Rating: 8/10
For all you pasta lovers out there and future Eckerd Study Centre residents, this one is for you. A mere 3 minute walk towards Goodge Street Station lies a small restaurant where happiness begins. There are several reasons to like this place: 1. Students get a discount. 2. The large or double portion can easily supply you with enough food for two meals 3. Almost all the pasta dishes are under ten pounds 4. The pasta is made fresh in house and you can choose any kind for your meal 5. You get a punch card and your eighth pasta meal is free However, there are a few reasons why this place did not get a 10/10 rating: 1. Parmesan cheese costs one pound extra which I never knew until I looked at my receipt, just buy your own parm instead 2. Pizzas take extra long so do not get one of those if its raining because 3. You have to wait outside for your food because the restaurant is too small So far I have had the carbonara with parpadelle, Bolognese with bucatini, and spaghetti with tomato sauce and Italian sausage. The carbonara was very rich that I couldn't finish a regular portion. However, I should have gotten a different pasta with it because the parpadelle was too wide to hold the sauce . The Bolognese was very good and very meaty. It wasn't bad but I was expecting more tomato sauce. The bucatini slapped. If you are in the mood for a cheap but gorgeous pasta, go with the tomato sauce. It was everything and more. The sausage cost extra but since they had no meatballs, I thought it was worth it. There are some pastas that cost extra as well like the parpadelle and the bucatini because they are made fresh daily. The other ones are just as good though if you want to go the cheaper route. Even though I complained about the parm being extra, it is really good. Tastes way better than the grated cheese you get in America in the green bottle. Needless to say, I am very excited for my other visits. Every time I'll try something new. With every order, I get closer to free pasta!
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Besides The Wallace Collection, another art museum I highly recommend is The V&A (The Victoria and Albert museum, but it is known as the V&A). This is a larger museum, but it has a much wider collection than most. If you are someone that isn't really into art, or at least specifically paintings, then go here. Most other galleries just have a collection of paintings (some may have extra things, like the Wallace) but they will primarily have paintings. The V&A is special in that it has a bit of everything. I think it has great appeal to people of all art appreciation. There are paintings and there are sculptures, but there are also exhibits that one would not think typical of an art museum, such as the gemstone room (go see Queen Victoria's sapphire and diamond cornet!), photography, and different wings for countries art (i.e. Japan, China, etc.). There are even specialty exhibits (they cost extra), for example, there was a Beatrix Potter exhibit when I was there.
Other parts of the V&A that I unexpectedly loved were the costume/fashion wing and the theatre wing. There is a round room with displays of fashion through the ages and it was all very pretty. I wish I could wear some of the pieces. And the theatre wing was coupled with ballet, and I learned a lot of interesting things about both there (it helps that it was for the theatre class, and it is an interest of mine...). There's also general marble sculptures and art from every era and place imaginable. You won't be able to do this whole museum unless you either spend the literal entire day there or just make a couple of trips. It's large, but very much worth it. If you're missing your pet at home, I would recommend going to a cat cafe. There are a lot of them around London, and this one is pretty close to the house. For £15 per person, you get just under an hour in the cafe with the cats. Food has to be purchased separately. The cats walk all over the table and try to steal your food which is very adorable. If you're like Audrey, you'll secretly feed them despite being told not to by the employees. Some of the cats are not crazy about people which you'll learn the hard way if you attempt to pet them. Looking back at the website, there is an option for the cat lounge and the kitten lounge and I'm very much regretting not noticing this sooner. For just £4 more you can get an hour in the kitten lounge.
