Surprise!

Ok, fine. Maybe I've been a bit hard on the US as a whole lately. And I'll be the first to admit that while I'll always prefer Europe I am, no question, absolutely an American at heart and am proud of that. Overall, we are a warm, welcoming group of people, albeit a loud and opinionated and vocal one. But what we may lack in European decorum we make up for in strength and self-assurance. That's one thing I love about Cleveland in particular; the people of Cleveland are incredibly resilient and we band together as a giant community. Yes, while we arguably have some of the worst weather and sports teams, the dirtiest river, the most structural decay, and highest unemployment in the US, we also have the Lake, the Cleveland Clinic, the Cleveland Museum of Art, the Lakeview Cemetery, the Metroparks where I love to run, and people who would never dream of leaving this city and who respect and love Cleveland and other Clevelanders whole-heartedly. We are real people who don't pretend to be be anything we're not and we will forever take care of our own.

The Metroparks trail, mile marker 5

The Cleveland Clinic, my old stomping grounds

I really do try to find the best in every situation and maybe that's part of the reason I love exploring all the cities I've lived in and then hasten to write about what I find. It's all in an effort to pick out each one's most admirable aspects. But since I've spend most of my life in the suburbs of Cleveland I've had the most time to dig around there. Yet until now I've kept most of those discoveries to myself because it wasn't until I moved abroad that I started recording my life online (it's debatable whether that's a mistake or not, but let's leave that sided-argument for another time).

at the Lakeview Cemetery, one of my all-time favorite places, period.

But for the next three weeks I am back in Cleveland and it only seems fair to include everything I do here as part of my semi-chronological blog-timeline, too.

Oh, right. I didn't tell anyone in Cleveland I was coming home for Christmas. SURPRISE!!! So let me start at the beginning.

The Pier at Huntington Beach in Bay. Another fave.

Mid November I decided I didn't want to sit alone in my room on a vacant campus, left to my own devices during the month long Winter Break. Meaning, I would be typing up literature reviews the whole time. Believe me, I'm nothing of a trouble maker and “left to my own devices” I'd end up just reading and running those 3 weeks if I had the option. So after intentionally living far below my means all semester I'd saved up enough money to be able to buy a plane ticket back to Cleveland. And, oddly enough and as if by fate, the cheapest round trip flight landed at Hopkins on December 20^th; my mom's birthday. This opportunity struck me as the ideal way to give my mom a birthday present, namely ME!! I would keep my plans a secret and show up on the 20^th and surprise her. But in order to prevent a leak I had to refrain from telling my secret plans to anyone who might accidentally let the news slip to my mom. Meaning all news had to be kept off Facebook and from anyone in Bay, where news travels like wildfire. 

The view from my house out towards Lake Erie last winter

Here we are!!! Our inseparable trio

My original plan involved only two individuals, my two beloved neighbors and forever best friends, who agreed to pick me up at the airport. Eventually my brother was let in on the secret when I decided to send my family off to dinner for the night of my arrival. After arranging for their night out in advance, I realized I needed someone in place to stall in case I was held up at the airports for any reason. So I put my trust in Nick to hold my parents back at the restaurant as long as necessary, until I could arrive and shout “Surprise!!”.

Cleveland Metroparks

Me and Jeff at the Lakeview Cemetery

As if by the will of God every aspect of my journey was flawless and arranged perfectly and on time. After an incredibly long day which included a 5 hour layover in Detroit (where I realized it would've been faster if I had rented a car and drove home instead) I landed in Cleveland and nearly collapsed into the arms of my besties from weariness and overwhelming happiness just at seeing them again. It was at that moment that I fully appreciated how much I missed them, my family, and my city and realized what a relief it was to be home. Just as I'd literally let all my baggage drop, so did the weight of every overseas-related stressor. 

Me and Pat starring in 'Accidental Reaping'

Back in my assigned seat on the passenger's side, I rode with my boys to meet up with my family where they were waiting for me, completely unaware of my oncoming presence. Then, 20 hours after waking up in London earlier that morning, I walked through the doors of the little Bistro where I immediately spotted my Mom, Dad, and little brother sitting together at the table closest to the door. I'd finally made it....and needless to say their looks of shock and surprise and happiness made all my secret planning completely worth the effort.

