London, barely, plus Yorkshire pudding and my Sunday roast
Some of you may have noticed, that this series of travel-diary/recipe-exploration on the three fabulous European cities I visited last month, is actually going in reversed orders. Reasonable doubts would suggest that I’m saving London for last, but truth is… it’s because I’m struggling to remember any of it.
Before Lisbon, before Madrid, going backwards in sequence, we actually arrived in London first, this posh and thrilling British gentleman that I’ve always had a crush on from afar. But turned out, we didn’t arrive alone. Came with us, was a persistent, cunning and serpent-like seasonal flu which already found us to be very amiable hosts back in Hong Kong, then apparently, took an even deeper liking in the unpredictable and drizzling British weather and decided to extend its stay for our next several miserable days. What is it that they say here? Blimey, fucking wanker. Yes, very well put. Although, in the flu’s defence, it did embody a certain level of traveller’s enthusiasm and took us for a joyride to all the most notable drugstores that London had to offer (Boots, you’re a doll). However, beyond which, it showed lacking interests in just about anything else. Museums? Charming little street? No, flu wanted to stay home and suck fingers. Bloody hell, you bag o’ shite.
(poetry, British profanity is poetry)
So I’m sorry, London (and the ones who fell ill on the tube going from West Kensington to London Bridge on Dec 22nd around 1 pm… It was me). Because I could only sort of remember you as a beautifully wetted city of yellow bricks and steels under an eternal overcast, or as least so you were every chance I looked, mostly up from a pile of tissue-ruins through my watery and bacteria-infested eyes. Were you a bit blurry or was it me?
THIS THING THEY CALL, YORKSHIRE PUDDINGS… THE AIR BALOON-EQUIVALENT OF PASTRY… ONLY THAT IT IS EGGY, CRISPY, FLUFFY AND SO MUCH BETTER THAN I EXPECTED
I did see though, a couple of the important stuffs. The Borough Market… Duke of York Square Market… St. John Bread & Wine… made the pilgrimage. And the more I scratched over the surface of all the excitements, wonderful smells of cheeses and seared meats, captivatingly unique architectures, and the deeply profound culture underneath it all that London has to offer, the angrier I was that I didn’t have the energy to explore further. So much to see, so little life. This isn’t an excuse, London! You weren’t the best mate to help sort out a flu and you bloody well know it!
And here I am, one month later, flu-free and apologetic, I figure the least I could do is not to insult London by pretending that I have anything insightful to say. In fact, the only tribute I could pay is to say this… Regardless of the experience I had, immobile or even if it was well explored, I feel London is the kind of city that will always leave me feeling hungry for more. More to eat, more to see, more to pry out of the maze of bricks and steels, and just when you thought you had it figured out, there it is, another discovery.
I hope I see you again, London. I know, I will see you again. But next time, summer perhaps.
