect all the furniture we didn’t get the Sunday before. The previous trip turned out to be such headache that we left with nothing more than a sheet, blanket and two pillows. Ikea had beaten us once, but this time we were ready for war.

I dressed for a recon mission. No heeled boots, no skinny jeans, no complicated jewelry. I laced up my new running sneakers, pulled on a sweatshirt and tied back my hair. This was no time for frills and makeup. I was determined to enjoy my Saturday night, which meant we needed to be ready for action.

Josh and I are usually the first to defend London’s transportation system. The tube comes nearly every minute and lists the estimated wait times on a digital board above the track. There’s typically a map of all the stops posted in multiple locations, so you’re not stuck asking random people if you’re in the right place and boarding the right train. While Londoners and New Yorkers alike warned us that we would soon experience its wrath, we fluffed off their concerns.

I immediately knew something was wrong when I saw how many people were waiting for the tube at Liverpool Street Station. If the tube was running on or close to schedule, there wouldn’t be so many people loitering around the platform on a Sunday. We soon learned that someone had left a suitcase unattended at the following station, so the line was temporarily closed. Which makes me wonder about these people who keep leaving luggage all over the place, causing bomb scares and dismantling transit systems. Anyway, we ended up on a bus to Oxford Circus to catch our transfer train. The bus clearly stated it was stopping at Oxford Circus, but somewhere along the way the route changed and we had to get onto another bus.

When we finally made it on the Bakerloo line to Stonebridge Park, we pulled out our books and settled in for the nice long ride. Fooled again, we were informed that the train to Stonebridge Park wasn’t stopping at Stonebridge Park. It instead terminated at Queen’s Park, where the train conductor told us the next tube would be arriving in seventeen minutes. We took those seventeen minutes to verbally bash the London transportation system and admitted that everyone was right and we were wrong and it was horrible!

At last our train arrived in the Promised Land, otherwise known as Stonebridge Park. After standing alongside a highway, sucking fumes for twenty minutes, the Ikea shuttle bus brought us to the massive warehouse. We finalized our list at Olympic speed, raced to the self-serve section and collected our items. We then waited on line for the one item not available in the self-service section. It started to feel like we were on an episode of Super Market Sweep, running around with our shopping carts like our lives—and the big prize money—depended on it. With hope that the end was near, we queued up on the Assembly and Delivery Line at 8pm. By this ungodly hour we would’ve traded our souls for a car ride home and a hot meal. As if hearing our pleas, a member of the Ikea staff approached us with an offer we couldn’t refuse. He waved us over and informed us that for just 60 pounds a delivery person would take our furniture and us home immediately. No more lines, no more torture. It was as if we’d met the Wizard of Oz!

Unfortunately, as the adage goes, if something is too good to be true, it probably is. For starters, our driver looked nothing like a deliveryman. He was dressed in a suit with leather loafers and wreaked of cologne. My commonsense edged its way out and I wondered if this was actually a legit Ikea service or a side business the guy on the Delivery and Assembly line had conjured up. But just as quickly as it appeared, my commonsense slipped away too tired to fight the good fight, and on we went with the so-called Ikea “deliveryman”. I won’t even go into the shouting/horn-honking match he got into with another driver, which nearly lead to a street fight. I’ll just skip to the part where he dropped us off in front of our building and sped away, leaving us to carry nine boxes up two flights of stairs.

Long story short, we treated ourselves to the steak-for-two dinner at Luxe. As for our stuff, an Ikea assemblyman came to put it together on Tuesday. Josh had already assembled the chairs and it still somehow took this trained professional four and a half hours to put together the remaining four pieces of furniture. When he mercifully left the apartment somewhere around lunchtime, I went for a walk. I inhaled a breathe of fresh air, glad to have the ordeal behind me… until it reappeared at my side. “Mrs.,” called the Assemblyman who’d just left. “Yes?” I asked through grit teeth, annoyed by the mere sight of him and his association with Ikea. “I forgot to put these screws in your coffee table. Can I come back up?” All that time and you forgot to put all the screws in?, I wanted to scream. He must’ve noticed the red in my eyes, because he just as quickly said we could probably do it ourselves, dumped the screws into my hands and dashed back to his truck. A wise move on his part!

A week later, I can look back on this laugh. And I must say, the new furniture really has made our house a home. Dare I say, "thanks, Ikea"? Nah!

Life as a Londoner

It’s so easy to talk about writing a blog. “Oh, sure” I said, “the minute I get to London I’m going to start a blog and upload pictures and take lots of video footage. I’m also going to watch less TV, so I’ll have more time to volunteer and finally learn Spanish.” I figured if I’m going to start over in a new country, I might as well do it right. But in real life (or my life) that kind of thing never actually happens. It’s always the same story. I manage to get caught up in errands and activities and never seem to have enough time for anything I resolved to do. Well, I think I never have any free time, but what that really means is I’ve spent most of my afternoon watching Judge Judy reruns on the BBC, leaving no time for creative productivity.

Fortunately, I’m blessed to say that I have some amazing friends and family that didn’t let me weasel out of this one. So to those of you who believe in me, encourage me and offer your undying support, I want to say thank you. I also want to say hello to my readers (if there are any of you) and let you know that if you happen to be a book publisher, movie producer or talent scout, I would entertain the idea of turning my blog into a bestselling novel, blockbuster movie or situation comedy. Until then, on with the story…

I don’t think it’s possible to go into detail on everything that’s happened during our first two weeks in London. Besides, most of you have seen my Facebook updates and know all about the transit strike, the little mouse we found and our Sunday-funday trip to IKEA. What you don’t know, is that in terms of being the perfect tourists, I’d say we’ve rivaled the Griswalds. Here’s a list of what we can now cross off our Fromer’s list: Museum of London, Tate Modern, Buckingham Palace, Borough Market, Spitafields Market, Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club, London Bridge and Picadilly and Oxford Circus. When we weren’t busy running through the Clipboard of Fun, we tried to fit in as real Londoners with a little help from some new friends. One particular invitation came from a fellow Natural Gourmet student, who had us over for a pop-up dinner in Fulham. Similar to the Friday Night Dinners we had at school, she presented a group of 16 guests with a locally-sourced three-course meal. (If you live in London or went to the NGI, become a friend of Alice’s catering company, Love a Locavore.) We also partied on a houseboat in the West End, watched “American” football in Sports Café on Haymarket Street and hung out at Madame Jojo’s in Soho.

It was a whirlwind two weeks and for a fleeting moment I wondered how it was humanly possible do so much in such a sort period of time. Then I remembered… we had a week off of work. Just when life was starting to feel like a long vacation – or better yet, retirement – it was back to the grind. Josh is working in the London office of his company and I’m doing some freelance work. But I’ll save those details for the next blog.