Doner Kebab. | Photo via Wikimedia Commons user Rainer Zenz.

It’s finally that point in the semester: Classes and internships are winding down and so are our bank accounts. As a result, us here on the BU London program have resorted to some deliciously cheap and unhealthy options for our daily dining. Now, I’m not talking about vending machines—London has its own breed of highly inexpensive eateries open until all hours of the night.

But first, a note on fast food. Yes, London does have outposts of some of America’s favorite unhealthy restaurants—KFC, McDonald’s, Burger King—but the odd thing here is that these places are surprisingly upmarket. For example, the McDonald’s here look like something that we would consider on par with a Panera Bread, and their prices match the fancier aesthetic. Most KFC sandwiches go for £3 (about $4.50), whereas they would cost about 99¢ at home. Of course, I know nothing about these culinary abominations, since I do not eat at such embarrassing places! (Puts in monocle.)

On top of that, London street food is very different from what we have in America. In the three months since I’ve been here, I have seen one hot dog cart. One! And even then, no one seemed to want it.

Instead, the British late-night dining scene can be broken into two main sections: Fried Chicken and Kebabs.

As one might expect, London fried chicken joints are blatant KFC ripoffs. Certain favorite names include “Mississippi Fried Chicken” and “PFC,” which I think (hope) stands for “Perfect Fried Chicken.” These places are very greasy, very cheap and often smell of fryer oil. The chicken is usually far too salty to be palatable, but if one is wandering around Islington at 2 a.m. with some friends, it can be oddly satisfying.

Over on the good side of food, kebabs here are awesome! In London, “kebab” does not necessarily refer to meat on a stick, but rather doner kebab—a large slab of ground lamb (or possibly chicken) rolled onto a spinning spit and sliced off in chunks for your eating pleasure. Even what we would think of as “kebab”—chicken or lamb shish—is taken off the skewer, grilled, sliced and placed either in a pita or under a cabbage-y salad. Every kebab place has its own flair—some wrap everything up in a flatbread, some smother the goodness in onions and lettuce, some stuff the meat into a big fluffy pita—but there are still some constants. They all offer the same default sauce option: chili sauce. It’s very spicy (as one might expect) and can be cooled with either garlic sauce or yogurt sauce (though those are usually additional charges…that’s how they get you!) Some kebab places also don’t have fryers, either, which means no chips (french fries) or falafel, but the doner certainly makes up for that.

I wonder if I will miss these culinary simplicities that the British have to offer. Kebabs are both ubiquitous and tasty, which is a win-win situation, and who can really complain about that?

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• English Breakfast: Breaking the Chains
• English Breakfast: Market Places
• English Breakfast: Escape to Camden

The Camden Lock Market. | Photo courtesy of Grim23 via Wikimedia Commons

While most of BU was off at spring break, the London Program rolled on with a normal week of classes and internships. Because of this, there is not much traipsing around Europe to write about, so I thought we could take the time to examine a weekend mainstay here in London: markets.

Whereas Boston has an occasional outdoor market in the summertime and all of New York’s are exactly the same (do we really need four MozzArepas stands along one block?), each of London’s markets has its own flair and unique merchandise, with independent vendors hocking their goods—be they homemade, antique, or of questionable quality—all weekend long. Though I am not as expert a shopper as some others here in London, here are some markets I have visited in my time so far.

Brick Lane Market

Brick Lane is a narrow street in Northeast London. It is known on the weekdays for its absurd number of Indian restaurants, all with people standing out front trying to convince passersby to come in, usually promising special discounts that may or may not exist. However, every Sunday the street fills with artistic designers selling their funky goods. The market is lively, colorful, and bold, with cheap eats around in the form of carts and all-you-can-eat buffets down the block.

Portobello Market

Over in the classy section of Notting Hill (of Hugh Grant fame), the famous Portobello Road becomes an antique and vintage-goods haven every Saturday and Sunday. The market goes all the way down the road (through the antique shops district) and ends at a large covered pavilion filled with independent sellers of vintage coats, jackets, dresses, shoes, and accessories, and prices certainly undercut the other vintage stores around the city (Barbour coats can go for just £45). The Market also has a small food section, with some European favorites (German sausages, crepes, etc.) but then one risks spilling mustard onto a recently acquired fur coat.

Camden Market

As my wonderful colleague Deb has already described, Camden is a pretty funky part of town. Tiny shops and vendors are mainstays along Camden High Street for the entire week, as the Camden (aka Buck Street) Market is open seven days and offers outrageously cheap clothes. It is a little like being trapped in a cage of princess-seamed dresses made in Taiwan, but when you can get a pair of boots for £12, it’s worth it. Further down the road is a variety of different goods, as the Stables Market offers even more vintage clothes (vintage is inescapable), and the Lock Market contains quirky, crafty odds and ends.

