I could get used to this

Last weekend I kept telling Scott “I’m becoming British for you so you have to let me buy this/watch Twilight again/eat at my favourite restaurant.” You get the picture. He humoured me by going along with the weekend I had planned out.

First up was visiting Pearce’s farm shop in Hertfordshire.  They had some of the biggest pumpkins I’ve seen in the UK. They had all types of gourds, squash and pumpkins. It was a cold Saturday afternoon and it reminded me of America – even though I cannot tell you the last time I was at a pumpkin patch. But that’s the thing about living abroad…you might never eat Taco Bell back in the US, but when you can’t have it, you suddenly want nachos bell grande more than anything in the world.

We browsed the small shop and we were completely overwhelmed by the delicious looking produce, olive bar, fresh cheese, and meats. They had several shelves dedicated to Italian pasta, Indian sauces, and English jams and chutneys.  And then I saw this:

Be still, my beating heart.

Ignore the regular Frank’s Red Hot sauce – I’ve seen it in Sainsbury’s. Focus on the bottle in the middle. Do you realize how many bottles of this stuff I have to pack in my bags? Do you understand how many people request that I make buffalo chicken dip? Do you know what this means for the people of Britain?

I didn’t buy any this time because I have a few bottles in the cupboard but I took a photo and posted it on my blog hoping to spread the word.  Now run to Pearce’s Farm Shop! (I also bought The Farmers Calendar – which is full of naked men working on the farm. I do my best to support small businesses in Britain. Remember this when you’re finished reading this next bit.)

On Sunday we went to Cambridge and spent the afternoon here:

Do you see that one on the right? That’s Britain’s version of Home Goods. Home Sense is Home Goods. TK Maxx is TJ Maxx. Clever. It’s a gold mine in there, I tell you. A gold mine. Even Scott got swept up in the Home Sense madness and we purchased a vintage bird cage and a tall decorative vase. For. No. Reason. At. All. (We purchased other sensible things like lamps and a Chop to Pot Flexible Chopping Board.)

Next door is the equivalent of Bed, Bath & Beyond. It’s a bit smaller than your usual BB&B but once inside you’d never know the difference. You’d still end up at the cash register with all the things you never knew existed but you desperately needed once you saw them like the Ped Egg and the Banana Guard.

They were having a massive sale on Yankee Candle products – America’s Best Loved Candle. So now I have pumpkins in my vintage birdcage and the best smelling flat in the building thanks to all my Yankee Candles.

It was like the universe turned for me last weekend. Nothing like a little bit of good ol’ American consumerism to make me feel at home.

I was feeling a range of emotions about becoming British. It certainly meant something different to me than I imagine it meant for a lot of new citizens coming from disadvantaged backgrounds, war torn countries. I came from one great country to another great country and I’m so grateful to belong in both.

And there the universe was nudging me along. See, you can live here. We’ll bring your favourite things to you. Here, have a candle. Or four. We’ll work on those nachos.

***

This afternoon we talked about a future vacation – one we’ve talked about for years. I asked Scott when he thought we’d take this trip and he said, “Well, I figured we’d do it when we moved to the US.”

I replied, “That’s not going to be for a very long time.”

“You don’t know. We could decide to move in the next year.”

And I said, “No, I’m not ready.”

Holy shit. Did those words just come out of my mouth? Do you think I was somehow secretly brainwashed at my citizenship ceremony? That painting of the Queen was kinda spooky… no matter where you moved in the room, she was always there, watching.

Pumpkin puree in the UK

It’s really Autumn. There’s no denying it.

I love the crunchy leaves, the crisp air, the smell of hot apple cider. I love the excitement of a new school year, new TV season, and new clothes. I love that the Autumn season is filled with fun holidays like Halloween and Thanksgiving.

But Autumn is not the same without pumpkin. I’m talking carving pumpkin and eating all things pumpkin. I’m talking pumpkin patches and pumpkin festivals. To go through Autumn without pumpkin is just tragic.

