I admit it. I’m a head-over-heels Anglophile. I love England, and all things British. English People are reserved but eccentric with a strong sense of humor. The English Language is sublime. English Food is, for the most part, unjustly maligned – Bangers and Mash, Toad in a Hole, plum pudding, Stilton cheese, a big rare slab of roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, fish and chips, and buttery, flakey pies.
From English history and royalty, London theater, literature, to the telly, I just can’t get enough. Even the seemingly endless dreary weather makes one appreciate the lyrics behind the Beatles’ musical masterpiece “Here Comes the Sun” so much more. After living in England for a year, my love for all things British was solidified. So infatuated, that my parents were surprised I didn’t walk away with a Union Jack tattoo memorialized as a tramp stamp.
Even after fighting two wars against Britain, Americans continued to regard England with more fondness than perhaps any other country. Today I was feeling a little culinarily randy, so I decided to make a shepherd's pie. Believe it or not, most Britons prefer savory over sweet, salt over sugar, and cheese over dessert. There is something about pub food that feels rustic. I want to grab my Sutherland tartan plaid blanket, pack a basket, take a long country walk, and have lunch in a field of grazing sheep. I felt like I was on an episode of The Great British Bake-Off.
But in the end, I am an American girl. I did the most American supersized thing I could and ate half of the pie by myself. But if the mere sight of a tea cozy sends you into paroxysms of pleasure, and when you hear “fortnight” you immediately think two weeks not a video game, stop by anytime. My John Lewis Rolling Pin is just like my front door, always revolving