Or how ever you spell the word that means I buggered off and left blighty to seek my fortune overseas. Said fortune today was “All decisions you make today will be most fortunate”.
It’s not really 4 years, it won’t be 4 years until late March or some time; but as a once mathematician I know that the actual number is not important, merely the purest variant of the value and today feels like 4 years, which probably means it is in some weird kind of number system. Hah, and my wife thinks she’s the only one with warped logic.
While trying to get the baby to slumber, I had a flashback of the taste-buds to R.Whites lemonade. No idea where it came from, I’ve never really been a drinker of soft-drinks, but I had a sudden panging for orangeade, as made with orange squash and r.whites at my grandparents house. Odd. Made me wonder what else I miss.
Pate is the first that jumps to mind. I’m not a toffed up kid from Eton or anything, or even much of an expert at the wonder of pate, and I’m too lazy to find the acute to go above the e, but I do miss brussels pate (yep, the boring one) and duck and orange pate. There’s something about a sunday afternoon with a chunk of bread, butter and a lump of pate that I’ve not had for a long time.
Crisps. In particular KP Skips, but any of the usual suspects would count. Monster Munch, Wotsits, the highly salt n vinegar sticks, ringos if they still exist, prawn cocktail golden wonder, worcestershire sauce golden wonder, a world of flavours. Over here it’s pringles and that’s about it. A world of drab, unimaginative barbecue sauce and cheese flavours. I could even murder a hula hoop right now, pathetic as they are. I mean, how can you claim to have a civilisation until you’ve discovered the vanilla ice cream flavoured crisp (and subsquently yearned to undiscover it).
Biscuits are an easy one. Again, this is a land without a biccie. The noble American cookie is, while novel and inviting, a much repeated story. This is the same story as the crisps it seems; lots of choice, provided you like chocolate chip cookies and doritos. Custard Creams are always the first to vanish when my parents bring over a sampling of Tesco’s, Asda’s or Sainsburys wares. Quickly followed by the choccie digestives and then the malted milks. We used to be able to get digestives here, but they’ve vanished since 11/9 and the increased pain in customs.
Chocolate is the last member of the great triumverate. We’re a nation addicted to chocolate, it’s hard to realise that it’s not shared by the rest of the world. Again the same story plays out. Lots to choose from, if you like hershey’s. The cruellest trick is that you can get Dairy Milk over here, made by Hershey’s. It’s grainy and a mockery of the truth. So chocolate is big on the miss list. Easter is obviously a bad time for missing chocolate, an easter egg over here is a cadbury’s creme egg. Did I really once look up at the centrepiece at Thornton’s on Oxford St and yearn? It’s a lifetime away.
That could nicely bring me onto a theory of mine that we all die every 4 years or so. If I look back at my past selves, I start to lose touch with the memories and the person at around 4 years ago. In which case, I’ve finally lost touch with the me who lived in England and am fully cast out. However I won’t go there as there is still so much to miss.
Pork pies. I was never impressed with pork pies. A lump of meat with aspic jelly above it and a rather boring pastry cover. So why do I find myself fixating on them? Sausage rolls are another delicacy which I once took for granted and now start drooling over. Even a scotch egg raises a tingle of interest, and having had to make them at school, I always felt they were an utter waste of time.
Further afield. Going to a chinese restaurant. While Louisville has superb cheap takeaways, there is nothing worth the effort of for an evening meal. I do have a favourite pair of places for lunch (Ya Chings downtown, and Dynasty on westport, both recommended), but none of them can compete with crispy aromatic duck, or the marvellous wonder of going over to Chinatown in London with a group of friends. Although I’ve never plucked up the courage (or maybe the alcohol to blood ratio) since, I once had a delicious ginger eel at an unknown (the ratio again) chinese restaurant when a student. It was one of those magical times when a friend from Hong Kong ordered the food for us (in Cantonese i presume, the ratio wasn’t that bad) and we basked in the tastes.
Lilt is an odd one, but I miss that too. Owned by Coca Cola, but not to be found in the US. Again, I’m not much of a soft-drink fan, but Lilt is nice and brings back memories of Quattro as a kid (I think it was called that, bright green scary stuff).
Fortunately I managed to find milk that doesn’t taste off (I’m assuming it’s all the hormones). I spend 4 times the amount on the organic milk, but it’s worth it for the taste. As I knock back 3 pints a day or so, it adds up. I also managed to finally find real baked beans. Heinz are huge here, but sadly Heinz does not meanz beanz. At all. The trick is to find what are called vegetarian baked beans; I get the local supermarket brand and it’s just like having baked beans at home.
I miss real sized bread, and toasters and kettles that have the power to do their job. That’s a bit unfair as what I really miss is a toaster that’s large enough to fit real-sized bread, if I had it, which I don’t. I only use a kettle when I’m ill. Or at least I would, if I didn’t have an aching hole where Lemsip should be. The variants I’ve tried over here all fail to match Lemsip’s flavoursome approach to medicine. The devil you know I guess, except I happily drink the tap-water without complaint, so it’s not as if I’m completely unable to adapt. US bread is all tiny-sized. Very odd.
Speaking of bread, SAUSAGES. Gah. How I miss the noble banger. Part sawdust, part grain, promise of meat. American sausages are pure meat, generally german or italian in style and such wonders as bangers and mash and toad in the hole are impossible to rediscover.
Thanksgiving is always a bad time. I get a fair bit of stick as the year progresses, because apparantly the English are known for having terrible cuisine, and then on the biggest meal day of the year they serve up a parody of a good honest roast. Oven-cooked turkey (okay, it’s hard to do great turkey so this is really a sign that my mum is a great cook when I’m underimpressed by others’ turkey), mashed potato, green beans, cheese-macaroni and various other mid-week meals. It’s like subbing a player from the Merseyside derby, sticking him in a taxi, and putting him on for Bootle’s latest match. S’just not right.
There’s probably other things that I miss. The Linux computer magazines in the UK are in their ascendency right now, though most other UK computer mags tend to promote the CD over actually having worthwhile content. US mags are getting weaker, but still have a good set of vaguely readable items. Being able to drive at 70 and not be nearing the point where officious police are looking to pull you over. The rain. Which sounds bizarre. The average home-counties person spends a large percentage of their time complaining about the rain, but you really do miss it when you’re gone.
All in all, I’m one hell of a non-adaptable bastard when it comes to my environment it seems. Although my accent has been americanised a touch, it’s still 99% limey and shows no sign of going away.
Perhaps my new years resolutions should be to find one new thing to adapt to.