While pumpkins are getting easier to find in the UK, canned pumpkin puree still hasn’t quite found its way into the hearts and minds of the British. I know this because if it had the supermarkets would be stocking it like crazy. They’re very good at this consumer behavior business.

In the past, I’ve found Libby’s pumpkin puree in the larger Waitrose in South Kensington. This wasn’t surprising since there seem to be more Americans in Kensington than in the whole of England. When I spotted the cans, there were only a few left and they were stuck randomly by the instant soups. I bought them – even the dented cans. I risked paralysis and possibly death for pumpkin pie.

I haven’t been back to that Waitrose in years so I can’t tell you where to find this year’s dented cans. But I’m here to tell you that there is hope for the rest of us. Pumpkin puree does exist outside the M25.

My local Waitrose is on the smaller side and I don’t think Stevenage is particularly bursting with Americans. But there she was, sitting pretty in the tinned fruit section.

You snooze you lose, Libby. There’s a new girl in town.

Put the kettle on

Before living in the UK, I imagined that a cup of tea might be consumed in the morning before work or school and then again in the late afternoon with biscuits or finger sandwiches. Because that’s what I’d seen in the movies. I had no idea big burly men in hard hats would stop doing manly things like building houses, digging holes, and hammering roofs to enjoy a cup of tea.

I’d seen construction workers on their breaks in the US. They would hang outside 7-Eleven, smoking and drinking Red Bull or a Big Gulp. Maybe a coffee. But I can’t imagine them making themselves a cup of tea. (They do ogle and cat call. Construction workers are the same the world over but I digress.)

Drinking tea in the UK is not just reserved for Afternoon Tea at swanky hotels where you’re bound to see more tourists than locals. Tea is casual and something you consume all the livelong day.

In fact, a Brit drinks on average 2.1 kg of tea each year. That’s about one of these massive bags per person.

Builders and construction workers are not the only ones stopping for a cuppa. In my office, the men drink far more tea than the women. They are always in the kitchen making a round.

Of course women enjoy a cup as well and don’t have to have theirs with cucumber sandwiches and scones. Drinking tea with English people is not nearly as exciting as I thought it would be!

Although we had tea in my house growing up, I only remember really drinking hot tea when I was ill. The only time I remember tea being served all day was at my Irish-American grandma’s house. When we’d go for a visit, she had the kettle on before we even got out of the car. (Ireland actually consumes more tea per capita than Britain, thank you Trivial Pursuit.)

Our visits centered around her kitchen table, where we laughed and laughed over many cups of tea. We would solve the world’s problems over a shared pot of tea (and it was literally a shared pot of tea. She would just add more water to the same three tea bags all day long. That’s what growing up during the Great Depression does for you.)

My grandma was disappointed when she found out Scott didn’t drink tea regularly. He just didn’t fit her idea of an Englishman. But when he’d come to visit, we’d still sit around the kitchen table while she drank tea. She would say,”Did you know in England they call condoms ‘hats’?” and look at Scott for confirmation of this so-called fact that she must have heard on late night TV. He would turn several shades of red and I’d shriek as my grandma would follow it up with, “Don’t forget your hat!”

So, you see, tea brings people together.

English people love their tea. It gives them something to do. In the mornings, they can make awkward small talk or make a cup of tea. I know what I would rather do!

In Kate Fox’s Watching the English: The Hidden Rules of English Behavior, she writes that tea can be a polite procrastination tactic. Before a business meeting, people make pleasant chitchat usually about the weather and then all find themselves fussing over tea and coffee. There is no talk of business for the first ten or 15 minutes. Fox says it’s down to them pretending this is all a nice social gathering, everyone too nervous to say, “Let’s just get down to business.”

I don’t know if that’s entirely true but I have noticed that the making of the tea is a perfect excuse for a social gathering. If you don’t know the person on the other side of the kettle, you can say things like, “It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop raining today. Nevermind – it’s good for the garden” (they love their gardens)  or the fail-proof, “There’s nothing like a good cup of tea.”