Overall, it was a good atmosphere and the cats were very adorable. I would highly recommend for all cat lovers. 4.5/5 stars. Just as every lion has a hunting ground, so too does every broke college student have a preferred munchies spot. In Florida, this is the Wawa down the block. During my time in London, it was the Tesco around the corner. It would be easy enough to dedicate this review to Tesco as a chain, but instead, I am going to focus on the most amazing thing Tesco has to offer, and the thing I purchased most in London: the meal deal. For three and a half pounds, you can get any combination of a drink, a sandwich made fresh that day, and a bag of chips. I don’t know anything about the economic complexities that make it sustainable, but some of the drinks and sandwiches by themselves are two and a half pounds. If you want any combination of two it becomes cheaper to add a third item; an entire meal deal is literally cheaper than chips and a drink. The quality of the food is not what gives the meal deal such a high score (although the sandwiches are as good as packaged ones can be and prawn cocktail flavored chips are better than they sound,) but it’s the customizability of the meal deal that makes it the perfect budget lunch. You always have several types of sandwiches and other main courses to choose from, drinks from juice to energy drinks are available, and there’s an entire wall of different types of chips. You could have a meal deal 5 days in a row and none of them will be the same, but the price and overall quality will be.
8 out of 10 Alright, listen up. If anything scratch everything I've said so far, or wait. Only a little bit. First let me start off by saying that Heaven is a club instead of a pub. However this place, so far, is ten out of ten on my trip, minus certain aspects of it however. Everything else though (from what I can remember) was amazing.
Appearance: 4/5 The outside of Heaven is non-existent. There is nothing about it that stands out, you could be walking down the street and not even realize it was there. The only significant sign that it was there was the line that spanned down three blocks. However, the reason why I must give this club a four out of five for its appearance is because of the inside. The inside of Heaven is amazing, strobe lights, stage lights, all lights imaginable for a club was in there. It's the perfect place to go out and dance at. Service: 2/5 The service in Heaven from what I saw (and remembered) was horrible. Out of the hundreds that waited in the long line to get it, I would have to say that only one third of that number actually got in. There is security at the front gate that will fully pat you down, if you have something on you that you don't want them to find, make sure you hide it well. My poor grain alcohol was stolen here. Also, there is an entry fee of three pounds, you can perhaps somehow sneak in like I did, I don't remember how I did but I did. If you go with a large group as well expect some of you to not make it in, like it happened to us. However, once you make it past the intense security you're in for a good time. I don't remember seeing any staff inside the club. P.S. don't expect any drinks there. Mood/People: 5/5 The mood and people of Heaven are perhaps the best part of all of this. You can for sure expect the line to be extremely long. If it is, you can perhaps wiggle your way into the front by being sociable to others within the line like a few of my friends did. I would have to say all the people we met in line that night were all extremely friendly and ready to party just like we were. Once in the club, people all around us were dancing and enjoying their time there. Alfies Antique Market was incredible, labyrinthian as it was, with what either had to be or otherwise felt like hundreds of elderly vendors selling vintage perfumes, taxidermied rats, fur coats, velvet couches, ornate writing desks, gleaming silver dinnerware, centuries-old prints of birds and plants and whatever, Cruella de Vil-style cigarette holders, rows upon rows of rings, gold and silver and gemstone and the like, and a frankly appalling number of items more. Picture how an antique shop or market might look back in the States – one room, maybe ten vendors, overflowing with goods and also always in the middle of nowhere, at least that’s my experience – and multiply it by about fifty, all in one very large and very old creaky building with an elusive number of floors in an immensely confusing layout, and place all that in the middle of London. Plus, throw in a rooftop cafe and, bizarrely, a koi pond in a stairwell. Madison at one point remarked, “I am going to have nightmares about this place.” I replied, “I would live here. Do you think I could just live here? I want to live here.”
