London, Journal Entry No. 2

So, we are up from our terrible jet lag and decide to grab dinner and walk about in the neighborhood.

A block or two down the way, we find a pub (no shocker there) and its your traditional "pub style" ... you, counter, order drinks, take where you wish.  We grab something in a large bottle which had honey added and was a nutty brown ale maybe?  Then we make our way to the side of the building, the "beer garden".  Filled with all kinds of people and kinds of odd tables and chairs and all sitting on green turf.  The mixture of eclectic style, the beautiful London weather and air, intoxicating accents made us feel relaxed and in a good place.

And the style - what wonderful, unique style the people have.  Very inspiring, very "I don't give a damn because I'm comfortable and lovely as is", mixed matched, bohemian, classic, preppy, rocker and punk ... all in one.  LOVE the style in London.  

We have a beer, good, and move on.

Starving, we find this place, La Barca, a few blocks down.  Tables lined the sidewalk, drenched in white linen and wood.  Shaker like chairs I see and one man sits out there.  Menus are posted outside the restaurants here and this place looks yummy ... Italian.  Thinking its simple, easy, and not crowded, we go inside.

So here we are jet lagged, in jeans, black, and tennis shoes and we walk into an elegant, breaming with character place with warm and fuzzy smells and more white linen tables filled with people.  A man, looking half mobster, have restaurant connoisseur with wide brimmed, thick brow glasses (and side parted half gray hair) who wore a suit, ushered us to our table.  Surrounded by Brits bustling in conversation, we sit down to a fancy meal.

Impressed by men in butler type get ups, less the jacket ... they seemed to speak light english, concluding they were Italians in England.  Many of them took turns coming to our table, serving this and that, speaking minimally.  Water, bread and butter to start with, awesome.  We order.

We start with water and I think I drink almost a pitcher while dining.  I don't think water ever tasted so good.  They were refilling it so much, the waiter left it at our table.  Steven had a glass of the house red - simple, crisp wine.  Their bread and butter, perfect.  I order the Pollo Montebianco and Steven, another chicken dish.  His is topped with a rust colored sauce, avocado, and parmesan.  Mine, drenched in a wild mushroom, cream, brandy sauce plus the wild mushrooms, divine.  One large, gorgeous chicken breast.  We have to order sides separately, so we place a spinach and vegetables of the day dishes.  It all comes out a little while later, it is beautiful.  Looks the part, smells the part, absolutely tastes the part.


Food so GOOD, so simple the dishes are they seem exotic again.

The table across from us, filled with about 10 or so lads (or blokes) having ecstatic conversation.  They all looked so put together.  Maybe they were wearing tailored white button up shirts, loosely unbuttoned on the top.  They may have been discussing business, politics, the sorts.  Another table across from us, three older gentlemen and one in particular kept giving me the piercing eye, a stare sort of.  It was such an intense stare from a regal sort of man.  He was maybe 70 or so with a full head of white flowing hair on top, blue eyes, perfect teeth, and another button up crisp shirt, possibly with a blue design interwoven.  Maybe he was a writer, a poet, a journalist.

Awkwardly, I kept receiving the looks throughout dinner.  He must think of me as a silly American or something, I mean, after all, we were not dressed in proper attire, hmmm, and we're probably eating like wild beasts at this point.

Enjoying ourselves so much, we take our time to eat. The vegetables of the day - cut potatoes, skinny green beans, carrot slivers (still chunky but half so), broccoli - all cooked to perfection.  Every last bite of this meal was perfect and we loved it.  As we continue, rolled carts come out, cooking traditional foods in front of gentlemen's' tables, I'm fascinated.  Conversation in British accent abounds and it seems so proper the way they accentuate the language, so it was quite entertaining, almost whimsical.

And, alas, when I feel all hope is lost in our coolness factor with these Brits, the older gentleman proves me wrong ... he makes strong eye contact completely straight faced, then ... he winks!  Dead on, winks at me.  Then a simple maybe coy smile.  And I think, all is well after all.  I took it as a welcome.

We walk the streets back to our hotel, loving every step.

We were having a hard time sleeping in a normal pattern, so we try some British television ... which does seem a bit sillier than ours.  Cars and buses and people living up life at the pub below, seems to go late into the night.  It's wonderful to be here.  We set this little digital watch for 8 am for Saturday morning ...  and we fade.

AHA!  We are awake, we see the light brightly through the curtains, ready to start our first adventure day, only to look at the clock and we slept until 11:30 am!!  We laugh at ourselves, time adjusting not as easy as it appears.  We shower, get ready, pack our goods for the day.

It's market day in London!