Day 2: Crisp morning, clear weather, a little chilly, perfect for walking!
First to Harrods
Castle cake: ₤1,995 converts to $3,899.39. It is by far the most expensive cake I have come across.
Bonbons!
Hunt for breakfast: my mother's hungry face
Breakfast at Quarter (cafe cum delicatessen)
(A really flat) Pancake with mascarpone and honey- Not too bad at all given that I was really looking forward to a fluffy pancake. I suppose the more-of-a-crepe-then-pancake was saved by the fabulously fat-rich mascarpone. I fell in love with mascarpone that morning.
Assorted danish pastries with clotted cream, jam and (Echire!)butter.
Assorted danish pastries with clotted cream, jam and (Echire!)butter.
After breakfast treat from Harrods: Salmon Roll, which looks really good, but alas! the salmon was not fresh!
A walk along Cromwell road to Knightsbridge interspersed with a good deal of (very expensive!) shopping.
Followed by an exceptional lunch at Harvey Nichols at their roof garden.
A French classic: Sole de Douvres à la Meuniere
Antipasti- Prosciutto, two kinds of salami, sundried tomato, olives and some kind of very nice tasting marinated pepper.
For every good that comes by, something bad will happen. Do you believe in that? I am starting to see some truth in it. Something dreadful did happen after that splendid morning. You see, we wanted to have the experience of living local, eating local and shopping local. So we thought: why not get a local apartment and live like one? Therefore, after all that wonderful shopping and lunch, we went to pack our bags at the hotel and went to meet the owner of the apartment at her place, Bryanston Square. I should have known something wasn't right.
First, it was the taxi ride. The taxi brought us into a neighborhood of Middle-East. I'm not racist, I'm just not good enough at this racial co-existing thing. So no, not comfortable. Second, the owner was an hour late. At this point, I should have ran and got us a decent hotel while it was still early, but nope, I foolishly held out hope that the apartment would at least be like what I saw on the internet: clean and nice.
When we got into the apartment, after four flights of stairs while lugging our luggage, we saw a total mess. It was obvious that the apartment is a work-house being hurriedly tidied (with no success) into some semblance of a living area. Cracked tiles littered the not-too-clean, not-too-functional kitchen, junk being swept underneath the stark four-legged table and huddled into the cabinet, and that omnipresent smell of spice and incense that faintly reminds me of an Indian temple.
It was too late to seek for new accommodation for it was late into the evening, and we were just figuring how to establish an internet connection. Hence, we had to make-do for the night, barely even using the toilet, and had to very carefully sniff our way through the neighborhood for dinner. Moral of the story is (something we are all so familiar with) never be fooled by appearances.
In spite of all the crap that happened, we found this gem of a pub that (very surprisingly) serves Thai food.
This pub is filled with memorabilia of the British Royal Family in the form of plates, photographs and little sand-bottles. Really cute!
For every good that comes by, something bad will happen. Do you believe in that? I am starting to see some truth in it. Something dreadful did happen after that splendid morning. You see, we wanted to have the experience of living local, eating local and shopping local. So we thought: why not get a local apartment and live like one? Therefore, after all that wonderful shopping and lunch, we went to pack our bags at the hotel and went to meet the owner of the apartment at her place, Bryanston Square. I should have known something wasn't right.
First, it was the taxi ride. The taxi brought us into a neighborhood of Middle-East. I'm not racist, I'm just not good enough at this racial co-existing thing. So no, not comfortable. Second, the owner was an hour late. At this point, I should have ran and got us a decent hotel while it was still early, but nope, I foolishly held out hope that the apartment would at least be like what I saw on the internet: clean and nice.
When we got into the apartment, after four flights of stairs while lugging our luggage, we saw a total mess. It was obvious that the apartment is a work-house being hurriedly tidied (with no success) into some semblance of a living area. Cracked tiles littered the not-too-clean, not-too-functional kitchen, junk being swept underneath the stark four-legged table and huddled into the cabinet, and that omnipresent smell of spice and incense that faintly reminds me of an Indian temple.
It was too late to seek for new accommodation for it was late into the evening, and we were just figuring how to establish an internet connection. Hence, we had to make-do for the night, barely even using the toilet, and had to very carefully sniff our way through the neighborhood for dinner. Moral of the story is (something we are all so familiar with) never be fooled by appearances.
In spite of all the crap that happened, we found this gem of a pub that (very surprisingly) serves Thai food.
This pub is filled with memorabilia of the British Royal Family in the form of plates, photographs and little sand-bottles. Really cute!
Green Curry with rice.
Phad Thai.
Nothing like a taste of home.
End.
Phad Thai.
Nothing like a taste of home.
End.
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