We were only allowed an hour to explore before meeting up again to leave, which was more than enough time to lose what little sense of direction I might have previously had and, shock of all shocks, befriend a stranger. One of my many fervent obsessions is colored glass; over my many years of haunting thrift stores and estate sales I have accrued a meager collection of mismatched colored glass pieces, from a blood red tea set to an amber goblet to a bottle green mason jar, and doing so fills me with such overwhelming joy that whenever I peruse my little friends on my bookshelf at home I sometimes clutch my chest as if to put a stopper on the overflow of adoration, to somehow cope with the extremity of my feelings towards these inanimate objects. This is not an exaggeration; if you don’t have something in your life that makes you as uncomplicatedly happy as colored glass makes me, then you’d do well to find yourself something like it. Anywho, back to Alfies Antique Market. On what I’d guess was the basement floor but just as easily could have been the third one, I met a short, bespectacled, scruffy-browed man who had the most stunning and extensive collection of colored glass pieces I have ever seen. I stood there processing visual input for a good twenty seconds, feeling too shy to say something to the man but not shy enough to leave because I was literally staring my dream in the face, until he acknowledged me with a, “Are you keen on my collection?” “Yes, I mean, wow. This is amazing.” “Well, thank you.” “I sort of – collect colored glass, and this is, I mean. Wow. I love everything.” “Sort of collect? You either do, or you don’t.” He laughed. It was a scratchy, warm sound. “I do. I guess – yeah,” I laughed too, probably in a much less charming way than he did and more of a what-the-fuck-why-is-this-girl-rubbing-her-hands-together-like-a-manic-Bond-villian kind of way, battling every instinct in my brain telling me to scurry away because I’m embarrassing myself by speaking and I keep tripping over my words and ugh. This was a good thing that was happening. I could talk to this kind man about a passion we shared. Plus, I had a million questions. We proceeded to talk about:
We talked for around ten minutes: I kept asking questions, he kept showing me pieces from his collection, and I kept reacting in a way that could only be described as frantic yet genuine positivity. I eventually felt I had to say goodbye as it was nearing the hour mark and I knew I needed the extra time to wayfind. Plus, I knew that ultimately I wasn’t going to buy anything that day, and I didn’t want to string him along. I left, he told me to be careful on the stairs. It was all very nice. As I ascended, analyzing every moment of the conversation for reasons to be embarrassed, I realized I never asked the glass man his name. I felt terrible about this and resolved to go back at some point. It’s been almost a week and I haven’t been back yet, but I will, and I will buy myself some colored glass to coo at like a whack job. The first time you walk into the house at 35 Gower Street, you see a long narrow staircase not designed for fifty pound suitcases. Then you're ushered into the common room by your professor while he figures out what room everyone's in and which keys go to whom. Restless after twelve hours of travel, you start fiddling with the things on the bookshelf, and you try to use one magnetic eraser to catch the other magnetic eraser and it makes people laugh. Then your professor comes in with your key, you put the erasers back where you found them, and go upstairs to unpack your things.
Later you tentatively make your way back to the common room. The house is going clubbing. Well, most of it. You stay back. So do a few other people. Your professor walks in and asks, "wanna play cards?" You all say yes, but what you're thinking is, "oh god he feels bad for us because we're the three losers who didn't go to the club." But the nineties music plays, and the jokes start rolling, and a few weeks in, cards is more popular than clubbing. You look forward to it every night. People come and go but the core group stays the same. You guys have matching hats and socks now. Time's passed in a blur of bookstore cafe trips and card games, and-- in an unprecedented turn of events for you-- hardly any time in your room. Looking back, it doesn't feel like you spent a lot of time getting to know everyone, at least not on purpose. But you remember how lost you were that first day, and now there's a painting hanging on the wall done by you and the two girls you were quarantined with. And the popular guy calls you "the coolest dweeb I've ever met," and people hug you and cry and tell you they'll miss you, and you do too, and you mean it. On the last night everyone's drunk and crying and dancing and laughing and thinking about how you'll never live together like this again. When you got here, you thought the house was going to be your place to eat and sleep and watch TV, but then it became a home for this weird group of people who grew to love each other. And you hope the house will do the same for more unsuspecting students, but you selfishly want to stay. So that last night is almost like a funeral because you celebrate the death of a family you didn't mean to have. Infinite Stars. A gay, karaoke bar that became a Friday night staple for the Gower Gang. The places where laughs, drinks, and some ear-bleeding songs are shared. This is the place Friday nights are reserved for with the guarantee of a good time.