If you know the other person, making a cup of tea is the perfect opportunity to talk about your weekend, talk about your ailing health, or talk about someone behind their back. According to the UK Tea Council, 80% of office workers say they find out more about what’s going on at work over a cup of tea than any other way.

When I interned at a magazine company in London, I was terrified to do a tea round. I had never really made tea for anyone and I didn’t know all the rules. The water must be boiling hot. Water first, then milk. But some people like to have their milk first so the tea doesn’t get filmy. How much milk is too much milk? What constitutes one sugar?

Then there are the logistics of making tea. Who is in the round? Once you’ve asked the nearest four people, you notice the woman sitting by herself in the next bank of desks. Do you ask her if she wants a tea? But she’s never made you one and if you ask her, you might as well ask the other three men in the office. It’s a minefield, I tell you!

And we wonder why Starbucks is so popular.

The eagle has landed

Surprise! I’m back in the US, writing this from the comfort of my bed, in the comfort of air conditioning. It’s 5 in the morning and although my body is tired, my mind is all abuzz with thoughts of artificial cheese products, Target shopping bags, and the possibility of returning to England with a bit of a tan.

You have no idea how hard it was not to tell you. This has been in the works for months. I still can’t believe we pulled it off. My mom was absolutely shocked when she saw me sitting at the table with my sisters when she and my dad arrived for her birthday brunch. She burst into tears and just cried and cried. She said she hadn’t realized just how much she missed me until she saw me which is pretty much one of the saddest things she’s ever said. God, this living-4000-miles-away thing is really hard.

But.

Target!

Tan!

Cheese-flavored Puff’n Corn!

I arrived on Saturday and spent the day with my sisters and cousins at the Kenny Chesney concert. I don’t know his music (other than the one about his tractor being sexy) but it was the perfect way to assimilate to summer time in Virginia.

I find myself thinking ‘This is so American!” and “It really is just like the movies!” I am thinking a lot of the same things Scott thought when he first came to visit all those years ago (and actually still thinks). Just as you can’t really know about life in the UK by just visiting London, you can’t really understand life in America by only visiting New York City or Washington DC. I feel so privileged to know both countries.

I refuse to let this become a weepy post where I sentimentalize about expat life so I’ll just show you some photos of my surprise trip so far.

You’re never too old to play flip cup:

But you are too old to wear this:

Still crying at her birthday brunch:

After brunch we went for pedicures. Even the Colonel had one:

And then we sat outside on the deck and ate homemade peach pie:

It’s good to be home.

Mexican food in London

In an attempt to write about something that’s not as heavy as babies and marriage and my love of vampires (oh, to be that taxi!), I thought I’d write about something equally important but not involving so many feeeeelings. Because this time I’m writing about eating your feelings.

And no better way to do that than with some Mexican food. Who doesn’t feel better after some chips and salsa?

When I was studying here five years ago, it was difficult to find decent Mexican food. The Brits tried. They really did. But it was always a bit off. Even the Old El Paso taco seasoning packets at the supermarket seemed weird. (Curry powder finds its way into so many dishes in this country.)

But I’ve seen the supermarkets’ selection expand over the last few years. Now you can find lowfat sour cream and wholewheat tortillas and guacamole in a jar (which I would never buy but I’m just showing you how much more is on offer these days.)

Sure, they still have the ready-made nachos that they call Authentic Tex-Mex and Crispy Chicken Fajitas that look like something from KFC. And a weird nacho cheese dip from Tesco that is almost entirely mayonnaise. Like I said, they are trying.

We have to keep in mind that a messy kebab after a night out is the British equivalent to a late night run to Taco Bell or the Burrito Buggy (OU students – I’m looking at you). There are great Indian restaurants here – they didn’t know they needed Mexican food.

But I’m happy to report that really good Mexican food does exist in London and you actually have quite a few choices.