Borough Market

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. “Joel, where is all the food? We don’t care what you have to say about vintage clothes!” And it is with this point, dear reader, that I wholeheartedly agree. That is why I saved the very best for last—the Borough Market. Located along the south bank of the Thames (close to the Tate Modern museum and Globe Theatre), the Borough Market is a bustling culinary thoroughfare. Its mostly indoors, with a tremendous glass ceiling that traps in the aromas from all the great cooking around. Roast beef sandwiches, seafood rolls, and duck confit are just a few treats found here (all reasonably priced), as well as fresh fish, meat, poultry, vegetables, and microbrews from around the UK. Because of its small size, Borough Market does get very crowded on weekends, but it’s worth battling for some of the most authentic food in London.

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• English Breakfast: Escape to Camden
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One of the murals on the East Side Gallery of the Berlin Wall. | Photo by Deb Singer

The following is an English Breakfast post featuring tales of a spring break adventure. This is no ordinary spring break though; there is no surf, sun, sand or fist pumping (OK, there could have been fist pumping). No bikinis, beach balls or real tans (but plenty of fake tans). Rather, prepare to hear of bone-chilling weather, multiple layers of clothing, extreme exhaustion and miraculous time-management.

So that may have made my spring break seem a bit extreme, but it was absolutely necessary in order to make it clear that spring break while on the Boston University London Internship Program is in no way like a stereotypical college spring break. Since it takes place in the chilly month of February and only lasts five days, this break is much different than anything you could imagine.

While most students on the program decided to kill two birds with one stone by visiting multiple destinations during the short break, my small clique and I decided to choose one destination in order to truly get the full experience. So we packed as little as possible and shipped off to mainland Europe. Our destination: Berlin!

Great cheap beer in Berlin. | Photo by Deb Singer

My preconception of what I would be eating in Berlin was partially correct. I assumed there would be lots of beer. Not just any beer—but really good beer. I was right, and it was cheap! No matter where we found ourselves eating, there was always an extremely inexpensive beer to drink with our meal. This cheap beer was in no way like American cheap beer (eg. PBR, Natty Light), but rather, it was quality brew full of flavor. At the Odyssee Globetrotter Hostel in the Friedrichshain neighborhood (where we stayed), they served 1 Euro beers. For those who may not know, 1 Euro is the equivalent to $1.30…what good beer could you possibly buy in America for that price?

In terms of sustenance, I was more than pleasantly surprised by the quality and range of food in Berlin. I assumed the break would be five long days of nothing but Wienersnitchel and sausages, but it couldn’t have been more different than that. I ate some amazing sushi at the Miyaki Sushi Lounge and had a really good burger at Frittiersalon. The food offered at the vegetarian/vegan restaurant Yellow Sunshine was some of the tastiest I’ve ever had, and the breakfast crepe from a cafe called Melt was money well spent. However, the standout dish of the trip was, hands down, currywurst purchased from the Restaurant Zander stand in the Hackescher Market.

Curryworst from the Restaurant Zander stand in the market. | Photo by Deb Singer

While many may say that doner kebab is the dish of Berlin, I have to argue that currywurst is better. With just four ingredients, this dish is an explosion of flavor and can ultimately cause tasters to think, “Why in the world have I never had this before?” The dish is simple: french fries topped with pork sausage (served warm and crispy, straight out of the deep-fryer) and smothered with a thick ketchup and curry powder. Now, this ketchup isn’t the Heinz ketchup that you know and love from your childhood days. No, it’s homemade, thick and sweet, with a rougher texture (almost like a marinara). With the curry powder sprinkled on top, this flavor combination is completely mind blowing.

The most interesting discovery was the fact that German meal portions are even larger than America’s. If you ever plan to travel to Germany, keep in mind that an appetizer can typically feed four, and a main course can satisfy even more people. So no matter how hungry you are, be careful about how much food you order. If you’re not, you’ll end up with an entire meal (or two) worth of leftovers as my clique and I did on our first night in that crazy city.

As for the rest of the break, our time was consumed with shopping, clubbing, bar hopping and typical touristy stuff. Needless to say, Berlin is an amazing place to visit during a five day break. There are countless things to see, so much food to eat, some amazing beer to drink, and clubs everywhere you look (which are inhabbited by crazy people dancing until at least 7 a.m.); you’ll never run out of things to do.

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• English Breakfast: Raising the Bars
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This is a pub. You can tell because it has the word "Arms" in its name. | Photo by Joel Kahn.

For those of you unaware of international alcohol policies, the legal drinking age in the UK is 18. That means that we youngsters going abroad to London have access to any bars and pubs we want. We can order a pint with dinner, a cider after class, or even a shot of Jaeger for breakfast—it’s totally legal!

However, due to some poor planning, I may or may not have turned 21 just after arriving in London, which tends to suck all of the fun out of drinking legally at all hours of the day.

Luckily, London has its own means of solving this minor inconvenience: cool bars and pubs! Since my good friend Deb has already recommended the terrific Camden Eye, I will take a look at some of the other notable bars and pubs around the city.

Now, you may ask, “What is the difference between a ‘bar’ and a ‘pub’?” and I will first tell you that asking questions to a computer screen is pretty strange. I will then go on to answer your query:

A pub is a “public house.” It is a place where people go to socialize (usually right after work), with an environment that facilitates conversation, with quieter music playing through the speakers, and usually closes by midnight. Bars, on the other hand, are usually dark, loud, and packed with people…sometimes dancing people.