One of the first Fridays of the trip comes around and it’s time to come up with something to do. Karaoke seemed to be a good option. However, most karaoke places in London require reservations and a hefty participation fee. But luckily Boogie found this karaoke bar, just a tube stop away. So we gave it a shot, not thinking that this place would become our regular Friday night spot. The first karaoke night was the night of the masquerade “party” (see my journal entry for the full story). When the masquerade was a dud we met up with the rest of the Gower Gang at this new-found gay, karaoke bar. We missed a few of the very first Gower Gang performances but we did manage to see Chopan and Madison sing the last song of the night. After having a blast the first night, we decided to go back the next weekend and the next, soon becoming our favorite Friday night spot. Several versions of Boogie’s “Shout” has been sung as well as “Stacey’s Mom”, “Build me up Buttercup”, “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”, “Someone Like You”, “I Will Survive”, “Holding out for a Hero”, numerous Abba songs and many, many more. I myself have taken the karaoke stage a time or two singing “California Girls” with Alex and “Dancing Queen” with Alex, Boogie, Sage, Will, and Georgia. You could say that singing is not really my calling. You could also say that I am so bad at karaoke that I “murdered karaoke” (thank you Chopan). But either way I had to make an appearance on the karaoke stage at least once. Now I wouldn’t go as far as to say this place is “sketchy” but I think “decently weathered” is the proper phrase. You get lots of interesting people coming in and out of the doors including mid aged drunk ladies that sing “This is Me’ and start sobbing, some gay men who are actually good singers, and of course a large group of obliterated, American college kids. It is always quite an interesting scene. Chris is the guy in charge. If you want to sing a song, he’s the guy you gotta go to. Everyone wants to get their song in by the end of the night, so he’s always the first stop when we get there, even before going to the bathroom which is always a close second. After making ourselves known for a few weeks, Chris started to get to know us and we took on the label as “the Americans”. Pretty accurate. I feel like we kinda had a love, hate relationship with that man. Some weeks he loved us and invited us to be back up dancers to other people’s performances and some weeks he would keep calling us out, drawing attention to “the American” group which seemed to have some negative connotations. But he’s a real one and always got our names on the list to bless everyone with our talented singing skills. Since not everyone wants to actually go out to the bar on a Friday night Central Station does everyone the favor of live streaming it on YouTube. Usually about half the Gower Gang is providing the entertainment while the other half is laughing their asses off watching it on the TV in the common room. So the whole house can watch you make a fool of yourself singing on the stage even if they aren’t there. And even better (or worse) they’re posted on YouTube so you can go back and watch yourself take the karaoke stage if you don’t really remember how it went the previous night. If you’re lucky, when you rewatch it the next day you may even find a clip of one of your house mates dancing with one of the gay men and then proceeded to watch them both fall on the floor, pop back up, and continue to dance (shoutout to Georgia Bobo for my favorite video of all time). This place is one that I will truly miss. It has been filled with laughter, drinks, dancing, terribly bad performances of various songs, and nights that I will never forget. Across the street from Buckingham Palace sits a lively park full of wildlife and obscure plants. Upon entering the park, you’ll be overwhelmed by the different kinds of birds and flora that bloom along the large pond at its center. And if you visit during The Changing of the Guard, you can hear bagpipes and drums from The Palace in the distance.
Though the signs say not to feed the birds, many tourists ignore them and do it anyway, including myself. I found that the parakeets love cashews and apples, and the other birds like stale bread crusts and crackers. You decide if you want to follow the rules. If you decide to visit here, look for a large brass lock with the “E+O” carved into it at the base of the bridge that crosses the pond. My boyfriend and I put it there in homage to the Love Lock bridge in Paris. Being the second pub I ever stepped foot in during my time in London, the college arms certainly has a special place in my heart. To start with the most important stuff, college arms has some fabulous deals which as a soon-to-be-broke college student, I appreciate greatly. The drinks are good, and though I have yet to buy actual food there, I have heard good things from my peers. There is plenty of room to sit, including two large tables in the back and an entire downstairs area that can fit even more. As far as service goes, the staff is great. They are all extremely kind and willing to help. One thing to be wary of is the stairs. This is not exclusive to the college arms as most places in London have at least three sets of rickety stairs, but I have certainly had a few close calls on those steps, especially after a few martinis. They are definitely catered to young people, primarily students. They actually have a student discount if you can show a valid student ID. Of course, the best part about college arms is its close proximity to the house. I would hardly call it a 2-minute walk.