Lucky for me and my feelings, I work near a few of these fine establishments where you can get burritos practically the size of your head.

Daddy Donkey

They describe themselves as a “Kick-ass Mexican Grill” and do the “daddy” of burritos, as well as bowls and tacos. I hear they really are kick-ass.

Location:  Leather Lane Market, London,  EC1N 7TE

Freebird

The owner, Carlos, trained at the same culinary institute as the guy who started Chipotle. These burritos are seriously good and taste just like home.

(I couldn’t find a working website for them but follow them on Twitter if you’re one of those people.)

Location: Exmouth Market, Camden, Goodge Street

Beach Burrito (now EatMexicali)

I can’t vouch for this place but I’ve heard good things – they even do breakfast burritos. I’m in.

Location: Notting Hill, Chelsea and Soho.

Tortilla

A small restaurant across from Angel tube station that’s big on taste and value. They seem to understand exactly what “fresh, delicious California-Mexican cuisine” is. More importantly, they use Monterey Jack cheese. I can’t tell you how rare that is.

Location: 13 Islington High Street, London, N1 9LQ

Chilango (used to be Mucho Mas)

I haven’t been here but it looks cute and funky – not a prerequisite for amazing Mexican food but I just thought I’d add that in. They boast “fresh, fabulously tasty Mexican cuisine” and are also near to Angel tube station.

Location: 27 Upper Street, Islington,  N1 0PN

Mestizo

If you’re looking for a truly authentic Mexican menu, try this restaurant. It’s not the type of place you pop in for a take away burrito but it can be a fun night out with friends who appreciate that Tex-Mex is not proper Mexican food.

Location: 103 Hampstead Road, London, NW1 3EL

Wahaca

There was so much hype around this place when it came to London. I admit to being really excited about it too but this was before I knew of all these other places. Wahaca specializes in Mexican street food and I do always enjoy what I order…well, except for the time I ordered a burrito and was put off by all the cabbage stuffed in there. So, I go there for the taquitos and churros instead.

Locations: 66 Chandos Place, Covent Garden, WC2N 4HG and Westfield Shopping Centre, Ariel Way, W12 7GB

Cafe Pacifico

This Mexican cantina does the job as far as enchiladas and chimichangas are concerned. If you’re in Covent Garden, a perfect evening of Mexican goodness would be lite bites at Wahaca followed by margaritas and mains at Cafe Pacifico.

Location: 5 Langley Street, Covent Garden, WC2H 9JA

Taqueria

This “authentic Mexican taco cafe” in West London has a large range of tacos from prawns to chorizo to beer battered fish (I’m not so sure about that one but we’ll go with it). The restaurant is from the same people behind the Cool Chile Co.

Location: 139-143 Westbourne Grove, London, W11 2RS

Cool Chile Co.

For those who would rather make their own Mexican food, Cool Chile Co. has what the supermarkets lack. After a quick scan of their site, I’ll be ordering some fresh corn tortillas and tomatilla salsa. You can order online or visit their stall at Borough Market.

I think this is a fantastic indication of what Mexican food in the UK will be in the future. And if none of these do it for you, have no fear, Chipotle is coming here! They are due to open their first restaurant in London later this year.

(Now, if only I could find some really good queso. Nobody does it like you Austin Grill. I’ll love you forever but please don’t ever redesign your menu again. I almost had a heart attack when I couldn’t find queso under the appetizer section. But you’re right, you know best. It really is a side. It goes with everything.)

Ask and ye shall receive IV

And here we are for another installment of Ask and ye shall receive.  (See Part I, Part II, and Part III)

Wow, you people really want to know about Kate Gosselin’s hair, don’t you? I hope you’re not printing out photos and taking them with you to your next hair appointment. It’s also thrilling to see my own name being searched for as well as Chuck Bass, Edward Cullen and Oscar Mayer. (Anyone looking for them on this blog will be thoroughly disappointed. Anyone looking for me? Here I am, Internet!)

