You Don't Want Any Meat on Your Salad?

The Lake District, home of Beatrix Potter, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and William Wordsworth (listed in order of importance), is really as charming as they say. We stayed at a place called Yewfield which I intend to review glowingly. Yewfield sits on a 30-acre farm complete with a tarn (small lake i think?), chickens, compost piles, nature trail, and an old English manor which serves as the b&b.

We tried to go on a nature walk but ended up in the chicken coop looking for a way back to the house--the path was hard to follow.

Back on the road, we headed to St. Bee's Head on the Cumbrian coast with GPS leading the way. We got very hungry around 2 or 3 and stopped to ask some kids where we could eat in this small town of St. Bee's. They recommended getting a pie at the post office???? Right, the post office? We ended up going to a pub inside a hotel on the beach. I checked the salad page of their menu and found a noticeable lack of greens and the strong presence of various meats. I asked the barmaid if I could just get a green salad and she said innocently: "You don't want any meat on your salad?" A few minutes later, I spilled my entire half-pint on my lap in front of a couple of staring construction workers.

We arrived in Edinburgh at Andrea's flat in the evening on Friday night and enjoyed a lovely curry made by John, Andrea's Scottish boyfriend. In the morning, we drove to Glasgow and met up with Geraldine, who is Irish but lives in Glasgow. Despite its reputation, Glasgow is very nice, especially the old town around the university. I met Andrea and Geraldine on the JET Program in Japan almost 8 years ago, so it was a mini-reunion of sorts.

On Sunday, we poked around the Royal Mile and the castle in Edinburgh, probably eating more than walking. Ahmet enjoyed some oysters and Guiness at Cafe Royal. I told the English bartender that I wanted to try some scottish whisky in my hot toddy (andrea had irish whiskey in hers) and got a showy reply. He said, "well, technically ALL whisky is scottish. If they want to use the spelling `whisky`, the whisky must be aged in barrels off the coast of Scotland for at least seven years". After encountering a mix of grumpy Scots and uppity English early that day, I decided to reply to his little tirade. I pointed to Andrea's glass of Jameson and said, "That's not Scottish whisky". He said, well it's a blend and look at the spelling anyway of 'whiskey'. I guess the implication was that all whiskeys, including Irish whiskeys, want to be Scottish.

We're off to Liverpool today and back in London for the night on Tuesday. Wednesday we return to blustery Chicago.

***

And the Albatross begins to be avenged.

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink ;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot : O Christ !
That ever this should be !
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

(from the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Coleridge)