Omnivore - Notes from abroad: Things I didn’t eat while in the UK

• Brad Kaplan
• A Yeoman Warder, AKA Beefeater, at the Tower of London

In my mind, I was plotting the path to St. JOHN, pinpointing the date and time I could squeeze in a meal at the restaurant that has helped shape contemporary London dining. Oh, I was researching other bounties, too — pubs known for their offerings of ales, chip shops for takeaway, outposts of Indian curry — but St. JOHN was the one single reservation I hoped to snag during my two weeks in and around the UK on a family trip. As the date approached, though, the reality of traveling with extended family (eleven of us) started to take hold. In this group, I was the lone food obsessed traveler, the only one eager to research and track down and hunt for the food that defined the place. If I were coming to Atlanta for the first time and wanted to get a feel for the place, I’d probably be cozying up to the bar at Holeman & Finch for its Southern hog-washed hospitality rather than eating at whatever restaurant sat outside my hotel, then the next day I’d marshall all resources necessary to run my own marathon of fried chicken eating to uncover a favorite. But in this case, with such a broad group of extended family, I didn’t want to impose my agenda on everyone else’s vacation - a trip across London to eat at St. JOHN seemed, well, selfish.

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When traveling to foreign locales, I find eating to be one of the truest paths to cultural immersion, to truly experiencing the essence of a place. Every bite is an opportunity for exploration, every sip offers a small step towards enlightenment. I’m not alone in this, of course - just this morning I was watching Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown, which itself uses food as a way in to deeper cultural discussions, and sure enough there was a sappy ad for Viking River Cruises that expressed the exact same sappy sentiment. FOOD (and ALCOHOL) is the path to KNOWLEDGE, HALLELUJAH!

But I’ll also readily admit that sitting down and dropping a pretty pence for roast bone marrow is not everyone’s cup of tea. Nor does it guarantee revelation for all the parties involved. After all, I was traveling with a group ranging in age from ten to eighty, and it felt more important to place priority on visits to “musts” like being led on a Tower of London tour by an appropriately stodgy Beefeater, entering the London Dungeon for tales of the city’s gruesome past, and witnessing the overwhelmingly boring changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. This trip required an appreciation for the family dynamic, the give and take of differing perspectives on where to go and what to see and how to go about it. Most of the time, we let the moment lead the way - skipping the long line at Westminster Abbey to stroll along the Thames, deciding against climbing aboard the colossally slow London Eye Ferris wheel, or happening upon a loud and vibrant Indian wedding celebration in front of a fancy hotel and stopping for a spell to take it in.

• Brad Kaplan
• Takeaway from Ottolonghi - not so British, but entirely worth the trip

That’s not to say that we avoided British eating adventures — we had our share of better than expected pub meals anchored on fish and chips, split off into a smaller group to experience the remarkable food of Ottolenghi (of Jerusalem cookbook fame) while browsing the shops of Notting Hill, and gazed in awe at the food halls of Harrod’s on our way through Knightsbridge and Kensington. Convenience of time and place, though, won out over destination dining. I found myself resorting to a Tripadvisor app for direction on what was open and interesting nearby rather than pushing my co-travelers to go out of the way for something exceptional. After all, all it took to impress my son was a Magnum white chocolate ice cream bar from a Boots drugstore, and a simple Cadbury Dairy Milk bar for my daughter. Now that’s about as British as it gets, right? Maybe the drugstore food aisle is a better indicator of culture than hyper-local, biodynamic, hipster food stalls that are getting all the foodie hype.

I never got my chance to try St. JOHN’s roast bone marrow, never had the opportunity to inquire about their Middlewhite faggots & carrots. And I can’t help but feel I missed out at least a little bit on truly experiencing London because of that. But my family and I still got to know a wee bit of the city, still had an authentically touristy immersion, still had a family adventure — so I consider it a success. Now if only St. JOHN served Cadbury and replaced their waiters with Beefeater’s, decked out in all their finery, explaining the menu with tales of kings and queens and pig beheadings galore…

For an excellent, though lengthy, take on St. JOHN as it nears its 20th anniversary, head over to the Guardian. It ends with the line, “I need to book a table.”

Beyond London, here are some of other the places on the trip where we didn’t eat/drink:
Dublin — L. Mulligan Grocers, the Pig’s Ear
Belfast — Mourne Seafood Bar, Ox
Glasgow — Cail Bruich, Crabshakk, Oran Mor, the Ubiquitous Chip
Edinburgh — Timberyard, the Kitchin, the Outsider, the Scotch Malt Whisky Society