British food is my ruin – it is that good. I don’t know why there has been a long standing idea that British cuisine is not sophisticated and delicious. It’s so goddamnned good and it’s my favorite. All the expressions of it are amazing, from the simple pub fare like cheese and pickle sandwiches and salt and vinegar crisps to the curries to the pasties to the shortbread to the fish and fucking chips.
I got in late last night from Germany just as the kitchen to the Groucho Club was about to end their service and put in and order for their divine fish and chips just barely in time. I felt bad that I had to keep the kitchen open later but there’s some times in your eating life where the only thing that will solve your late night problems is a hot, crispy fried piece of fish and a big pile of chips.
I will smother the whole gorgeous thing in malt vinegar and then put the tartar sauce on that and then put the green pea stuff on that – oh god I don’t care if it will stay in my system forever. I can almost see it on my body after I have eaten it and I honestly don’t care. It’s worth it. The fat and carbs complete me.
Of course the club here serves the fancy variety, without the newspaper wrapper – but I miss that part. I like to see newsprint on my food. I guess it’s that little bit of bitter truth that makes it real and worth it.