 

It also goes without saying that the parents cried and hugged and cried some more. According to them, they had simply accepted the fact that I was never coming home and they'd probably never see me again (to which I asked, “Not even if I got married or had kids? I really hope you'd make an effort for at least one of those two occasions to come to Europe. Sell....something, anything, if you have to to make it happen!”). It just goes to show you how supportive of parents they are, though, to let their child go with the understanding that those last goodbyes at the airport back in September could have, in their minds, been their last words to me face-to-face. When you're as close as I am with my parents that, I think, would be an unbelievably hard thing to accept. 

Me and Nick, my baby brother who helped me pull off this feat.

Granted I arrived just as the food was being brought out so by the time I ordered and got my own food everyone else was done. Call me rude for ordering that late into the meal but I literally had not eaten a bite the whole day and after an international journey, which had followed a week of on-edge nerves, I was famished and shaking from hunger. Thankfully, I'd brought French macarons, the puffy cream-filled Laduree brand, to entertain them in the mean time, a feat easily achieved with those tiny flavor-bursting cookies.

 

But the night was far from over. With the intention of celebrating my return, four of us, my friends and I, went over to the Tremont neighborhood to Southside to catch up and listen to live music. However, it hardly makes for a lively evening when one of us is falling asleep on the table and is thus as risk for collapsing entirely into a heap on the floor. One fruity cocktail in and I was ready for bed.

Naturally, the very first thing I did the next day, my first full day back in Cleveland, was go to the gym and reinstate my membership. Of all the corporate places I missed most in Cleveland my gym was top of the list.

 

There are few rivals in the UK to the giant open spaces and dozens of machines available at the newest US gyms. I got to drive the Camero, which was a treat in itself, being behind the wheel again, over to the gym super early in the morning, just like old times. 5AM workouts, just like I like it. 

Then I tuned in to 100.7 WMMS, to listen to those crazy guys on Rover's Morning Glory. And I'll be damned if that didn't make me miss my rush-hour morning drives to the Clinic every day. Cleveland radio; who would've thought that, of all things, would be something I'd miss about this place. Music and humor just isn't as rough and tough and down and dirty in the UK. Everyone needs a little bit of “hard core” once in a while, *wink wink*, and Cleveland is good for that. Like, for seriously.

Let's see, what else have I done in the past few days? Well, basically all my time has been spent with my two boys, P&J. We went to Erie Island Coffee company, the best vanilla lattes in Cleveland. Believe me when I say I've tried them all, meaning I've literally visited every coffee house in Cleveland, westside and eastside (yeah, I cross the border, so what?) and found, by process of elimination, the best. Erie Island is #2 on the list of places I missed most, I think. And I will admit to visiting there twice in 3 days since I've been home.

We also tried out the new Bonbon cafe off of West 25^th St. where one of our dearest friends is head chef (a shoutout of congrats to him!!). Interestingly, I had the very English 'Bubble and Squeek' at Bonbon before I'd ever tried it in the UK. As a side note, they also have excellent vanilla lattes. AND they sell chocolate French macarons....which were tempting but as I'm near-broke and on a lifelong diet I resisted. 

I've been Xmas shopping with the boys, as well, visiting all the mega-malls and outdoor shopping centers...which, I have to say (so shoot me) were pretty lame compared to London, where it's like Black Friday all year 'round and every store is packed with unique fabulousness.

And that's all, folks. I think I'm basically up to date. Time to go work on the giant Christmas Crossword Puzzle from the Plain Dealer. I WILL finish it this year if it kills me.

