The Orange, Pimlico

This weekend's stop was Pimlico's The Orange, which was proposed by Oscar after a bit of online research.

Despite miserable weather outside, we all made it to the venue, ready for lunch.

Joining us on the Quest today were Oscar, Darren, and Pinar, on her quest debut.

The Orange offers both a Sunday Menu and a Regular Menu,
and we enjoyed the offerings of both today. Pinar's late arrival gave us an excuse to start off with some garlic bread.



Dishes Ordered: (Pictured left to right)

• 28 day aged Castle of Mey beef rib (Pinar, Oscar, Darren)
  
• Salmon... the details of which are long gone (It wasn't on the online menu) (Franc)
  

and then there was more...

• Orange & white chocolate mousse, spiced oranges (Darren)
  
• Baked cheesecake, poached rhubarb (Pinar - shared)
  
• Selection of country cheeses & biscuits (Oscar & Franc - shared)
  

Observations: (collective and individual)

• The service was not as fast as hoped, but it wasn't slow, either. (Oscar)
• Pleasant- definitely more right than wrong (Oscar)
• I like the fireplace. The decor is a bit characterless. (Darren)
• Generous portions (Pinar)
• Salmon crust was a bit too salty, but the fish was very good. (Franc)
• When we tried to change our booking three days prior, it was full, but the place didn't fill up until towards the end of our meal (Oscar) The picture to the right was taken when we arrived around 115.
  
• One of the best Sunday lunches I've had (Pinar, who determined that the has eaten approximately ten Sunday roasts, ever)
• Staff delivers as asked- but no effort to go beyond (Franc)
• Something feels missing (Oscar)
• Cozy, and the desserts were nice (Pinar)
• The meat was good, and service was okay. (Darren)
• Would come again but not next week (Oscar)
• It feels a bit sterile, like a US Pottery Barn store (Franc)
• ....and a lewd comment about the lack of Dyson Airblade. Use your imaginations.
  

On to the scores: (awarded on these guidelines)







Our Updated Map of Eats:
*note: All Pubs visited including today's are noted with their scores in parentheses

View The Quest for the Best Sunday Roast in a larger map

My Fake Sun

So, winter has been dragging along here, and as I've been without Passport, leaving for sunnier places hasn't been an option.

To indulge a sun-deprived tangent...
I think a lot of people think that a UK winter is sunless because it is constantly raining here, but this is untrue! The culprit is latitude.

For example, today, 22 February:
London 51°30′N
Day length: 10h27m 3s Sunrise/ Set: 7:01, 17:28

New York 40°47′N
Day length: 10h58m41s Sunrise/Set: 6:40, 17:39

Now, I know what all you New Yorkers are thinking... it's just as dark in NYC!

Today, yes, but what about two months ago?
Let's look at 21 December, the shortest day of the year:
London: 7h 49m 41s with sunset at 15:53
New York: 9h 15m 04s with sunset at 16:31

Now do you feel a shred of pity?
Lights out before four is rough, especially when it's colder than rainier than usual.

Enter My Fake Sun, aka Philips goLITE, which I purchased 2 weeks ago, in a desperate moment. I decided it was far less expensive than the holidays I wasn't taking, and the reviews it received on Amazon were extremely good.

Does it work?

I think it does. I wouldn't say I feel happier, but getting out of bed in the morning is much less challenging. I noticed a difference within 5 days of use. Whether it works or not, I definitely like sitting near it.

The GoLite/FakeSun also works as an alarm clock, so rather than waking up to the cruel song my Blackberry plays (Calypso, if you wanted to know), I can wake up to the eerie blue glow of My Fake Sun and an audible alert.

I often eat my breakfast with it on, and I've found that the twigs I eat for breakfast look even less appealing in blue light. I suppose I can only expect so much.

**Day Length, Sunrise, & Sunset sourced from www.timeanddate.com

Premier League...

I don't know what's worse:

• That we saw "Live Premier League..." in the Sky TV Guide, thought football (soccer) was on, selected the program, and learned that the program was, much to our horror, "Premier League Darts" (Burn!)

• That a repeat of Premier League Darts is shown in HD on Sky Sports while there's plenty of Vancouver Olympics to be shown. Surely, somewhere in Vancouver, there's Luge in progress?