The Lexington, in the college neighborhood of Islington, is a prime example of a pub—it has homemade food, bright lighting, and a weekly music pub quiz (in which certain American students like to participate). However, the Lexington also hosts concerts in its upstairs room several times a week. The other quirky thing about the Lexington is that it’s American-themed: American beer, American whiskey, hunting lodge aesthetic.  It’s always nice to see how us Americans are depicted in other cultures.

Also on the pub side of things (with a similar hunting lodge aesthetic) is The Defector’s Weld in Shepherd’s Bush. Though the drinks are pricey here, they have a happy hour deal on weekdays, which is great for grabbing a drink before heading to a show at the O2 Shepherd’s Bush, a hefty concert venue that hosts some terrific acts just down the street.

For some late night fun, there’s the classy/trendy Book Club in the hip Shoreditch area. The Book Club definitely falls into the “bar” category, with their snack-centric food menu, loud music, and delightful mixed drinks. The decor is clean, and the walls are ornamented with children’s drawings of animals. There’s also a ping pong table, and on Thursday nights an event called “TweetBox” in which attendees tweet their song requests to the DJ. It usually devolves into late ’90s/early 2000′s R&B, so it’s totally awesome.

For the adventurous crowd, I will offer two suggestions, though I IN NO WAY endorse these establishments. They are full of debauchery and to be honest, kind of terrifying. Some people like things like that.

First, there’s The Macbeth, a pseudo-goth/punk bar in Hoxton. It’s open till all hours of the night, and frequently hosts loud rock shows and theme nights. They recently held a “Frat Party” themed party. It’s just like being back at BU! WARNING: You may get a chunk of ripped-up stuffed animal hurled at your head.

Finally, and for this I deeply apologize, is The Eagle in Kennington (not to be confused with the BU neighborhood of Kensington). The Eagle caters to a very…specific clientele. It is honestly intimidating. However, they have a Sunday night dance party that is disco-inspired (with a Village People movie playing on the walls) that is quite fun. Also, if you’re lucky enough, an indie music superstar might give you and your friends a round of drinks.

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• English Breakfast: Breaking the Chains
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The Tardis at The Doctor Who Experience. | Photo by Emily Heusted.

In exactly 9 days, 18 hours, 40 minutes, and 19 (18…17…16…) seconds from this very moment (actually though, from the moment I wrote this), The Doctor Who Experience will officially close its doors here in London and move to its permanent location in Cardiff, Wales. This interactive multimedia exhibit displays all things Doctor Who. As the website explains, it is “the largest-ever collection of original Doctor Who props and artifacts, including the entire collection of Doctors’ iconic costumes from 1963 to the present day.” The Experience opened in London in February 2011. It was originally meant to close back in September, but due to extreme public demand, its stay was extended through February 22, 2012.

For those Quad readers that have not been introduced to the pure genius that is Doctor Who, let’s start with an explanation: This show is centered around a man called The Doctor and his ever-changing companion (who is typically a young, attractive female). He is a Time Lord, meaning he can travel through time and space in his ship called the Tardis (which looks like a big blue box). Together, the Doctor and his companion travel to wherever, or whenever, their help is needed. The show is action-packed, funny, and, admittedly, sometimes scary. The original show aired from 1963 to 1985, and was relaunched in 2005 by the BBC.

Now, I have to confess that I’m not a lifelong Doctor Who fan. In fact, I didn’t become a true Doctor addict until this past summer, and now I just can’t get enough of it. However, despite my newfound addiction, I was completely unaware of this exhibit’s existence until I met Emily, a fellow BU student and Doctor Who fanatic. Thanks to her impressive ability to keep track of dates, we were able to make it there before all was packed up and shipped off to Cardiff.

To quote a young child I saw hurtling out of the exhibit, it was “the greatest experience EVER!” This may be a bit of an exaggeration, but his extreme enthusiasm was shared by all who attended, including throngs of young children, their nostalgic parents, and countless 20-somethings (many of which were dressed as the Doctor).

The Daleks. | Photo by Emily Heusted.

After queueing for close to 30 minutes, we were ushered into the first part (the interactive portion of the adventure), where a video of the Doctor (played by Matt Smith) appeared on the wall. He explained that he was trapped and that it was the audience’s job to save him. The video ends, and the wall slowly opens, revealing a long hallway. There were a few brief encounters with some of the show’s most memorable villains, including the Weeping Angels, Cybermen, and the Daleks. In one dimly-lit room, we were surrounded by Daleks, who, as usual, were wailing “exterminate!” at us, as we were not superior lifeforms (at this point, the many young children in the group went straight into full-blown panic attacks). A video of the Doctor magically appears to save the day, in which he explains to the Daleks that we “are not human, rather a harmless sub-species known as shoppers.” It was a very close call, but we made it out alive.

Very quickly, we found ourselves inside of the Tardis, where you have the opportunity to “control” it based on the Doctor’s directions. The floor moves during this portion of the adventure, supplying a thrilling moment for children and nerdy adults alike. After a few more rooms, including one with a 3D movie, we successfully saved the Doctor and were rewarded with the opportunity to look at more stuff.