The Ugly Dumpling offers a significant amount of dumplings to its patrons. Even though they are called "ugly dumpling," their dumplings are anything but ugly. They always present them beautifully, placing them strategically on your plate before bringing them out. You can order from many different pre-determined platters for a discounted price, or you can handpick individual dumpling flavors to create a selection of your very own. It's quite nifty. The best part of this restaurant, though, is the drink coasters. I know what you're thinking: "Drink coasters are not exciting. Shut the fuck up." Hear me out. As soon as you walk into the restaurant, you are confronted with so many colors and shapes hung up on the walls. If you use your eyes, you can see that all of the decorations are actually drink coasters placed side-by-side on the walls, each of them drawn on by the different customers to pass through. It's very unique and special.
Obviously, I created a coaster of my very own. I decorated the dumpling man as though he were Kiki, a character from Kiki's Delivery Service, and labeled it "Kiki's Dumpling Service." Kate decorated one to look like Shakespeare because why not. It was good fun deciding what we were going to put on the coasters, so it gave us something to do while we waited for our food. Sure, the food there is great, but you should really go to decorate the coasters. It's fun to come back another day and look for the coasters you decorated hung up on the wall of the restaurant. Fun activities are what life is really about. Flying Tiger is a cute little store with a maze-like layout. There are so many fun knick knacks available on the shelves and everything is so cheap! It's like a dollar store, but it feels much classier than a dollar store. It reminds me of Ikea, but for stupid shit instead of furniture. It satisfies my itch for a Target run when I'm missing home a little more than usual.
Many pounds have been spent at Flying Tiger since the Gower Gang arrived at Flying Tiger. Need a pair of slippers for cold nights in the house? Birthday decorations for Maria's birthday? Luggage locks for a hostel stay? Cocktail mixer so you can pretend to be a bartender? Art supplies for your time locked in the covid ward? Find all of these and more at Flying Tiger, or go in for a quick browse and good vibes. Final Rating: 9/10 Dorky Title. Shut up.
Yeah so I saw "Six"! It was a blast and it had loads and loads of good stuff about it, but I figured let's work in a form. Okay? Okay. Let's go! 1. The Music Well of course the first reason you should go to see this is of course the absolute wonder that is the soundtrack. Each song is personalized, fun and a jam to listen to. I have danced my butt off so many times to "No way," "Don't Lose your Head," and "House of Holbein" it isn't funny. Literally laughed my head off. Oh wait, um... guess that's insensitive. Is 480 years too soon? Anyway, the musicians and singers do a swell job at this, and they're rock concert vibes are on point. Now if you'll excuse me I have to cry to "Heart of Stone," and "All you wanna do." 2. The Performers Okay well, these were complete wins. The performers were a lovely group of ladies who portrayed each character so spectacularly. Anna of Cleves' sarcastic complaining really brought a tear to my eye in laughter. The arguments between Anne Boleyn and Catherine of Aragon were spectacular, and I really enjoyed the spunk that was brought to Jane Seymour. 3. The Choreography Remarkable, just remarkable. The moves, the dancing, the formations. I was like, "How are they not bumping into each other?" I still have no idea. The choreography in K. Howard's song stands out as it exemplifies the feelings of abuse she feels and the tragedy of her beheading. Each song's choreography does well to exemplify the feelings of their singer, but K. Howard's goes an extra step for me. ALSO HOW IN THE HECK ARE THEY DOING ALL OF THIS IN HEELS?!?!?! 4. The Costumes All of the costumes are wonderful! I love the little costume choices like the two beheaded have chokers. Anna of Cleves' costume reveal in her song, "Get Down" (If you know you know). Chef's kiss. The designs, the glitter, the shapes, it's all wonderful sparkling fun! 5. The Stage and Lights The lighting on this show was really neat! There was a board in the back that would create shapes and colors. Particularly in "No Way" lights rose as Catherine of Aragon would list all of her grievances with Henry, then once she boiled over large X's appeared across the stage. The stage itself was giving Henry the X. I will say it doesn't quite work when making words. The "Six" written on the lighting board was a little crude in my opinion. But beyond that! The lighting was on fire! Not literally, metaphorically. You get it. 6. The time It's short and sweet, but leaves you begging for more! All in all this was a great time, I would 100% recommend you go see this show! I would personally see it three more times if I had the time and money! After the Second World War, the Empire Windrush was the first of many vessels that brought men and women from Jamaica to the United Kingdom, encouraging Jamaican citizens to obtain paying job opportunities and help rebuild Britain.
