Pip pip and cheerio from London! I use the term “cheerio” advisedly. Although Brits love to say it, they apparently don’t like to eat them, because Cheerios are nowhere to be found in this city of six-plus-million.
When in Rome, one should do as the Romans do, and have a full English breakfast, as seen here:
That’s eggs, ham, toast, baked beans, mushrooms, hot slices of tomato, and the somewhat formidable “black pudding.”
Or not. I’ve actually just opted for the strong coffee and a baked good. I’m not really branching out, dietetically speaking. I am less than intrepid in this arena.
The problem is that Maddie, helpless infant that she is, is being forced to undergo even more radical changes in her nascent repertoire of solid food. I only brought a few jars of baby food with me, having been told by an English friend (who lived in NYC for a few years) that the baby food here was “exactly the same.”
So Maddie and I went to the market the day after we arrived, and here were the baby food flavors available:
PARSNIP AND PEA
BABY CAULIFLOWER CHEESE
GRANDPA’S SUNDAY LUNCH
NOODLES IN CHEESE AND LEEK SAUCE
VEGETABLE AND LAMB HOTPOT
FRUITY CHICKEN CASSEROLE
As you can see by the look on Maddie’s face, she was REALLY not looking forward to that one.
“Fisherman’s Bake” contained onions, rice, cheese, and most improbably, “dolphin-safe tuna.” According to American pediatricians, I’M not supposed to be eating tuna, let alone Maddie, lest some trace amounts of mercury make their way into my breast milk. But over here, they’re skipping that indirect method of mercury delivery and just loading up the baby food itself.
But wait, it got still better:
MUM’S OWN RECIPE: BUBBLE AND SQUEAK
I didn’t know what Bubble and Squeak was, but I knew it would be gross. And I was not mistaken.
So Maddie has had a bit of a learning curve, here. I must say that she now thoroughly enjoys the Parsnip Pea and Fruity Chicken Casserole options, and I may have to smuggle a few jars back through Customs.
And the boys? Fergus has been eating the ham part of the ham and butter sandwiches they seem to serve everywhere (I’m getting nauseous just writing it). Cooper has been living on the “Continental Breakfast” diet: yogurt, fruit, and blueberry muffins. In fact, in preparation for our trip to France tomorrow, he asked me how to say “muffin” in French. “Moo-FEH(N),” I replied, bluffing. “Maybe we should check Google,” he said, his BS meter tingling. According to Google, I was right, and “blueberry muffin” is “moo-FEHN aux bleuets.” He practiced pronouncing that a few times, then said, “Mommy, maybe you can remember that for me.” I’ll try.