Doctor Who villains, "The Silence." | Photo by Emily Heusted.

If I’m going to be completely honest, I have to say that I wish the entire Experience had been like the interactive portion. The actual exhibit was a bit underwhelming, as it simply displayed the costumes, props, and characters from the hundreds of past episodes (mostly focusing on the most recent ones, though). Regardless, it truly was an exciting hour spent in London.

Now, stop reading and go watch Doctor Who right now. May I suggest starting with the first episode of the 2005 relaunch? Please enjoy the truly horrible special effects featured in that episode, as well as those also featured in many of the following episodes. They are a major part of the series’ charm. And with that, I leave you with a spoof of Doctor Who (for charity, of course) featuring Rowan Atkinson, Jonathan Pryce, Richard E. Grant, Jim Broadbent, Hugh Grant, and Joanna Lumley.

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• English Breakfast: The Appetizer Sampler
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And now, moving on to new foreign adventures…

London, like any thriving metropolis, is filled with some standard chain restaurants. The ubiquitous ones here are the unpronounceable Pret A Manger, Caffé Nero, Starbucks (of course), and the appropriately named EAT. (That period is actually in the restaurant’s name.)

Now, these chain eateries are all fine and cheap (though Starbucks charges 40p for whipped cream!), but one can easily grow tired of pre-packaged BLTs, and as an enterprising BU student, I’ve taken it upon myself to eschew these middle-of-the-road restaurants and seek out reasonably priced flavorful food all by myself (and with the help of a couple friends).

However, this task has proven to be more difficult than we originally thought. The neighborhood of South Kensington (where BU London is headquartered) is one of the fanciest areas of the city, and good, cheap food is hard to come by. (In fact, Time Out London’s map of Cheap Eats presents a noticeable gap directly around South Ken.) Therefore, we have to venture into other areas. Since the London underground, or “Tube” (or to BU students, “the T”), costs £4 round trip, we need to make sure that every ride counts.

Pho, from Pho. | Photo by Joel Kahn.

SoHo is a very popular part of London. It is filled not only with tourists and theatres, but also with overpriced bars and terrible nightclubs. Up until this weekend, every trip into SoHo has resulted in a member of our group declaring, “Let’s never come here again.” And yet, due to its close proximity to Chinatown and ample cheap-eateries, we keep reluctantly returning.

Reluctantly, that is, until we discovered Pho, a Vietnamese restaurant in the non-terrible part of SoHo. Pho offers giant bowls of Vietnamese noodles, meat, and broth (a dish known as pho) in various combinations, as well as bún—made of cold vermicelli rice noodles. Pho also offers a great atmosphere of white-washed wood walls, red ceilings, and basket sconces—not to mention the only bottles of Sriracha spotted in London so far. And the best part: most of its dishes are around £8 (about $12)…not too shabby.

On the other side of the Tube station (in the terrible part of SoHo) is Dishoom, a self-described “Bombay Café.” Dishoom does properly convey the feeling of a sweltering basement in the heart of Mumbai—just without the social strife and population density. An added plus: it’s LOUD. Us Americans are not used to people sitting and eating in silence, riding the subway in silence, or partaking in every aspect of life in a hushed whisper. Thankfully, Dishoom presented the context for speaking at full volume without feeling embarrassed. Oh, and they have food, too. The menu contains an assortment of Biryani, curries, and Tikkas, many for under £10. These dishes were nice and spicy—just as spicy as the place was loud.

"Mummy, could I have some more?" | Photo by Joel Kahn.

Over on the non-cheap side of town, Piccadilly Circus, there lies a delightful macaron shop. Macarons are little heavenly sandwiches made of egg whites and filled with deliciousness, and the French shop Ladurée has some beautiful specimens. The shop lies just around the corner from Old Bond Street—the fanciest street in all of London. Just after shopping at Alexander McQueen or Prada, one can hop around the corner for some multi-colored French confections.

So there are places in London worth the trip that won’t break the bank. Hopefully, there are enough to last through the semester. If I end up frequenting KFC in April, please be sure to slap me across the face and make me aware of the error of my ways.

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• English Breakfast: Food on the Street
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Camden was home to Amy Winehouse. | Photo by Michael Zonenashvili

Two weeks have passed since the start of BU’s Study Abroad program in London, and life in the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea has proven to be spectacular. In addition, this borough, as its name suggests, has also proven to be overly expensive and a bit stuffy. While life here may be fine and dandy for our neighbors, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (a.k.a. Will and Kate), we BU students, who are used to slumming it in Allston, have been on the hunt for an area with a bit more character.

With a dash of grunge, a pinch of bizarre and just a tinge of commercial, the neighborhood of Camden in East London has very quickly become a favorite destination for all things food, drink and shopping related.

After “minding the gap” from the South Kensington Tube station all the way to the Camden Town Tube station (about a 25 minute commute), the transformation from conservative opulence to quirky grunge is almost shocking. The streets are lined with shouting friends, street performers and outgoing salespeople. The Camden Market, which is scattered into multiple locations around the neighborhood, offers everything from adorable dresses and kitschy t-shirts to second hand Dr. Martens and other vintage goods.

