One memorable image about eating in England comes from Lovejoy. Many times on this popular TV show (based on the novels of Jonathan Gash), the itinerant, bohemian Lovejoy must eat “on the hop,” as the English say. Perhaps he is trying to secure a particular antique for a client who is leaving the country in a few hours. Or maybe a woman has been kidnapped, and he must make several quick sales to meet the ransom demand. Whatever the case, in order to meet his particular deadline, he will not stop for a meal, but merely duck into a shop for a sandwich or fish and chips, and then eat his food on the way to his car or to the next shop he must visit.
Life in London seems to rush past. More than the occasional antiques dealer can be seen eating “on the hop.” While people fill the local eateries, many opt for quicker, easier, and cheaper alternatives. After touring the National Gallery, we set out to find something quick and affordable for lunch. Not only did we learn it costs more to eat your meal inside a restaurant (than to take your food “to go”), but the restaurants were crowded. Conversation bounced off the walls, and the capacity crowds made the air still and warm. Eventually we ducked into a small convenience store. Through using simple words, and repeating our questions until the Indian manager understood us (and we understood him), we managed to secure some hot food and cold drinks. Now, where to enjoy our meal?
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| "Where should we eat?" |
We finally opted for what was available: a bench on the street in front of a crowded restaurant, where we could eat with a small measure of comfort while watching the normal pace of life rush past. Pedestrians hustled by, off to their next appointment or scheduled event. Drivers honked or gunned their engines: vehicles parked to offload passengers, then darted out once more, slotting into any conceivable space on London’s crowded streets. And birds swooped past, on the prowl for whatever crumbs that outside diners such as us might leave on the ground for their nourishment.
We realized that London’s streets make up the biggest dining room of them all. Executives in tailored suits sat next to teenage girls in sweatshirts and jeans as they ate their lunch, talked on their phones, listened to their MP3 players, or chatted with their friends. Benches, steps, retaining walls: any flat surface was sufficient. No one seemed to miss sitting down at a table to enjoy a civilized meal in a quiet dining room. No one seemed to mind the tourists’ laughter and loud joviality as each recounted the morning’s adventures with their friends. Amid the hustle and bustle, everyone was at peace.
In my adolescence, I remember sitting around a concrete table with my parents and eating our food at McDonalds (because then the chain then offered no inside seating). I remember my father pulling the car into an A & W Root Beer and having waitresses bring our food out to the car. Nowadays, whenever I go out for a “cheap and cheerful” meal (as the English would say), I expect a dining room with comfortable seats, a quiet ambient noise level, and sufficient ventilation to keep the air at a comfortable temperature and humidity level. Have I become too soft? Were I to live in London, might I change my expectations in regards to the acceptable conditions under which I choose to enjoy my food? Perhaps. As for this day, I found I could enjoy my halves of the warm calzone and the chicken pizza-roll that my wife and I shared. I could smile as one of the tourists picked up her bottle and exploded into laughter when the soda (which had apparently been dropped) sprayed all over her and her friends. I could throw the occasional crumb to the pigeon that looked up at us and waited so patiently. After all, he needed to eat too.
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| "Patience: for the birds it is time to eat as well!" |
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