It's Still Sunny in December

Before I begin, I'd like to make an unrelated speech. As some of you may have noticed (or not) I've had an anonymous reader leave comments on a few posts and while I love feedback these comments have been predominantly negative. But their pointed aim in my direction isn't what concerns me. Though no one enjoys criticism, of course, and even constructive criticism can be hard to hear and to accept the fact remains these responses are directed very specifically at my love of this city and my desire to stay here, and that concerns me. Having moved around so much I, for one, know how necessary it is to love where you are. It makes a huge difference in your quality of life and your day to day happiness. And having finally found the spot where I feel most at home I think it's something to celebrate, not condemn. I mean, have you seen much negative feedback in these posts about this city? For me, there's nothing bad TO say. In my opinion, too few people are happy with their life circumstance. So I ask: What need is there to lift and eliminate that feeling of success? Please, if my enthusiasm is wrong then more of you ought to come forward and enlighten me. Illuminate the true path(s) to happiness.

Secondly, suggesting it is unwise to continue to educate myself seems to me to be astoundingly flawed advice. In this instance, it was suggested my repayment options from school loans would be wildly out of control, and beyond the fact that this is downright untrue I would like to point out the number of PhD students that graduate every year. Further, not only can I guarantee that the majority of them are in some kind of debt, I can also guarantee they're smarter than most people “out there”, including those persons who suggest education, at any cost, is unwise. I hate making broad “in society” comments but today I'll make an exception: Where would we be as a society if there were no doctors or people who pursued higher education or who did research of any kind? If there was no one willing to push the boundaries of human knowledge and understanding progress would stagnate. It's as simple as that. So to anyone who thinks higher education is not worth it – whether that “it” be time or money or whatever else could fill the category – I would recommend keeping your reasons to yourself because no argument to that end will ever influence my mindset. And just for the sake of clarity, so that I don't have to navigate through any more negative commentary from anonymous readers with too much sand in their panties, I'll add that my proposal for a my PhD research project was accepted at my chosen school and I was told that (and I quote) “the application [to the school] is merely a formality” at this point.

Now that I've made my speech and ideally deterred additional, unwarranted comments from strangers who, by definition, don't know me from Adam and therefore have no reason to be meddling in my business as if they do, I'll continue with a post that resembles the others in its style. Ahem.

I forgot to add two places to the list I created yesterday:

Senkai. On Regent Street, overlooking the curve in the road and, at this time of year, a glittering lights display. We went for cocktails one chilly night, I was ill-prepared for the weather, as usual, and though I was freezing I have to say I looked pretty fabulous. But enough about me. Senkai is a restaurant and lounge, and since we were there only for drinks we only saw the lounge side. “Christopher Delalonde, MS, (Champagne Piper-Heidsieck UK Sommelier of the Year 2010) designed a comprehensive wine list, whilst the award-winning Ignite Group mixologists (remember Purl?) bring you an innovative, Asian inspired cocktail list amongst perfectly constructed classics.” Plenty of delicately blended, fruity drinks for me. I recommend the Parsnip Cup, Babicka vodka shaken with homemade parsnip purée, coconut and vanilla syrup, fresh lemon, hint of ginger, strained into an absinthe rinsed glass. Sounds really weird to have pureed root vegetables in a drink but it was excellent. Also, the big news is that it was recently visited by the British pop sensation Pixie Lot.

Galvin at Windows Bar. On the 28^th floor of the London Hilton on Park Lane in Mayfair, this bar offers an unforgettable view of the city, one you can't find anywhere else due to the lack of skyscrapers in London. Up above the city, so high that nothing blocks the view, you can pick out specific sites all across the cityscape. It's an experience limited to this one very specific spot in this gigantic city.

Now today, I did a bit more exploring on my own. I went a bit deeper into The Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea and was delighted to find streets even more lovely than those I've already seen and walked down. Anyone who says this city isn't absolutely gorgeous is insane. Just look at these photos if you don't believe me. These places ooze wealth.

But my intended destination was not the random side streets, although they're always a delightful perk. No, I was told I really ought to visit the Saachi Gallery near Sloane Square. Like all the museums, this one was also free to the public and featured modern art in 15 galleries. According to the website, “Many artists showing at The Saatchi Gallery are unknown when first exhibited, not only to the general public but also to the commercial art world. Many of these artists are subsequently offered shows by galleries and museums internationally. In this effect, the gallery also operates as a springboard for young artists to launch their careers.” Oddly enough, the one recurring thought I had as I walked from Gallery 1 all the way to number 15 was that I ought to have my art in there. It's really...just....so....much....better than....this stuff. I guess if I'm going to have a gallery showing I need to get off my fat butt and do some more art, then, right?