The Steak Mexican Burger at Haché. | Photo by Deb Singer

Across the street from the market on a small road called Inverness Street is a plethora of shops and restaurants. From record stores to soul food, this street truly has a little bit of everything. However, one restaurant on this side street stands out among all of the others: Haché. This is a gourmet burger restaurant done right and for a great price. The menu offers multiple versions of the classic beef burger, as well as steak burgers, lamb burgers, falafel burgers, fish and chicken sandwiches and an unbelievably flavorful duck burger. They have a great variety of sides, but the standouts are the sweet potato fries and potato wedges, which are served with garlic mayo and salsa.

Out of the many beef burger options, there are two that are particularly tasty. The first is called the Steak All Day Breakfast Burger. Served on your choice of a fresh ciabatta or brioche bun, this beef burger is paired with tomato, bacon, a portobello mushroom, and finally it is topped with a fried egg. This take on a breakfast burger is full of flavor, with the mild portobello, salty bacon and rich egg contributing to a delicious meal. For something a bit spicier, the Steak Mexican Burger is the best bet. Also served on a ciabatta or brioche bun, this beef burger is prepared with cajun spices and topped with tomato, jalapeño peppers and arugula, with sides of fresh salsa, guacamole and sour cream.

The most impressive item on the menu is, without a doubt, the Aromatic Crispy Duck Burger. As the Haché menu describes, the duck burger is “succulent, crispy duck breast with spring onion, slices of cucumber and oriental hoi sin sauce.” This sandwich is piled high with tender, crispy duck breast, which is both roasted and pan fried to add a bit of crunch. Along with the fresh vegetables on top and the salty sweet hoi sin sauce, this truly is a delicious sandwich bursting with complex flavors. Unfortunately, the duck burger is one of the pricier items on the menu, so for a casual bite to eat, it puts a bit of a dent in your wallet.

Drinks at the Camden Eye. | Photo by Michael Zonenashvili

After the meal, walk back down Camden High Street, pass the Tube station, turn left onto Kentish Town Road and located right on the corner in the middle of the major intersection is the perfect pub for an after-dinner drink. The Camden Eye sits right in the heart of Camden and has every bit of character to show for it. With its vintage inspired decorations and great selection of music, this pub is the ideal place to relax for a bit and grab a pint of beer or cider.

While South Kensington is a lovely neighborhood in which to live, it’s always exciting to escape to Camden for a change of pace. Its bustling markets, impressive record stores, historic music venues (The Electric Ballroom) and many restaurants and pubs never fail to entertain, making Camden one of the most exhilarating places to visit in London.

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Mandatory "view from the airplane" picture. | Photo by Noah Eberhart.

Something about Australia has always intrigued me.  Perhaps it’s the grizzled-but-gentlemanly way the countrymen have been portrayed in movies like Crocodile Dundee. Australia seemed to me to be a man’s man’s paradise, brimming with dusty outback to be gazed upon with a Clint Eastwood stare and conquered; a land in which I might shave a sheep in the middle of the street and eat it raw before tipping my 10 gallon hat to a passing sheila.  The country certainly caters to my raw, outdoorsy, pseudo-macho side, honed after years of crafting survival huts out of sticks, neckerchiefs and sweat in the Boy Scouts.

Or maybe I was pulled in by the way Outback Steakhouse depicts Australia: as a happy-go-lucky, “Let’s share us a bloomin’ onion, mate!” sort of place, where affable kangaroos join you around the campfire for a rousing rendition of “Waltzing Matilda” before bringing you a cold beer and tucking you into bed. Either way, I’ve always had an itching desire to visit the land down under, so this semester I’m living the dream.

One of my goals over the coming months is to see past the stereotypes, to remove the tinted lenses from my eyes and gain a more genuine understanding of the culture. Just as there’s more to America than McDonald’s and 50 Cent, there’s more to Australia than Vegemite and “shrimp on the barbie.”  It’s easy to think that because Australians speak the same basic language as us, they’re really not all that different – as one might think about Canada.  This simply can’t be true.  As with any foreign culture, especially one halfway around the world, there will be wrinkles and layers never considered, things obvious and rudimentary to Australians that would make an American raise an eyebrow.  These differences, though intricate, represent broader philosophical gaps between cultures, and may serve to illuminate ideas that, for an American, had long lived in the dark.  So with that, I must ask a question I will spend the coming semester attempting to answer: what is it exactly that makes Australia Australia?

* * *

It’s not often I watch an instructional safety video and expect to gain anything besides how to avoid getting myself killed or what bad haircuts people had in the ’90s, but the Qantas Airlines video on the plane to Sydney was an exception.  For the most part, the video was not in any way notable, but the first sentence spoken after “Welcome to Qantas Airlines, the kangaroo of the skies!” or whatever their slogan may be, was quite revealing.  I can’t quote it verbatim—after an initial six hour flight to Los Angeles and a 12 hour layover, my memory tends to get a bit strung out—however, the gist of it was, “We know you know how to put on a seatbelt, but please pay attention because the rest of this information could save your life.”