1. Zac Efron coming down stairs

This is a no Zac Efron fly zone. Move along.

2. Dips men love

Dips…how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I’ll be sharing more recipes with you soon but for now, make yourself your man a vat of this. STAT.

3. Has one had their sofa not fit in one’s door

Yes, one has had that problem and one was prepared to throw a royal tantrum if one could not get their sofa through the door. One would recommend measuring before moving in. If one’s husband decides not to and says it will be fine and it’s not, one believes it’s perfectly acceptable grounds for divorce. (One should expect to get the sofa in the divorce settlement.)

4. Playhouse for my kid

Was there anything better than playing pretend when you were a kid? Sometimes we used boxes as a house but more often than not, we draped blankets over chairs or just simply didn’t put up any roof and just got on with it. But kids these days…they want things. They want those $6000 playhouses. What happened to the old’ “Here’s a cardboard box. Go play” attitude?

If that seems too sensible mean, buy them this eco-friendly cardboard playhouse which they can paint and color on. They’ll love it and you can throw it out when they get bored of it.

Though I suppose you could move into the $6000 playhouse when you can’t make payments on your real house.

5. How to get laid in high school

Why are you looking at me?!

Cheaper than couples therapy

Scott has a famous recipe for salsa, which is pretty much my mom’s recipe for salsa, minus the tomatoes and the addition of cucumber. Scott’s salsa is very easy to whip together but it takes some serious chopping time, especially since he makes truckloads of the salsa at one time.

He is so proud of the salsa that no matter what dinner party I have planned he suggests his salsa. The last time we were visiting my parents, they hosted a party and Scott served his salsa and the three kinds of chillis nearly killed a few unsuspecting guests.

This salsa inspired my sister to give us a gift certificate to the cooking school, CulinAerie, on 14th Street in Washington, DC.  She chose the Knife Know How class since we would both find it useful in our cooking adventures and we went to the class back in January.

Unfortunately on the way to the class, we got in an argument. We were early to the class so we sat for awhile in a Starbucks, still upset with one another.  We walked into the cooking class, not speaking to each other, which was actually ok because for the first hour the instructor is taking you through all the best knives and chopping techniques.

Then it was our turn to work together to debone a whole chicken. I don’t do chicken on the bone so this was a very challenging task for me and not one I really wanted to do while Scott sat back, watching me, judging me. It didn’t take him long to see that I was about to do it all wrong (I’m sorry but I could barely look at that blue-ish chicken skin, nevermind touch the damn thing.)

The truth is I needed Scott and he saw it. He took the knife and came to my rescue just before the instructor arrived at our table to inspect our techniques. At that moment, Scott was my Jack Bauer of the culinary world.

We cut oranges and onions together and Scott cut my portion of carrots. We made a great team. Then it was time to cook the chicken and make a thick creamy mustard sauce. Finally my chance to shine!

I took over the sauce and then we watched the chicken pieces closely, waiting and hoping to get it right. We managed to only burn one piece, which we were able to conceal from the instructor* by quickly flipping it over.

Then it was time to serve up the food and it was delicious. Way more tasty than any chicken I’ve ever made and maybe it had to do with the fact that we made it together and actually had fun doing it. Or maybe it was just because it was covered in creamy goodness.

We ate our entirely homemade meal and left the class with some awesome chopping skills, a great recipe, full bellies and content hearts.

Most people wouldn’t suggest handling knives when you’re fighting with your spouse but for us, it was the perfect way to get over it quickly, have some fun and work together to make something we can both enjoy.

Bottom line: Go to a cooking class. It’s cheaper than therapy and you get to eat and drink your way through it.

* Our instructor, Susan Holt, was great. She was so kind and encouraging and she entertained us all night with stories from her restaurant days.