I've said it before, I do enjoy all art forms and I do get a kick out of this contemporary stuff but without those little note cards next to the art with at least a mini explanation to accompany the out-of-context blobs I feel quite lost. I prefer to know the artist's intentions because there is no way on God's green Earth that I can figure out what this is supposed to be/mean/represent/demonstrate:

The geek gets the girl.

Frankly, I have more fun photographing the art and the people with the confused looks on their faces, trying to puzzle out the art, themselves.

 

Lost beyond recovery

BUT! But, but but.....!!! In the basement (because all the best and most interesting things are in basements) there was the best room in all of London. YES, in this whole city, I found the single best room. The whole thing is like a giant optical illusion. When you walk through the door, the first thing you see is a ring of people leaning over a railing that extends only a small way into the room itself, in an arc. The majority of the room is actually inaccessible. So as you enter you naturally approach the railing. I should add that every room in the whole building is purely white, in case that wasn't clear from the above photos. The only color comes from the art. So in this basement room you notice, as you approach this railing, there is no art on the walls. The same with the ceiling. You look down and it appears as if there are screens, like movie screens, on the floor. You wait a moment for something to happen and nothing does. You look side to side and everyone to you left and right is looking down at the floor, still. You look down, too. You look harder. It appears as if maybe those aren't screens, maybe there's a net of this weird floor, like almost a nylon-leggings material stretched across the surface giving this dark grey-black wash covering. Then it hits you. You're looking into a liquid; a bottomless black lake. You notice the smell that's almost like gasoline, very pungent and reeking of chemicals and you're aware it's coming from the lake that fills this room. Not a ripple disturbs its surface. You imagine if something were to drop in it would sink without any noticeable disturbance, swallowing anything in one gulp. The surface is so smooth and reflective it's like a black mirror image of the ceiling above it. With every passing moment the urge to drop something into the lake becomes stronger. You wonder if you were to stick your hand in it if would be as cold and oily on your skin as it looks. And despite the fact the room is not really all that big, the perception of space is convoluted by the mirroring in the surface and your inability to see below the surface lends to the notion of a bottomless well. It's a very mysterious room, definitely the kind of room belonging in a basement. Here are some photos (I'm SO glad it was allowed), completely unedited:

After my gaze into the black mirror lake (sounds like I looked right into my own soul) my day became pink and frilly and rather reminiscent of a precious cupcake. The Chelsea Teapot is delightfully charming and seemed to me to be the perfect place for tiny girls in pink dresses to have a birthday party. It was so girly, flowery, and downright adorable it was impossible not to feel brightened. A few moms were there in pairs with their young daughters in tow, drinking teas from delicate china tea sets and enjoying tall pink drinks with bendy straws, respectively. Sitting far in the back with a book I felt effectively distanced from the cold outside and in the 

brightness of the pastels in the room it 

felt much more like springtime, instead.

 

Everything Else

As of late this afternoon I have one complete semester abroad as a Master's student under my belt. I've already been living in London for 3 months and, as I've said before, it feels quite like home here. I know my way around the most popular parts of this city and can find my way on foot, by bus, or by tube, train, or overground all the way from Richmond, past Roehampton, through Putney, across the bridge to Fulham, through Chelsea, South Kensington, Knightsbridge, up through Kennsingston and Notting Hill, around through Bayswater, Marylebone, Mayfair, Soho, down to Westinster, back up to Covent Garden and the way through to Regent's Park and Camden. And that's only the very most central part of the city. If you can believe it, those miles and miles of streets only comprise a very, very, very tiny bit of London. Thank goodness I'm set to stay for at least another 5 years so I can see the rest of it!

Since I have a pile of papers on my desk relating to posts I wanted to write, all relating to places I've been in London lately, each one hidden somewhere in or between the places listed above, I'm going to do a quick overview of each venue all in this one post. Then I'll finally be able to organize the left half of my desk and clear some additional space.