I thought this was telling because it caters to an independent mindset with just a dash of sarcasm.  The quip indicates that Australians are inclined to react to those who think they’re above the rules with a bit of friendly disdain. As I’ve come to learn, Australians are indeed the first to point out if you’re doing something stupid and will respond to it with amicable mockery.

Humor is generally more developed in Australia.  I mean not that it’s more intellectually developed, but that Australians seem to by and large have a good sense of humor more often than their American counterparts.  A friend of mine dropped a wine bottle on the street a few days ago, shattering it. Several passersby deadpanned over the tragedy of the event, much to my chuckling.  In America, I imagine one person perhaps would have commented—likely with direct, sincere sympathy, not the humorized type—but most Americans would have walked right past without a second glance (though in Allston, I estimate someone would have broken a bottle right back at us because that is the native greeting ritual).

The wine incident clues me in to another Australian wrinkle—friendliness.  Australians aren’t afraid to make friends with strangers. They love to chat and have a drink. I’ve been here a week, and it seems every time I go out, I get multiple Australians’ numbers. I am not a very sociable person when it comes to strangers.  Meeting new people is difficult for me.  I’m fairly certain most people I meet think I hate them because I’m so shy.  And yet, soon the Australians in my contact list will actually outnumber the Americans, which is pretty incredible.

But it’s actually not that incredible.  I’m bound to meet quite a few people during my semester here—Sydney is a city of four million.  And it’s quite a neat city at that, though I haven’t yet seen much more than the more touristy areas.  The city manages to feel intimate, though it’s sprawling.  The Harbour Bridge is overpowering.  The Opera House is as perfect and iconic as you’d expect it to be—instantly recognizable, the Eiffel Tower of the southern hemisphere.  Sydney is very cosmopolitan because of Australia’s high immigrant population, which gives it a sort of diverse flair. The food options are just as diverse.

While we’re on the topic of food: I’ve done it.  I’ve tried the infamous paste known as Vegemite. I’ve carved it from the depths of its intimidating yellow-labeled jar and ingested it through my mouth. And guess what?  I want more.

Before you gag on your own vomit at the thought, I just wish to say that I can see how Vegemite might turn some off if consumed incorrectly.  You can’t use too much.  I’ve asked several Australians the proper method, and it’s pretty simple.  Make buttered toast.  Put a thin—thin—layer of the stuff on top.  I did just that and it was delicious.  Salty and savory.  I could go for some right now, actually.

* * *

Awesome Australian Thing of the Week:

In this space, I’ll be putting something terrifically Australian that I discover each week.  This week’s winner comes in the form of a headline from the Sydney Morning Herald; one that, I might add, is silly in a vaguely British sort of way:

“Wilkie has a bob each way on controversial pokie changes.”

“Pokies” are slot machines.  Some in Australia have made calls for sweeping gambling reform.

Runner Up:

There’s a dumpling place down the street from the Boston University Sydney Centre called “Bling Bling Dumpling.”  In it’s front window, it displays dumplings placed carefully among giant fake diamonds and a large stuffed Pikachu.  I haven’t eaten here yet, but inside looks very sparkly.  This is more Asian than Australian, but it deserves a mention simply for existing.

 * * *

Photos

Each week I’ll post some photos I’ve taken.

The Australian flag hangs near Darling Harbour. | Photo by Noah Eberhart.

The Sydney Opera House and imposing Harbour Bridge. | Photo by Noah Eberhart.

Boats in the Sydney Harbour, with the Opera House and Harbour Bridge in the background. | Photo by Noah Eberhart.

A collection of pigeons and ibis congregate in Hyde Park. | Photo by Noah Eberhart.

A street performer balances a spinning wheel on his head in downtown Sydney. | Photo by Noah Eberhart.

Final note: I just want to make it known that the elevators in our building bear the company name, “Schindler.”  In Australia, as in Britain, elevators are called “lifts.”  So, somewhere out there may be a company known as… “Schindler’s Lifts.”

No related posts.

The Museum of Natural History is directly across the street from one of BU's London dorms. | Photo by Joel Kahn

A new semester means a new crop of eager students shipping off overseas to participate in some of BU’s many diverse Study Abroad programs. At 326 students, BU’s London program is this semester’s most popular, and I (Joel) will be alternating with Quad food writer Deb Singer to bring our take on these three and a half months in jolly old Londontown.

This weekly column, entitled “English Breakfast”, will chronicle our time abroad, and focus mainly on the culinary adventures therein. Sadly, London does not have the kind of language barrier that Annie White often humorously commented on in her “An American in Paris” series last fall. (There are, however, many words that mean different things here. To Brits, “pants” means “underwear.” Do not tell a bartender that you like her pants.)

But I digress.

One week is obviously not enough time to survey an entire metropolis and all of the diverse cuisines it encompasses, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try.

BU has three dorms in London, each with communal kitchens for every 10-15 students. I got lucky in that my kitchen only has seven people using it. (Though I have to share my bathroom with two girls. Who planned this layout?) The kitchens come equipped with dishes, glassware, silverware, pots, pans, and some of the dullest knives I’ve ever encountered. If any administrator from the BU London program is reading this, please replace the knives in all the kitchens. Sincerely, Joel Kahn, cutlery-safety activist.