In 2004, Andrea Levy published a historical fiction novel intertwining three stories told by individuals trying to live in this difficult time, in post-war Britain, regardless of their origin. In 2019, Helen Edmundson and Andrea Levy developed the narrative into a play currently showing at London’s National Theatre. First off, the National Theatre’s primary advert, the Mail on Sunday describes the show as; 'resonant, funny and moving.' This is very misleading. The adverting quote partially alludes to why the audience made me uncomfortable with their reactions. The “resonant” is a reasonable classification, and “moving” was certainly attempted, but describing the show as “funny” demolished its reputation. One of the main issues A Small Island tackles is racism. An example of this was when those who came from Jamaica were speaking with thick accents, yet very much understandable, and almost every Londoner they encountered scolded them saying, “I can not understand you,” or “speak English,” or hollered hurtful racial slurs. Of course, this was the unfortunate reality during this time. The actors portrayal of how difficult it was to keep their head down so as not to cause trouble and continue living their lives as peacefully was brilliant. There were heart quivering lines of dialogue and scenes that did make an impact. The problem, however, occurred when these scenes were not carried all the way through. It felt as if the show did not know how to follow through with a full meaningful scene and attempted a comedic scapegoat. Advertising the show as “funny” did not help with this matter and may have even worsened it. An example of this is when Gilbert, played by Leemore Marrett Jr, gave a moving speech about how the color of his skin should not denounce him of any societal rights and how he fought the same war, and on the same side as white British folk. It was a powerful moment of equality, a very important subject matter. After a stunning speech, it was all washed away when Bernard, played by Martin Hutson, delivered the recurring evilness of telling Gilbert that he could not understand him. I did not believe that line to be funny in any way, but rather hurtful and gut-wrenching as the racist ignorance caused a wave of anger within me. My peers and I appeared to be alone in this anger as the audience returned an uproar of laughter as if too washing away Gilbert’s words. Furthermore, while it is common and understandable to groan at the thought of a three-hour performance, the length can easily be forgiven if the time is used sufficiently to move the story forward and if it is clear that every detail is necessary. I did not feel that every aspect and scene was necessary to the development of the overall story of the play. The beginning of both acts was quite strong, the middle became a little messy, yet still controllable, yet the ending was completely rushed and scattered, and while a show definitely does not need to end on a high and happy note for it to be successful, it was left with unbelievable character choices of Bernard accepting the baby, only for he to come around to allowing Hortense and Gilbert to care for him. Gut-wrenching, yes, convincing for the character’s actions, not so much. There was a happier ending to an unhappy story and there was no conclusion for those who were once main characters and it left storylines loose and struggling. Now, I know I have spread a lot of negativity about A Small Island so allow me to express the watchable aspects to the show. The actors were lovely, and a special recognition for the two female leads, Hortense (Leonie Elliott), and Queenie (Mirren Mack). Their presence was so impactful yet in completely different ways. Both of them shared an equal amount of time narrating and inviting the audience into their background and ‘present’ lives. Hortense began sweet and welcoming, only to be disliked by her rudeness towards Gilbert, then redeem herself all within three hours which was amazing to see. Additionally, Elliott made it understandable why her character was behaving in such a plethora of ways and put on a lovely performance. Queenie, on the other hand, remained a well-liked character, easier to side with through the whole show as she was constantly helping those in need of affordable housing after the war, as well as standing up to her husband who was not always supportive of her choices. The actors, for the most part, were phenomenal. A Small Island’s handling of racism, not so much. Foyles is officially heaven for me. Like, for real. Five stories of books, with a cafe way at the top, full of waiters and nerds and book lovers. I called my mom at the cafe and she said, “It sounds like you’ve found your tribe.” And I just looked out the dirty window at the tops of all of the city buildings and smiled because yes, that’s exactly what I had found. My tribe.