Jimmy Choo. If only I'd been able to buy the shoes! Instead, I walked past and was offered my very first mincemeat pie! So very English. My mini pie was only just larger than a quarter and at that size there was just as much pastry as there was filling. Thankfully, I discovered that the name 'mincemeat' is misleading because there is NO MEAT. Despite the fact the name is reminiscent of uncooked ground beef, and the filling is in fact quite brown, it's all made of sugary, gooey goodness. Possibly some dried fruits involved. However, there's absolutely no way to pretend any bit of that pie is healthful and therefore describing it as a fruit-filled pie might be misleading. In case the word 'pie' was misinterpreted, as well, to refer to something nutritious.

Spice Market. Imagine a wall of spices containing all the colors, flavors and fragrances of Southeast Asian cuisine. Spice Market London’s spice cabinet spans two floors, is 24 meters long and reveals every ingredient the chefs will need to create the dishes that makes Spice Market’s cuisine stand out.

The restaurant facade is completely transparent on three sides, and showcases the wall of spices, visible from the street. The eclectic and intimate design is a result of gold mesh sliding screens, brass screen lanterns, jatoba flooring and cozy booths, a unique brass 'birdcage' spiral stairs and 600 custom designed wok-lights.

Leonidas Chocolates. The store on Bond St,located in the heart of London, offers over 70 varieties of chocolates, hot and cold beverages, including coffees and a variety of hot chocolate drinks, all of which are served with a complimentary chocolate of your choice. For those who truly enjoy the purest bittersweet chocolate taste, Leonidas offers a well-balanced and representative selection masterpieces in dark chocolate and milk chocolate covering to dazzle the most discerning palate.

Fortnum and Mason. Welcome to Piccadilly's most unique department store, whose window displays alone attract admires and draw interested customers indoors. On the Ground Floor you will find tea and coffee, confectionery, biscuits, cakes, patisserie, freshly baked goods from our in-store bakery and our considerable range of honey and preserves. The other floors are dedicated to cookware and household goods, women's accessories, men's accessories, and St James’s Restaurant, an elegant oasis of peace and quiet, high above Piccadilly. And for those who shop til they're literally about to drop F&M offers lavish treatments. Designed for those who need to unwind and revitalize in luxury and elegance while they buy things, this treatment includes a reviving foot refresher and a back massage using a zesty mix of citrus oils. Also, if you can't decide how to spend your money and if the array of pretty packages across the six floors don't pique your interest, you can hire a personal shopper to lead you about the emporium and show you “something you never knew you needed until captivated by it”.

Bee Me. 251 Portobello Rd in Notting Hill is always packed, but especially on Saturdays when the market is in full swing. Still, BeeMe is worth stopping for. After all, they are the “Official voice from the Bee Me hive”. Their specialty is a pure white frozen yogurt, and all you need is the tiniest of their serving cups, not much bigger than a medicine measuring cup, to be satisfied. While it has virtually no calories, so they say, it's very rich and topped with any mix of chocolates, dried fruits, nuts, or sprinkles; the perfect visual and edible contrast to the snow-white creamy yogurt.

Royal China Club. Dim sum is the “in” thing these days; it's the food all the cool kids are eating. But I'm not cool and I don't like dim sum. So when I went to the Royal China Club, the upmarket spin-off of the popular Royal China restaurants, I ordered my favorite, instead: salted tofu. Fine, fine, act as grossed out as you want. At least I don't eat mutilated muscle meat off other animals. ANYWAY. Even though I've now been to the RCC twice, now, I've never eaten in; only ordered take-away (no, it's not called 'take-out' here), however, both times I've waited in the dimly lit, posh ambiance to admire the massive fish and lobster tanks. That said, Royal China Club isn’t serving dishes inclined toward innovative fusion like like some of the edgier places in London, but more of rare, very decent quality Chinese treats, especially for those with plump wallets. Take that £220 shark fin entree, for example.

