mr. stefanovich's visit ...or why not to eat british street food

just when we think we might have to haul it in, head back to the states because our tolerance for rain diminshes by day, along with our patience with public transport, mr. stefanovich blows into town for a weekend to revive us all.  the kids laugh with abandon like, well, kids, when they see him.  chris and i chatter with abandon like, well, americans.  we realize we miss animation.  and energy.

that energy propels us to indulge in the full british premier league football experience.   we secure a child minder so chris, andy and i can hit the pub before and/or after the match.  andy is always a good sport; he is eager to sample all of the local "delicacies."  chris and i reluctantly humor him.  we order pints and crisps and fish and chips at the pub prior to the match, a standard order which is visible on nearly every table around us.  after we finish, our bellies full, but not pleasantly so, we traipse down putney high street to cross the bridge to the stadium.  along the way, we hit upon a street vendor.  chris and i do our best to convince andy that he doesn't want the bacon bap (bacon on a bun) with a slice of cheese, but...well, andy's stomach holds up for the game, but not for long after that.  poor guy.  but look at the sandwich.  would you eat that???

chris and i search high and low in the city proper and our borough for street food and diner fare that suits our very-american-yet-spoiled-by-the-continent taste.  we realize early on that we can't eat breakfast out:  we cringe at the sight of tinned baked beans on toast and at the taste of eggs and bacon fried in OIL.  why does bacon need fried in OIL?  we also learn to avoid the much-heralded british chippy (fish-and-chips stand).  mushy fries and fish dripping oil from the waxed paper turns our tummies.

in holland and especially belgium we still seek out the frituur (french fry stand).  i still like mine with an enormous glob of mayo on top.  in the states we stop for a hot dog, or, when in north carolina, barbeque.  we generally feel that the vendors are proud of their reasonably-priced food in those places.  here...well...  we console ourselves with the idea that our stomachs are becoming resilient or we'll have to admit that mr. stefanovich's visit actually also makes us homesick for not being sick.