Sipping Joe from Cafe Gratitude

I am in a weird sort of mood and I have no idea why. Well, that's a lie. I have some idea. I woke up this morning and headed into the city centre. It is fairly warm today, fair weather that makes you sure spring will arrive shortly. I watched It's Complicated last night and grew insanely jealous of Meryl's character with her beautiful Californian home and bakery. So to treat myself I went to Cafe Nero and enjoyed a delicious double espresso (with two sugars and dash of cream...I'm not that hardcore anymore) and pain au chocolat. They advertise that the dough is shipped from France, so I was sold. I worked on my essay, arguing how and why Cold Mountain is appropriate for a historical film class. I had a really lovely morning, all to myself, and get to spend the evening chatting with my parents over skype.

Maybe it was my indulgent morning filled with caffeine and chocolate, or perhaps my following the horrible news of the devastating earthquake in Chile but I just feel waves of gratitude coming on. Gratitude for my safety, for my prosperity, for my potential, and for my situation. Thanksgiving cannot be the only day you look back on your life and realize how fucking lucky you are to have all that you have (it also shouldn't be the only day you have a three hour meal with your family). As a white, American female, I already hold an extremely privileged spot in the world. Worry as I do about going broke here, I know that my parents are capable of supporting me, monetarily but most importantly, emotionally. I have the opportunity to see so many things here. Hell, I'm going to fucking Italy to stay in a villa in less than a month. Like, how does that happen? I have so much to come back to. My family, a job, my sister's wedding, a new home in Madison shared with three amazing ladies. Not to mention a fridge constantly filled with food and free laundry. I just hope that I can remember this. Take a deep breath and put whatever shit-storm I get myself into in perspective.

One of my roommates here is from Santiago, Chile. I haven't seen her come out of her room yet. I hope with all my heart her family is safe and not one of the 1.5 million displaced.

This photo doesn't really pertain to what I've written. I just really like it. Maren - credit due to you!

This weekend I was supremely spoiled. After flying to Copenhagen I was greeted by my sister and future brother-in-law, Bjarke. A native of Copenhagen suburbs, Bjarke gave us a marvelous tour of the city. We saw Nyhavn, the original harbor lined with colorful restaurants and a historical home of Hans Christian Andersen. We visited the Queen's palace, saw the changing of the guard, and even got a glimpse of the Little Mermaid.

After our insiders tour of the city we got Danish-style hotdogs from a street vendor (very Anthony Bourdain) and stopped in a bakery. I went a little camera happy, I think I took like 30 pictures of all the pastries. I was really surprised by the variety and craftsmanship of the sweets. I had expected Danishes and Flulabullah (very mercilessly spelled) and got the shock of entering what could have been a bakery in central Paris. After sampling one too many treats, we went back to his charming little Danish town, 30 minutes away by train.




Can I also mention that at one point this day I was in a Danish bank drinking a cranberry cider? Seriously. You can drink anywhere in this country. No questions asked.

The next day I was treated to an amazing smorgasbord of Danish open-faced sandwiches, herring, schnapps, and aged cheese. We were at the most authentic Danish restaurant you could imagine - if No Reservations made a stop in Copenhagen they would have filmed here. We ate for 4 hours and felt so content after we left.



The rest of the weekend held a Carlsberg brewery tour (with 2 free drinks included), a visit to the bar Emily and Bjarke first met, and seeing an Irish band perform Bruce Springsteen and Oasis at The Dubliner. Cheesecake was consumed, a homemade pasta dinner shared, and new family bonded with.

Bringing the Jersey Shore to Leeds

On Saturday we brought the Jersey Shore to Leeds. We brought the oompa-loompa orange tanner, the Snooki hair poof, and fist-pumping straight down Otley Road. The sad thing was, I ended up looking like a typical club-going British girl. And I was trying to make myself look bad...