Locanda Locatelli. After our planned dinner at Rhodes W1 fell through (they booked us in the wrong room, which was nowhere near as lovely) we decided to walk block or two over to Locanda Locatelli, Giorgio Locatelli's Michelin Star Italian restaurant on Seymore St in Marylebone. And some of London's best Italian food is served inside the dark and cozy dining rooms, surrounded by panels of frosted glass and white leather cushions; enduringly glamorous with a loungey, Seventies look. The first thing we noted, apart from the glowing décor and wall of wine bottles, was the wine list itself; an encyclopedia of Italy's finest, with a detailed map of each wine-producing region. Order a bottle and the waiter will perform a ceremonious table-side wine pouring act. Prepare yourself for big portions of heavy food to follow. Anyone familiar with Italian cuisine knows that pastas and meats prevail. Go with a group and occupy a whole nook or prepare to mingle closely with strangers; we were able to sit at a private table near the bar, which also happened to be the perfect vantage point for people watching and celeb lookout. Overall, it's a stylish scene, and a convival one, and the best tables will be often swiped by the likes of Elton John, Madonna, and Gwyneth.  

PS. When I Googled this place to find photos, all that came up were pics of celebrities. But since I am rarely impressed by popular celebrities, nor am I here to ramble on about their still human lives, I'm not going to include any of those photos. Enjoy the food snapshots instead:

 

And for some insane food porn check out the rest of the close-ups (all from different eateries, mind you): http://www.thecriticalcouple.com/gallery.html

And of course I've still been navigating through the best coffee houses of London.

Tapped and Packed Ltd. This coffee roaster has two locations; I popped in no. 26 on Charlotte Street on the way to the post office one Saturday afternoon. I got a take-away latte served in a small white paper cup, stamped with a black bicycle print. When it's creamy enough to enjoy without sweetener or syrups you know its a darn good cuppa.

 

Kaffeine. A new favorite and very near the UCL campus (my soon to be new school!). This could be dangerous. Kaffeine is another independent, Australian/New Zealand owned café (like Sacred....I'm noticing a trend in my fave coffee houses...). They serve brilliant coffee and light, fresh food in a space that has a chilled atmosphere, tall benches, and groovy, funky music...with baristas to match! The girl who took my order looked the part of a very “Leave it to Beaver”-type mom in a flowered blouse and red apron, but with painted pink hair intertwined with her natural, swept back blonde; thick sweeps of black eyeliner for additional contrast. And the nicest part was that she wasn't hurrying me along like they tend to do in these oft-packed coffee bars, and certainly didn't look or act impatient in the least. In fact, all the baristas actually smiled and looked like they were having fun at work!

Foxcroft and Ginger. I can't say the same for them. The guys behind the counter seemed more interested in each other's jokes than my order and I felt like I stood at the counter for an uncharacteristically long time before anyone noticed me. And without asking they assumed I wanted a take-away, which I didn't. Maybe the fact they were featured in Vogue gave them such big heads they're suddenly too inflated to serve all but their friends who come in to chat them up. I also have to say I very much dislike when restaurants of any sort have fabric cushions strewn about. Regardless of their condition, they always seem dirty and embedded with food, and I end up feeling uncomfortable in their presence. Despite rave reviews from others, I shan't return.

Speakeasy Espresso. Just a hop around the corner from Sacred, off Carnaby. This place is almost always empty, as far as I've seen. The pure-white room looks more like an art gallery than an espresso bar, so I personally passed it several times before actually realizing its true intentions: to make lattes for me. The main server/cashier was uncommonly friendly, but in a good way, and really warmed up to every customer that came in, even in the limited discourse between cashier and customer. However, the service from the baristas was unbearably slow, even more so since the place was nearly empty.

Paul. Is actually a chain of french coffee/pastry cafes but I actually really like their coffee quite a bit. Ok, I take that back. When the right baristas are working at the right Pauls then I LOVE their vanilla lattes like WHOA. Otherwise, when the wrong baristas are working the lattes taste like foamy water. A caring hand makes all the difference.

 

Aaaaaaand, wow. I think I'm actually caught up!

PS. In case you haven't picked up on this yet, I'll just say it: London is better than wherever you are. Cheers!