British Aftertaste

Over a bowl of lentils and chorizo, my host mom turned to me today at lunch and asked me if I enjoyed the food in England. I told her that it was much of what I expected and on the whole not-so-thrilling. Pepo, my host dad, gave me the logical explanation to the infamy of British food: “The reason English food doesn’t have a flavor is because the English people don’t have a flavor. And the only thing they do well there is marmalade but even those oranges come from Spain!”

I’ll admit: that’s more than partly true. If England were characterized by its food, it would be a bit on the bland side. Personally, I ate hot cereal (i.e. OATMEAL. YES.) for breakfast every single day and I couldn’t have been happier. Maybe I should’ve passed on the meat pies for lunch, but I made up for it by drinking a few pints of what could not have been further from the watery swill that the Spanish call cerveza. But whatever the hell “English flavor” may be it couldn't just include flavorless meats and gravies... it would have to also include so many other cultures—the huge population of first-generation immigrants who own their own authentic restaurants and a spirit of entrepreneurship not found in many other countries beside the U.S. and certainly not in Spain. I can say that I had the best Indian food and some delicious after-midnight kebabs while in Brighton. Logically speaking, the epitome of “Spanish flavor” would be ham and red wine. Though they love their seafood (and boy, do they ever do it well), I’m pretty sure a madrileño would not survive a week without a ration of pig and a glass of vino tinto.

Food aside, Rebecca could not be having a more distinct experience from me abroad. While I live with the Spanish mirror image of my American family, with prepared meals and clean laundry, and head off to work four days a week, Rebecca shares a flat with five other English students on the University of Sussex campus. However the language difference, while the most glaringly obvious distinction, is nonetheless the most significant difference between our programs. And it was not more obvious than when hanging out with Rebecca’s friends.

The British are hilarious. So while they may be lacking in the bold and refreshing frankness of the Spanish, but they’re sure a hell of a lot funnier. I have never gotten along better with ten complete strangers in my life. They reminded me so much of my Washingtonian friends (sharp wit and laid back attitude) that I could not help but feel at home. [Side note: Rebecca, Amanda and I almost peed ourselves laughing when we found out that the Brits pronounce urinal “ur-EYE-nal.” As Rebecca and I are considerably accent neutral from a U.S. standpoint, they had little ammunition to make fun of us and moved on to Amanda’s southern “Britney Spears” voice. We decided it would be best to “take a piss on” someone else for awhile, since Amanda seemed extremely offended by that parallel. After I imitated a pretty thick and scarily accurate Long-Island Janis-from-Friends accent, everyone decided, both the Americans and the British at the table, that New Yorkers are the most detrimental to the image of the general American populous.]

After getting past the hour-long pronunciation debate of “tomato, tomahto” I felt like these guys were my childhood friends, that I had grown up sharing the same jokes and favorite movies and that maybe, somewhere deep down, I had a little British in me. And while they weren’t overly inviting and hands-on like the Spanish, I needed no encouragement to instantly connect with them. Just when I thought I had adapted the essence of Spanish culture and conformed to Spanish lifestyle, I realize how British I am at heart. One weekend is certainly not enough time to judge an entire country (though honestly, isn’t that what I’ve been doing this entire semester?) but I felt like I fit right in. While the Spanish are in-your-face and pungent, I think I actually prefer a dry and subtle flavor.