Our first night here, some friends and I went out for Indian food near our dorm in South Kensington. We chose the wonderfully named “Kwality Restaurant” and were shocked to find out that British people are considerably quieter than us boisterous Americans. Some people actually moved their table to get away from us. It hurt. But not enough to make me stop eating all that naan and mango curry. After that first night, we specifically sought out restaurants that would be able to tolerate our unrefined American volume levels.

For our first home cooked meal, Deb (of The Quad fame) made a mushroom, cheddar, bacon and arugula quiche with a rosemary-infused crust. After experiencing Ms. Singer’s baking ability first-hand, I can only attest to the fact that she is a Super Baker, and any recipes she has posted on this fine website are highly reliable.

My second home-cooked meal is one that shall go down in abroad infamy. My friends and I cooked spaghetti with marinara sauce. (Nothing worth writing about, though we did put Taleggio cheese into our salad.) The good part came when I tried to place the large bowl of pasta onto the table, and ended up spilling the near-boiling sauce and noodles all over my hand. I awoke the next morning with second degree burns (I shan’t go into detail here) all over my left hand, and still keep it in my pocket at all times so as not to offend anyone who may accidentally see my mutilated appendage. It should heal soon.

The sweet fruit salad pancake (top) and savory chili con carne pancake (bottom) from My Old Dutch Pancake House. | Photo by Deb Singer.

Since that accident, I have not really been able to cook myself. However, restaurant meals in London are expensive, so I’ve been managing. The trick is to balance in-dorm meals with ventures out into this exciting city. For Sunday brunch, I had a savory (or as they say here, “savoury”) pancake at My Old Dutch Pancake House. These pancakes are very large and thin—about the size of a medium pizza, but each serves only one person. They’re used more as flatbreads than as sweet pancakes, though this restaurant had options on both the entree and dessert side.

Of course, I have seen many sites as well—Big Ben, Portobello Road, some corgis in Hyde Park—but those mentions are for a very different type of travel blog.

I will leave, however, with one final tip: beware of pubs with inauthentic menus. As my friends and I scavenged Notting Hill looking for a fish n’ chips place, we stumbled upon a delightful old-timey pub. We had mediocre fish n’ chips, and upon returning to our dorm neighborhood, noticed that another nearby pub had the same menu and logo—though a different name. It seems as though these pubs have been conglomerated into a T.G.I. Fridays-esque british kitsch house of lies…and were kind of expensive to boot.*

*In the UK, “boot” refers to the trunk of a car.

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• English Breakfast: Breaking the Chains
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Paris is kind of a nice place. Photo by Annie White.

Somehow (actually, I know how. It was that whole time marches on thing) I have reached the end of my semester in Paris. Final papers have been written, final exams have been taken, my mastery of the French language has reached its peak and will now steadily decline until all I can remember is  “Je veux une omelette de fromage.” And, most importantly, by the middle of next week I will be getting off a plane in Detroit and going home to a Christmas tree, some apple cider, and my family.

It seems only right to do a summary of deep, meaningful life lessons that I learned during my semester abroad, and how I have been forever changed as a person. But I don’t want to do that, so instead I will lay down a blanket statement about French culture and then move on to making fun of the French language one last time.

First off: France is a wonderful place that has managed to largely preserve a way of life that is at once endlessly charming and largely impractical. French people are kind, helpful, proud, and they will make fun of you if you have an accent. They might benefit from being slightly more organized, punctual, or polite, but then of course they would not be French. And no one wants a bunch of un-French French people running around having identity crises.

Now. Moving on.

One of the things I will miss most about France is, believe it or not, grocery shopping. I have found grocery shopping here to be amusing and even ridiculous – it is a familiar thing rendered totally different just by crossing the Atlantic Ocean. For instance. Things you can buy at a grocery store in France: refrigerated breakfast pancakes; unrefrigerated milk; a whole, skinned rabbit complete with eyeballs and teeth. Things you cannot buy at a grocery store in France: bacon; syrup; gum that costs less than four Euros.

The snack aisle is also significantly smaller here, but features a truly stunning array of potato chip flavors. My personal favorites are “Mystère” (Mystery), “Poulet Roti”  (rotisserie chicken), and “Nature”(salted). The first two because they are truly absurd, and the third because it seems to suggest that the potatoes popped out of the ground sliced into chips and lightly salted, ready for bagging.

In a similar vein (the vein of the myriad sillinesses of the French language, in case you weren’t paying attention) I will also miss the signage of Paris, because something about it is just quintessentially French. There is a park across the street from me with a pond that is populated by scary geese, and around the pond are signs that say, “if you like the birds, do not feed them.” In the US, these signs would say “Do not feed the wildlife,” but in Paris you are only implored to refrain from feeding the geese if you like them. If you don’t like them, you are at perfect liberty to poison them with your nasty human food. Freedom of choice at its finest.

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• An American in Paris: Thanksgiving
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Unrelated: one of the most distressing things to me about France is how many statues do not have heads. | Photo by Annie White.

