In the grand culinary quest for the best eateries, it’s all a bit of a hit n miss at times really. Some places seem very nice, such as one of Gordon Ramsay’s restaurants set inside the Savoy, yet end up being rather bland and uninteresting.
The leaves were lazily detaching themselves from the branches, quesy about their decision to move to a lower level of existance. People were jogging casually as I sat there, behind the glass window, in the pleasant warmth of the restaurant. To make things slightly more abstract, a trained eagle landed on the hedge and strolled around for a while, ribbons at his tiny eagly claws. Continue Reading
My journey would take me away from the cold, rainy capital, with its modern buildings and unfriendly people, to the depths of the country, equally cold, rainy and slightly unfriendly. It was bewildering how this country worked, prompting me to pursue the Quest for the Friendly People, which seemed an elusive species here. Yet I had hope, as I approached my destination: Herlufsholm, the boarding school. Or as I would call it, Hogwarts.
The good life, I believe it is called. From flying in from Copenhagen, meeting up with my best friend (who I flew into London), cocktails at the Shard, more alcohol at the Ku bar where the bartenders were topless and were packing… it reasserted my opinion that I cannot be poor. It motivates me to strive, to understand that all that suffering and strife is for something… and then we brunched…
The rain had a persistancy akin to drug peddlers at the corner of a dodgy street in Amsterdam (are any of them not dodgy?) after the sun had set and the drunks had started roaming the pavements: it was annoying and constantly there. Small and petty, it kept coming down to make my life miserable. Yet, you know me, I can’t help myself but try and make everything cheery and full of much more excitement than it actually is.
It didn’t seem to care of clothes, or skin, or flesh, it went right through to the bones: the cold. That wicked, damnable cold. It might have been a combination of exhaustion and hunger, as we had decided to take the overnight bus from London. Maybe it was because it was so unexpected, but it made me shook and all I could think is how to find methods to heat myself. I even went as low as going to toilets to use the hand drier that blew that lovely, caressing warm air.
It is always thoroughly enjoyable to introduce the ignorant to the grandeur of real food. Of delicious morsels and mouth watering dishes. To see their little, unexpecting faces contract with orgasmic pleasure as they take a first bite. It seemed high time I saved my sister from the masses of peasants by taking her to her first Michelin starred restaurant.
One good thing about having any sort of meeting in a corporate environment is the offering of nibbles, drinks and alcohol. Considering the inaccesibility to alcohol consumption posed by the British in regards to poor Eastern European students such as myself, these events are god sent. What better way, then, to spend a short “after party” than in a little chinese restaurant?
The angel and the man had blood on both their hands.
Once upon a time, not so long ago, the British Empire was the largest empire humanity had ever succeeded in creating. It stretched across the seas and mountains, into the architecture and buildings of generations to come. Such grandeur should then be expected from a proud people as the British, and London is sprinkled full of big buildings with big statues and big egos.