How to get laid on Super Bowl Sunday

The last time I liked anything related to football was when I was 12. I went to a local high school football game and was bored out of mind. While flipping through the program, I came across a player named Jay. I drew a heart around his face and hung the photo in my room. By the time I got to high school, he was long gone and I had only ever managed to see one more photo of him in an old yearbook. I kept that team photo for years. I still have the photo.

I have been to quite a few Super Bowl parties but I’m pretty sure I’ve never actually watched a Super Bowl game. I find American football excruciating. For one, there are four 15-minute quarters which always makes me think, ok, an hour…I can do that. But it’s never an hour! It’s more like four.

Two: you can’t even see the men properly because they are covered in pads and helmets.

I do like Super Bowl parties though. I can appreciate the excitement other people have for the game and the best commercials are shown during the Super Bowl. But by far the best part is the food.

A  simple Google search will show you how much thought and planning goes into a Super Bowl party. The food that is served always seems to be geared towards men. Lots of meat, cheese, beer, spice. Easy on the veggies.

But the truth is women love it too and it’s the one day you can gorge yourself on 7-layer dip without feeling like you really should be eating the cucumber sandwiches and fresh fruit.

A staple at my family’s football parties is sausage dip. In the past, I had always described it as something men love. These days I add that this is a dip American men love. I haven’t properly tested the British market but the couple of Englishmen who have tried it, liked it, but didn’t loooove it. I know, I can’t believe I’m still with a Brit either. *

Anyway, this dip has now become the “Never Be Single Again” Sausage Dip or maybe more appropriately, “Sure to Get You Laid” Sausage Dip. The women who have made this recipe have nothing but good things to report back. And I do mean good things.

The dip is quick and easy to whip up. You’ll still have plenty of time to doll yourself up for the party. Though, let’s be real here, you could be bleaching your upper lip right next to your man during the Super Bowl and he would not even notice. But don’t do that. Use that precious time to eat some of this dip yourself.

I don’t make this dip often because, as I said, the magic doesn’t work on my Englishman and like many American recipes, it can be tricky to find suitable ingredients. But it’s Super Bowl Sunday and I’ll be damned if I’m going dip-less.

You’ll find quite a few variations of this recipe and the great thing is that you don’t even need to measure. It’s one of those recipes where you are actually required to taste as you go.

As for the actual Super Bowl game – may the best team win…who’s playing again?

“Never Be Single Again” Sausage Dip

1 lb Jimmy Dean or Bob Evans sausage (feel free to choose Hot & Spicy)

1 1/2 8 oz blocks of Philadelphia Cream Cheese

1 can Rotel Tomatoes and Chilis

1 small can of V8 tomato juice (optional)

Brown the sausage and drain. In a pan, melt the cream cheese in with the meat. Add the can of Rotel. If you think it’s too runny, add more cream cheese. This is where you are free to start tasting.

Add a few tablespoons of the V8 to give the dip a deeper color.

Then transfer to a crock pot and serve with Fritos Scoops or tortilla chips.

Notes to my English readers:

Rotel can be found in several specialty grocery stores and also online. There are suitable substitutes in the International aisle at Tesco and Sainsburys too.

Choose any pork sausage and remove the casings before cooking. If you use sausage meat like I did, you may want to spice it up with Tabasco or red pepper flakes.

You can find Fritos at specialty grocery stores and online but really tortilla chips do the job just fine.
 

*After tasting the dip this time around, my Englishman said he did really like it and maybe it was because I used British ingredients. Riiight.

That’s not a biscuit

A coworker once asked me what a biscuit was to an American. I found it hard to explain since biscuits, as I know them, are rare in Britain. When you start describing a biscuit, people are quick to say, “Oh, you mean a scone.” No, I mean a biscuit. Have you ever seen a scone with a big piece of greasy fried chicken next to it? I didn’t think so.

The differences between biscuits in the UK and US:

When I think of the word “biscuit” I think of the dog biscuit or the savory biscuit served with breakfast or dinner. And sometimes lunch.

Before living in the UK, I never associated it as a sweet treat.  Unless it was a biscuit at Bob Evans because those are just amazing with honey. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves though.