Like Halloween or Mifflin in Madison, an Otley run is a hedonistic tradition full of costumes (known here as 'fancy dress') and binge drinking. However, people go on these runs every single day. The basic rules are that you grab a group of trustworthy friends, dress in some crazy group costume that will prompt stares and drunken socialization, and hit 18 pubs along Otley Road. You typically start around 2pm and have twenty minutes to finish your pint (girls only need drink half pints) before shipping it off to the next location. I honestly don't know how people survive it.

Our group (a ragtag bunch of Sconnies, Minnesotans, and North Carolinians) decided to go as the crew from Jersey Shore and guido it up. Of course, no one in Britain knows what this TV show is nor understands the concept of a guido. Some of us put on fake accents to go with our tanner (mine morphing into more of a Jimmy Fallon-inspired Bostonian by the end of the night) and fist pumped whenever time appropriate. I don't wish to go into the exact details of the night. I wouldn't be the most reliable source for an accurate account. Really - how do you get through that?

I do remember meeting one local drunkard. His name was Frank and we was probably nearing seventy. I asked it he voted for Margaret Thatcher and we immediately shuffled out. We met two bunnies who were very enticed by our Snooki impersonations and I'm pretty sure we were racing a group of pirates throughout the night.

My words of advice if you attempt an 18 pub bar crawl, in February, and in heels? Down a tablespoon of butter and GODSPEED.

Trade Offs

Maple Syrup and Nutella UK

I dreamt about maple syrup last night. I woke up and knew I had a problem. I should have already guessed after being told I came to the mind of someone who saw maple syrup in the grocery aisle. Apparenty, I've been more vocal than I thought (real surprise there). It cannot be a good thing when someone strolls down the grocery aisle, spots a random item, and thinks of you. Roses - normal, maple syrup - weird. However, in return I get the real treat of having Nutella UK. All nutella is not made equally.

Guacamole and Curry

So far there have been no dreams including guacamole...but they may not be far off. I already know what I'll be doing my first days back in June. These plans include Wayzata docks, Caribou, John Updike, cornbread, and creating a homemade guacamole recipe. It may take 5 batches to get it right...or 8...or 20. At least I am completely surrounded by amazing curries. No, they aren't exactly authentic but Anglicized tikka masala is still tasty as hell. I can definitely bring back my newfound love of curry to the states but I cannot exactly get it at my union, late-night pizza joints or Chinese take-out. Yes - English Chinese takeouts serve curry. Move here, now.

I Got Beef with You, Tea

There is an underground battle taking place in this country. A fight raging on every quaint, vine-tangled street. A struggle more epic than Cromwell's conquest and no more frivolous than Winston's handling of Gallipoli. I'm talking about the modern war between tea and coffee. 145 million cups of tea are consumed each day in Britain. I have no motivation to find coffee's accompanying statistic but I am motivated to guess that it is probably much less. Probably.

Tea, the traditional English beverage, is such a fundamental part of their culture that it would be silly to consider coffee as a true competitor. Fine, Brits, drink your stupid tea, with your stupid milk (which negates all health benefits, by the way) but at least give me quality coffee. The coffee trade seems to be sorely ignored. Half of the coffee aisle is filled with instant coffee. Instant. I'll pause to let you hold back your vomit. Coffee as Americans know it, the smooth drink made with ground beans and a filter, is rare. Espresso, americanos, and lattes are the usual alternative. Those are all great, in fact, Americanos are tastier and richer than filter coffee, in my opinion. However with the introduction of an espresso machine and milk steamer you can expect to pay a whole hell of a lot more.

Not only are my options limited here but so are my cafe hours. I've never been a library studier. I get distracted and lonely cooped up in my dorm room. I go to coffee shops to do homework. I appreciate the buzzing of caffeinated talk, the smell of freshly ground beans, the humming of steaming milk. I meet friends there and I read on their comfy couches. Most coffeehouses here close at 7pm on weekdays. Close at 7! It is unthinkable! I see how the British might have preferred hanging out spots late at night (pubs, bars and clubs) but come on! England was the birthplace of the modern coffeehouse. Give it some respect - and increased hours.

I want my coffee culture back.