The Classy and The Trashy

 Let us start with the Trashy, as that is usually more interesting and attention-grabbing. Please forgive me for the crude nature of this story.

The Trashy:

Imagine you are a Londoner, tired after a very long day at work. After working overtime, you leave your office at 11pm (or 23:00 as they count it over here), and start your drive home. On the way home you get stuck behind a double-decker charter bus full of uproarious barbarians, or in this case Roehampton college students on the way to Fabric, the #1 club in the world. To your shock and awe, these students are tossing bottles filled with their own urine out of the window like grenades, and you have to swerve to avoid the radioactive shrapnel.

Let's switch the point of view now to a student on the bus. You've been pre-drinking at your flat because you know how expensive drinks are at the #1 club in the world (19 pounds for two Redbull vodkas). The charter bus takes 40 minutes to get you from campus to the club, and there are no bathrooms on board. In addition you have brought a water bottle full of rum and coke onto the bus so that you don't sober up by the time you get there.

At a certain point in the journey, EVERYONE really has to pee. Some people worse than others. And that empty bottle that you brought your pre-drink in looks mighty tempting. I think the first can of piss whizzed by my head at about 15 minutes into the journey, before being tossed out the window. Then other people followed suit. Girls too -- not wanting to ruin their outfit. People who did hold it, jumped off the bus and started going right in the street. There were at least 20 people leaning up against the alley's walls before getting in the queue for the club. I was fortunate enough to have the bladder capacity to hold it until I got inside, but others were less fortunate. It was a trashy start to a trashy night, but college isn't cotillion, and there is no other time in our lives where this would be even close to acceptable. At least it makes for a funny story. Click here to watch a drunken POV of Fabric -- very trippy. The bass was absurd.

The Classy:

I've also been partaking in more socially proper activities, such as Tea and Scones at Wimbledon. The famous tennis stadium is a short bus ride from my campus. It was a nice taste of England.

Danielle and I went out for dinner in the London Bridge area and found some terrific seafood. First we went to an Oyster place and got these New Orleans style fried oysters which were so scrumptious. If you could imagine lobster-fish sticks drizzled with lemon, herbs,  and a special sauce that made the juicy innards even juicier. Pretty much the best seafood I've ever had. That was merely an appetizer. We went a few places down to an "Applebees" for the rest of our meal. I know Applebees doesn't sound classy, but this wasn't the American version, it was a totally original seafood restaurant that happened to share its name with a mediocre American family chain. We ordered a seafood platter to share which consisted of Sea Bream, Salmon, Rocket Fish, Kalamari, Prawn(shrimp), and Tuna. With it came a palette of sauces, that could be mixed together in any combination with the fish to galvanize a little divine slice of heaven.

I shared in yet another classy meal with Danielle, and Ario and Bobby, two other friends from high school who are also studying abroad in London. We found a small gem of an Indian restaurant in Leicester Square (pronounced like Lester). Bobby and I ordered "Shandys" to drink, which is a mix of a lager with lemonade. And by lemonade I mean real lemonade, not sprite, which is what lemonade means over here. If you want a real lemonade, you must ask for "cloudy lemonade." But the Shandys were delicious. Then they brought out the appetizer which we all split, a triangular meat dumpling called "Samosas". Very crunchy and filling. The main courses had strange Indian names that I can't remember, I should have wrote them down. I know Danielle had a simple chicken curry, Ario had something with Masala in it, and mine had the word Maghorrum in it, or something like that. I know -- I'm a terrible blogger. Need to bring a notepad next time.

Anyways, all of the dishes were brought out in tiny metal bowls with decorated handles and then we were given 2 plates of rice and 2 large buttered Naan breads. My dish had chicken and minced lamb in it, with a spicy sauce that had a hint of barbecue but way more Indian. It didn't burn my mouth or throat like hot wings do, but I felt my body heat rise tremendously. I was literally in a t-shirt by the end of the meal. But the taste, so delectable, it was somewhere between an orgasm and an out-of-body spiritual experience. We ate after 9pm, so it was kind of a second dinner for me, and Bobby got to try some of mine after I had had enough, and he would agree with the above assertion.

So don't listen to the nay-sayers who tell you London has bad food! You just need to find the right places, and so far I've found quite a few. Just don't order a hamburger or a hot dog. Not a good idea in England. Although as Bobby said the other night, "It's never a good idea to order a hot dog."

- Del