This time last year...

This time last year my Dad and I were enjoying dinner at a fine restaurant with a few insurance brokers and lawyers in London, England. The restaurant was located below street level in what used to be an old Presbyterian church. Sadly, the church did not revive so the property was put up for sale and renovated into a business. The entrance of the restaurant could easily go unnoticed by anyone not exactly familiar with the area as it was underground, directly off the street, with a narrow set of stairs winding down to the bottom floor. No more than one person at a time could go through the front door. Once inside, it opened up (not by much) to a "posh" dimly lit dining room divided into nooks for private dining. The walls were covered with random pieces of artwork and the tables were set with fine silver and china. Gorgeous flower centerpieces filled the middle of the table.

Once seated we were all given the wine list. The host of the evening came by soon after, followed by a couple of men with large trays to display the evening's finest selection of meat on the menu. On one tray was an enormous side of fish. On the next was a lobster...STILL ALIVE AND MOVING! I did not select the lobster and opted for the salmon (I reasoned that it would be much more lady-like to eat, especially as I was the only female in the group). It was delicious. So were the bread, vegetables and wine consumed along with it. The whole evening I stayed pretty quiet, chewed politely and smiled a lot. The company Dad and I were with were considered some of the upper crust of the London insurance scene, so I thought it best to be thought shy or demure instead of the normally outgoing, loud, 2nd Grade teacher I was at the time. It was much easier than trying to think of intelligent things to say when all that had previously been occupying my mind was math lessons, history tests and a unit study on plants. ;)

Business dinners always seem to last forever. Fortunately the restaurant had a lovely sense of timing on when to bring the next course, so there was never too much of a lull. The gentlemen were very kind to involve me and ask questions about my life when they weren't talking business. One of the Sr. business men (formerly the premiere insurance guy in all of London!) had quite a sense of humor (his language could be just as colorful too) and explained to me the meaning of the British word "posh".

At a time when the best mode of transportation "across the pond" to the U.S. was by boat, the wealthy people were the ones that could afford the best views of the land they were approaching. On the way to the U.S. the wealthy were positioned on the Port side Out. On the journey home, they had Starboard Home. Port Out, Starboard Home. P-O-S-H. And that's how it became a term indicating wealth, or those who possessed it.

The end of the meal finally arrived and I chose the creme brule'. It was divine. No really. The top has been fire glazed to perfection. I can still feel the tiny spoon in my hand breaking the thin crust, entering the tantalizing goo below. For THIS dish, I held nothing back. Who knew when I'd be in London again, and if I'd ever see that particular group of people...so I ate it all. Perfection.

After finishing dinner and maneuvering up the tiny staircase, someone suggested a "cleansing ale" to cap off the evening. Dad looked to me for a comfortability and tiredness check. I smiled and away we went. It was after all St. Patrick's Day(!) and some of the gentlemen were Irish and knew of an "authentic Irish pub" just a few blocks away. It was just as I expected: a cozy place with a friendly Irish barmaid, walls filled with memorabilia dating back to who knows when placed by people perhaps long gone, small antique tables near a fireplace and window seat, Irish music playing in the background. Having previously feasted upon classic fish and chips at a local pub earlier in the week and being unable to wash it down with a pint, that evening I decided a half pint of Guinness would do just fine. Guinness on tap that is. It's deliciously thick stuff. I'd never had it before going to London so enjoyed the opportunity to try it...and on the week and day of remembering Saint Patrick, too! The Irish gentlemen we were wish delighted in their ale and sang along with the tunes they'd known from childhood. The blue blood Englishman present looked rather out of place (he was very nice but also very used to living the "posh" lifestyle) and they made sure to razz him about it. He'd once tried to pass off as one of their group, but his fine accent gave him away immediately. Though London is a relatively small place geographically, there are several sections of the town that have their own dialect that distinguish the classes. But back to the pub...

Fortunately for me, everyone was very nearly done with their ale when one of the single brokers finally had a wee bit too much to drink. I didn't take it as much of a compliment, but I believe his consumption of alcohol made me look a lot more attractive, so he began paying more attention to me. It was laughable, but still encouraged me to give Dad the nod to signal it being time to head back to the hotel. I left my half drunk, half pint on the table, satisfied with having enjoyed a "posh" dinner, and closing the evening by savoring the taste of a Guinness on St. Patrick's Day. The group said our goodbyes on the cobblestone street outside the pub and we took a taxi back to the hotel. I kept my arm tucked through Dad's elbow until we got back, tired, but giddy to have had such an experience.

One year to the date, this is quite a fun memory. At the time I was teaching and on Spring Break. Dad scheduled his business trip around my break so that I could benefit mooching off of his accommodations and business partners making sure I had a fabulous time there. I toured museums, art galleries, ate at some incredibly nice restaurants, saw Les Miserables on stage, walked (albeit quickly!) the streets of London, learned my way around town by taking the tube and a whole lot more. It was fun. The main downside to the trip was missing my boyfriend back at home. I drank up every moment I was there and in a way was too busy to miss anybody...but as the trip was coming to a close, my heart ached. I missed my guy.

One year later, that guy is now my beloved husband. We are happily married, expecting our first child in the spring, and live in a cute and quirky house in a small town. We have two betta fish, are starting work on a garden and are now keeping chickens (more on that in another post). I love being Andrew's wife. I love keeping house, cooking and baking, decorating, cleaning, being creative etc. I couldn't be happier. The "posh" dining and travel experiences I could still be capitalizing on are nothing compared to where God has me today. I was Borne for this. :)