Not only does Foyles have every book you could ever fathom, but the organization of the books is perfect. Books that are recommended are stacked neatly on long tables, the others are shelved alphabetically. Wandering through aisles and aisles of books, running your fingers along the spines, finding one (or five) that you want to take home, has never been easier. I often sit in the cafe, sipping on an overpriced honey chai latte and pouring over book after book. Foyles has, indeed, gotten a hold of a lot of my money, but also (cue the cheese), my heart. 9/10. Okay, no, I did not have tea with the Queen. But I got as close as any commoner that has 60 quid to burn! (also it wasn't my 60 quid it was my moms 60 quid) High tea at the Ritz!
The Ritz is definitely the fanciest place I have been in in my entire life and high tea was probably the fanciest meal i've had my entire life. The place had a dress code for christs sake! Before meeting my mom and her boyfriend outside the Ritz I got dressed in my fanciest dress (it was literally just black) and did my makeup as nice as I could (my eyeliner was still crooked though). We were led inside and had our coats hung up for us (fancy). One thing I have noticed about London is that cloakrooms are much more of a thing here. We don't really have them in the US like they do here, its much more common. We were then led to our table which was in the back of this absolutely gorgeous high ceilinged room of reds and golds and other warm tones. Our waiters (yes PLURAL) sat us like I have seen people do in period dramas, where they push in the chair for you. It was startling but I like to say I did it somewhat smoothly. They took our order for tea (I got a jasmine tea) and brought us champagne. That is when the live band started playing. There was a piano, a couple violins, and a HARP. I think harps are the coolest instruments ever and I want to learn how to do it some day (I have never even touched a harp before and I have no musical talent but a girl can dream). They then brought us the tier tray of assorted sandwiches, scones, and desserts. They told us what each one was but I accidentally toned them out because I was listening to the band instead. It didn't matter though, it was all delicious. I honestly could not have picked out a favorite or a least favorite because I liked it all. Again I wondered why everything was so tiny and again my question was answered by my expanding waist band. I did not thing I could get full off of finger sandwiches and tiny pastries but I was definitely wrong. At one point when I was pouring myself tea I forgot to put the strainer over the cup and so my tea was full of leaves. I didn't know what to do so I did the dumb thing and told my mom to tell me when the waiters weren't looking and tried to pour the tea from my cup back into the pot. Naturally it spilled over the edges of the pot and made a circular stain in the nice white table cloth. A naturally again I put one of my tiny plates over it to cover the stain. Out of sight out of mind right? ugh I hate myself. Anywayyyyss, it was all really nice and fun and at the end of the night the band played Puttin on the Ritz which was obviously fitting. It was so fun hearing them play and I love that song. All in all I would rate high tea at the Ritz a 9/10. Again the experience really made it worth it for me although it automatically gets docked a point for being so expensive. If you're blue, and you don't know where to go to why don't you go where fashion sits? Puttin on the Ritz :) |
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