Biscuits in the UK are essentially cookies. A popular biscuit is the digestive which I always thought sounded wrong. They are semi-sweet, hard biscuits and the term “digestive” came from the belief that the baking soda in them helped with digestion. This has since been proven untrue.

The plain, ol’ regular digestives taste a bit like graham crackers but you can find them in all sorts of varieties – plain, caramel, chocolate, mint, orange.  The digestive is popular with tea drinkers because they are perfect for dunking. Other popular biscuits are Rich Tea, Jammy Dodgers, Hob Nobs, Bourbon,  Malted Milk and shortbread. To find the perfect biscuit for you, check out Nice Cup of Tea and a Sit Down for reviews of many of the biscuits on offer in Britain.

Just to confuse you further, if you’re looking for a big, soft chocolate chip cookie, those are called cookies.

Even the Brits agree that chocolate chip biscuit just doesn’t sound right.

A biscuit in North America is a small formation of bread made with baking soda rather than yeast. There is no need to let the biscuit dough rise before baking. Once baked, the biscuits are soft and fluffy on the inside. Similar to the scone, the biscuit can be topped with jam or honey.  I won’t be going into scones because…well, I just don’t have the energy to tackle the history of scones (and whether the correct pronounciation of scone rhymes with “phone” or “gone”). I will say that biscuits in the US are slightly different, though scones do exist over there – mostly overpriced versions in Starbucks.

The biscuit has a strong presence in the South. These biscuits are usually made with buttermilk and served as a side dish. You’ve got your biscuits with honey, jam, butter, or syrup. You’ve also got your biscuits with a side of sausage gravy. You can top your biscuit with egg and bacon a la fast food chains.

There are a few key establishments that have perfected the use of the biscuit:

Tudor’s Biscuit World has locations across West Virginia (with a few in Kentucky and Ohio). I have never been but I am told that you can get a biscuit sandwich the size of your head. Have a look at the menu – you can’t go wrong with a hashbrown and cheese smushed between a biscuit. And how fun would it be to order “One Tootie, one Duke…no scratch that, make it a Peppi and a Thundering Herd to go, please.”

KFC and Popeyes, to name a few of the fast food chicken restaurants, include warm, buttery biscuits with the meal deals and are the perfect complement to fried chicken.

Sadly, KFC in the UK does not serve biscuits. It also doesn’t serve potato wedges. It’s a crying shame.

Red Lobster. While I wouldn’t choose this establishment for seafood, I could be convinced to go there for the cheesy garlic biscuits. Red Lobster serves 1.1 million of these bad boys a day. The Cheddar Bay Biscuit recipe is a secret, but you can find some pretty good attempts on the web. In fact, Bisquick does the job nicely and what’s even better? Bisquick is sold in the UK.

And last but certainly not least: the Chick-Fil-A Chicken Biscuit. 

Nothing but a biscuit and piece of boneless fried chicken. It’s the simple things in life…

Nothing says freedom like funfetti

This week I got a bad case of laryngitis. I could barely speak and I felt awful. Though I’m feeling a lot better now, my voice is hoarse and at any given moment, my voice gives out. I have never really lost my voice before this. I’m a talker and not being able to talk has been horrible.

It’s my worst nightmare.

It’s Scott’s dream come true.

I was determined to feel better by the end of the week. Not just because it’s my brother-in-law’s wedding this weekend but also because it’s the 4th of July.

This year I won’t be attending a BBQ or watching any fireworks. But I really wish I was. When you’ve been here for awhile, you start to really miss the hokiness of American holidays.

So, what do you do? You bring the hokiness over. And it comes in all forms – usually lovingly provided by my mother.

To celebrate the United States declaring independence from Britain, I made special patriotic cupcakes and chocolate chip cookies for my (mostly British) coworkers today.

I do realize the festivities are a day early but I won’t be in the office tomorrow. It is Independence Day after all.