I always thought we had pancakes in America. We've got the IHOP, for goodness sake! ... FALSE. We do not have pancakes.
Not even close.
We went to a little hole-in-the-wall pancake house around the corner from our flat for breakfast. I began to peruse the menu, and found that they had every kind of pancake you could imagine. Lunch pancakes, fruit pancakes, savoury pancakes, sweet pancakes, chocolate drizzled, miniature pancakes, and giant pancakes on giant plates, pancakes with bacon and even pancakes with ice cream! I couldn't believe my eyes.
I ended up deciding on the English Breakfast Pancake--it appeared on top of plate two feet wide, covered with bacon and eggs and tomatoes and mushrooms. Oh. My. Goodness.
Heaven in a pancake.
Anyway the random an sundry pancakes that came to our table were spectacular to behold. And I will DEFINITELY be going back Monday for the 5 Pound special. Wohoo!
After this excursion it was back to the flats for some good solid "homework time". Surprisingly enough, I actually did homework. (I know, I know)... And then it was off to the borough market! You see we really wanted to get some San Francisco Sour Dough from the bread man on the corner. But much to our disappointment, he wasn't selling the bread that day! In his place stood a skinny middle aged man with a frown. Ah, well. We still got our bread.
And do you know what ELSE I got??.... Chocolate covered, cinnamon dusted almonds!! I can't even begin to tell you how GOOD those are. MM!
I also tried Turkish Delight, which was actually quite good. Though I don't know why it's all the rage over here, because it's just cubes of jelly dipped in sugar. Then again... I suppose that would be what peachios, gummy worms, jelly beans, and sour strawberry straws are, in essence. I take it back. I understand the rage.
You know, they have this horrible habit here of leaving pig heads all over the place. On purpose, no less! It's often part of the display. And the little porkers stare into your soul with their piercing black eyes, saying "go ahead.... eat me!"
They also don't refrigerate their eggs. Which I REALLY can't undersatnd. They just sit out, in their little cartons. Perhaps English eggs are less susceptable to ... air.... (?)
Anywho, we went on a tour at the Globe after that. I found the guide rather enjoyable, if... ecclectic. He had an odd sense of style, a loud laugh, and lots of information crammed in his head. The best kind of tour guide, if you ask me.
Afer the tour, we found some couches in a hole-in-the-wall starbucks, snuggled up with hot chocolate, and a book, and read and dozed to our heart's content. It was certainly a nice way to pass the afternoon and rest our feet. And the people watching there was nearly as good as on the tube, I'd say.
We made our way to the Globe again, to see A Midsummer Night's Dream, and as we sat talking on the cement between the Thames and the theatre, I couldn't help thinking, "My gosh! I'm just hanging out here, by the Globe theatre!... Like it's no big deal..."
I keep having that response of late. I'm in London! I'm in London. ... And I can hardly believe it.
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