Over the past several weeks, I have slowly become aware of the fact that I am not awful at French anymore.  This is not to say, of course, that I speak perfect or even near-perfect French, but Francophones are now able to accept the noises that come out of my mouth as a recognizable language. It has been a while since someone started talking to me in French, decided listening to my accent wasn’t worth it, and then switched to English, and it has been a (shorter) while since I started speaking French, realized I had no idea what I was trying to say, and was forced to stare dumbly at whoever I was talking to, hoping they would throw me a rope.

However – there’s always a however – there are still a few things I have no idea how to say in French and will probably never learn. These gaps are probably a result of my extremely relaxed attitude towards language acquisition – I don’t own a French dictionary and enjoy making up my own meanings for words I don’t know, with little regard for accuracy.

Most of the reason I have eschewed dictionaries (with the important exception of when I am writing papers) is that I think it is really fun to hear a word fifteen times and not understand it… and then suddenly realize exactly what it means. Unfortunately, the reward compared to the amount of time I spend utterly confused is not very satisfying.

My first lexical gap is that I do not know how to say “you’re welcome.”  Or, rather, I do know how to say it (de rien) but I never do. For some reason, I have not been able to integrate this phrase into my French vocabulary, despite having integrated other, less polite vocabulary with much less trouble. For some reason, saying de rien never seems right to me, so whenever someone says “thank you,” I do one of two things: I either say a very enthusiastic “thank you” back (which is fine at the store, but is a little strange if someone just asked me for directions), or mumble awkwardly and run away.  Early in my stay in Paris, I was constantly trying to force myself to use de rien in daily conversation, but I have finally accepted my fate as a person unable to gracefully acknowledge thanks. Parisians, to their credit, seem to take this in stride.

My second, and probably more problematic, gap relates to food. Before coming to Paris, when I was anticipating the struggles I would face, I always counted ordering food as one of the things I would be good at, since it is one of the few things they actually teach Americans in French class. Unfortunately, what they teach is how to order an omelet. Or a cheese omelet. Or a grilled cheese sandwich. Or a grilled cheese sandwich with an egg on top. This is all very well and good, but while I have never had occasion to order an omelet in Paris, I have found myself sitting in a restaurant staring at a menu and realizing that my dinner was going to be a surprise.

Of course, I could just ask for help, but with my pride already bruised from three months in a country where I communicate at the level of a toddler of less than average intelligence, asking for help reading a menu seems like one step too far.

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• An American in Paris: Behind the Language Barrier
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Paris was wonderfully festive this weekend, but I forgot my camera so instead I present this photo of a gold-plated deer head to prove that France is a silly place. | Photo by Annie White

I have always been one of those people who believes strongly in the sanctity of Thanksgiving. It isn’t a just a buffer holiday so people have a reason for a long weekend in between Halloween and Christmas. It is a wonderful celebration of the importance of community, and it is perhaps the only major holiday that has resisted commercialization. Or, to be more precise, it is the only major holiday that has resisted commercialization as long as one blatantly ignores the existence of Black Friday. Which I do.

Despite the fact that I had spent two weeks leading up to Thanksgiving thinking about how strange it would feel not to spend it at home, I still had a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that the fourth Thursday in November is not Thanksgiving in France. When I tried to teach the kids I babysit how to draw hand turkeys they were confused and a little suspicious. “How does that look like a turkey?” They asked, looking skeptical that someone who couldn’t even draw a turkey should be trusted with their safety. “Why do its feathers look like that?” Then, as if suspicious that I was exploiting them to make money on the Thanksgiving Crafts Black Market, “Who are you going to give these to?”

Quite apart from my inability to convince French children to celebrate a holiday they don’t understand, I was having a hard time convincing myself that I was actually in a place where no one cared about Turkey Day. Every time I looked in the window of a restaurant, I spent a few seconds feeling sorry for all of the people without a home cooked meal for the holiday before remembering that none of them thought it was a holiday. When I put off grocery shopping until the last minute, I kept worrying that the stores would be overrun, or that they might run out of key ingredients or close early.

After overcoming my unfounded fear of crazed hordes of procrastinating grocery shoppers, I made my way back to my woefully underequipped kitchen with all the ingredients for green bean casserole and the most expensive bottle of wine I’ve bought in France so far (four Euros – it was a big purchase).  The dish I made was the same one I have made every year for as long as I can remember; although this year was the first time I actually ate it. (After careful self-examination, I have been able to determine that the only reason I never tried it was to spite my mother – sorry Mom!)

With twenty friends gathered around several crooked tables and not quite enough chairs, with tiny American flags stuck into all of the baguettes, I had an unambiguously successful expatriate Thanksgiving. France even cooperated by launching its several Christmas Markets this week, with tents selling everything from giant slabs of chocolate to disgusting fair food. This allowed me to replicate my preferred method of Black Friday celebration (Coney dogs for the whole family!) with a hot dog served in a baguette bun, ordered from a French man who was clearly judging me for buying what he did not consider to be a valid food item.

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• An American in Paris: At Risk for Scurvy
• An American in Paris: Behind the Language Barrier
• An American in Paris: Parting Thoughts