Since this is what I do/eat every morning (after coffee), without deviation, and it was born in London, maybe it's time you heard about my favorite breakfast....

Awhile back I discovered my favorite breakfast of all time.  Like ever. In. The. World. Everyone who has visited me since my breakfast discovery has fallen in love with some aspect of this breakfast.  I'm telling you, it is like pillows of heaven dancing on your tongue.  Before I discovered this breakfast, sometimes I would eat eggs, or toast, or peanut butter on toast...or whatever.  But not now.  Now I would never miss this breakfast because it is so damn good.

I discovered it last September when the Canadian and I, and a friend of ours headed out to Bath for a weekend.  We stayed in a sweet little bed and breakfast that had, in addition to the usual 'full English' some yogurt and fresh fruit, which of course I ate because I've always loved yogurt and fruit.  

A side note about yogurt in England. I love yogurt, and generally thought that the States had a decent selection.  Uh. No.  The first time I went into a Waitrose (think, better than HEB not quite as good as Central Market) I saw four, very long, aisles of yogurt.  And I'm not talking strawberry and blueberry people, I'm talking 'champagne and rhubarb' flavors (for real, I tried that one.)  If you can name a flavor, they have it. Yogurt is like seriously a *thing* here.

So back at the bed and breakfast they had out this honey flavored yogurt and I tried that along with some various fruits and some granola...and it was like this incredible flavor explosion happened in my mouth and my brain.  I felt like I had won the taste lottery. 

And then I became obsessed with it -- until I realized I could just buy all of the ingredients really easily shopping online.  Oh, did you know I do my grocery shopping online?  I do.  It's awesome.  I mean seriously, can you imagine schlepping 15 bottles of wine for two miles?  Uh no.  Online grocery delivery is the greatest invention ever. 

So, here is the magic that is my yogurt concoction...and all of the ingredients come in neat little packages pictured below, delivered weekly to my doorstep.
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Yogurt, cream and honey are the ingredients. OMG, mouth orgasm.
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Pomegranate! I have only seen pom seeds (vs. the whole pom) once back in Texas in Whole Foods. Here, they're everywhere.
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This package from Waitrose has pineapple, mango and passionfruit. Yes, PASSIONFRUIT! It's everywhere here.
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A banana...mmmm.
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Annnnnd, the granola topping.
I have all of these ingredients in my fridge/pantry when visitors come.  And every single person has fallen in love with some part of it.  My friend Maggie thought the granola was seriously the best she'd ever tasted.  Jen ate the mango and pineapple every morning.  Laura and Julia had the yogurt and pomegranate and granola -- and Laura thought the yogurt was the best she'd ever tasted in her life.  And I eat all of it. All together. Every single morning.

I know I'm going on and on about it, but I look forward to this breakfast almost as much as coffee.  So there you have it.  My full English breakfast not a big fry up, but a bunch of healthy crap.

What do you eat for breakfast...or, if you're an expat, what have you discovered that you obsess over eating?
 
As I'm sitting here (drinking my coffee in bed, thanks to the Canadian who brought it to me), the Rotten One and I are staring out the window at the drizzling (and chilly) rain.  So much for a trek in Hampstead Heath and another day stuck inside for Rotten, which she is not pleased about these days.  The glorious sunshine I mentioned in my previous post has given way to dampness and gloom.

The perpetual rain, coupled with a really charming incident over the weekend, has soured my mood.  I've been  thinking about this 'incident' that happened and trying to shrug it off as some facet of human behavior that is irrational and therefore dismissable, but frankly, it hurt my feelings.

The story goes something like this:

Our landlord has been in London sprucing up the exterior of the house.  Sadly, he completely destroyed my gorgeous English garden (including removing my favorite purple butterfly bush) and has planted super boring, non-flowering plants. That garden, with all of its bright blooms and chaotic beauty, was one of the few things that I really loved about living in England and particularly this house.  Anyway, after that wake of destruction, the landlord decided to work on the front of our house.

The front walkway had some ugly terra cotta tiles and he decided to put in (far more attractive) black and white Victorian tiles.  I was totally on board with this as the house is a Victorian terraced house and that improvement would complement the style.  So he and a workman set about uprooting the tiles and blasting through the concrete underneath so that they could repave and put down the new tiles.  You can imagine that this created a lot of construction debris.  In order to get rid of it, he moved it to an (ostensibly) empty lot across the street. That was at 4 pm.

At around 6 pm, the Canadian and I are having dinner and drinks with friends and at 8 pm we're inside Fortune Theatre watching "The Woman in Black" (very spooky!).  We arrive home at 11 pm to see this:
Now, the thing at the very top of the picture (outlined in white) is our front door.  You can see that we clearly could not climb this mountain of garbage in order to reach our house and actually get inside.  Also, note, I am in high heels and a sparkly top and fancy shoes...

You can't see it in the above photo, but just to the left is our neighbors home and a low fence separates our houses.  So we go into their walkway and I sort of climb over the fence (in my heels) and land on some garbage and manage to get into the house.  After I go upstairs to change, I come back downstairs and open the door to stare at the huge garbage dump on my walkway and notice something beneath the debris.  I clear off some of the trash and see that, whomever did this, left a charming message (as if the pile of trash wasn't message enough) carved into the newly poured concrete.
The "c" was cut off in the photo, but, it says "C-U-N-T-S" (just in case you missed that...).  Yep. That's what it says. 

Now y'all. If someone had dumped trash on my lot, I might have moved it back over to their house.  I also probably (before-hand) would have knocked on their door and politely told them that my yard is not their dumping ground.  But not even at my angriest and most confrontational would I write that word in someone's concrete. That is the height of passive-aggressiveness and frankly crudity. 

First of all, the Canadian and I didn't do anything to this person.  I mean, nothing.  We didn't even ask for the front walk to be renovated.  This was 100% our landlord.  Our landlord started the construction, poured the concrete and moved the trash across the street.  We had zero to do with any of it.  And yet, this person jumped to conclusions and reacted to misguided information and just went off on some insane tangent directed at us.

As it turns out (after talking to the landlord) the guy found the landlord's phone number in the trash and called him (thinking he lived in our house) and told him off, saying that everyone thought his yard was a rubbish lot. Now, I am relatively certain that a $5.00 sign saying "Private Property, No Dumping" might cure people of those assumptions and thus would avoid having to spend time carving angry messages in your neighbor's concrete.  But really, that just seems simple and maybe this guy likes his passive-aggressive behavior.

Regardless, because it has been raining, no one has fixed our little concrete billboard announcing to the world that the residents of this house are the vernacular (and crude) word for female genitalia.  Good times, y'all, good times.

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