• That Bank of England Governor Mervyn King shares his name with darts dynamo Mervyn King. The former has probably been guiding economic policy in silence, while the latter has Motörhead's King of Kings as a walk on song. (Walk on song?)
  

FYI: Drinking during competition was banned by the British Darts Organization in the late 80s.

The BBC Weather Ball

I'm generally very quick to correct friends who envisage London as a place of frequent and torrential rain, perpetually gray skies, and a national umbrella- toting hobby. When a visiting friend asked if rain boots would be a wise thing to pack, I actually laughed.

London is all about drizzle. It's not constant, and it's generally just enough to turn my hair (in the absence of chemical processing) into a frizz so massive that it would be the envy of any 80's hair band.

That said, I believe that Wednesday's sunny forecast is really just a trick to enliven the national spirit. Planting a seed of hope of just a few sunny intervals could restore my faith that spring may someday come.

This sort of bold fibbing would be unaceptable in the US, where the weather forecast is considered a reliable indicator of the climate during the day ahead.

Such is not so in the UK, where it seems to be generally accepted that the weather forecast, much like a newspaper horoscope or the wisdom of the Psychic Friends Network is for entertainment purposes only. People dress for all possible weather outcomes. Umbrellas are carried daily, as are sunglasses, just in case.

In fact, I've found that the single most indicative feature in a BBC weather report isn't the weather map, the sunny and rainy icons, or even what the newscaster is wearing during an outdoor broadcast.

It's the BBC weather ball!

That sphere behind the broadcaster may look like a giant bowling ball, or perhaps Earth as viewed from space, but it is neither. That ball contains the most accurate weather forecast available on BBC.

One can see that while London is clearly promised sun in the BBC five day forecast, the weather ball offers only rain and clouds.

I'll be dressing per weather ball tomorrow, a photo supporting my hypothesis will follow.

Warning: this might end up turning into an entire thread as I embrace the local hobby of weather obsession.
-----
Wednesday outcome: (photo on right)
Sunny through the afternoon-- The Weather Ball disappoints!

I believe I may have documented the "current state" weather ball, displayed at the start of the weather report, rather than the "future state" ball, displayed at the end of the forecast.

Further analysis to follow... something about stubborness....

The Prospect of Whitby, Wapping

Today's pub, The Prospect of Whitby, lays claim to being the site of the oldest riverside tavern, dating from around 1520. (Thanks, Wikipedia)

Joining us on the Quest today are Vera, Roland, Oscar & Darren.

Vera & Roland chose this spot, local to theirs, and they arranged an excellent table in the back dining room overlooking the Thames. (pictured towards the bottom)

As you can see, the menu contains all of the staples.


Dishes Ordered: (Pictured left to right)

• Beef Roast (Oscar, Franc)
• Lamb Roast (Vera)
  
• Pie of the Day - Steak & Ale (Roland, Darren)

And then there were three orders of onion rings:









You may think that one order to share would be adequate, but no. Ever since the infamous Key Lime Pie incident of '05 where Darren ordered pie for himself and others thought it was to share, we all know that eating something Darren orders may result in hours of moaning. Thus, when his onion rings were shared, we made sure to order PLENTY more.

and we all shared some dessert:

• Sticky Toffee Pudding
• Spotted Dick
• Treacle Sponge
  

Observations: (collective and individual)

• In the English tradition, the vegetables were boiled to death (Oscar)
• The food was OK. (Roland)
• Cute outdoor patio- might be nice in summer (Franc)
• I like the noose. (Roland, on the view from our table, pictured)
  
• The staff was very friendly and checked on us multiple times. (Vera)
• When making the reservation, they asked if we'd like a table with Thames views (Vera)
• There was nothing wrong with the meal, but there was nothing special about it, either (Oscar)
• The Fish & chips look amazing- next time! (Vera)
• I like the space, but I don't think I'd travel for it. (Darren)
• Food was fine and definitely acceptable at this price point. (Franc)
• Darren liked those onion rings (Franc)

On to the scores: (awarded on these guidelines)







Our Updated Map of Eats:
*note: All Pubs visited including today's are noted with their scores in parentheses

View The Quest for the Best Sunday Roast in a larger map

The Well, Clerkenwell

Today's rendez-vous point was Clerkenwell's The Well. Selected for its convenient proximity to our new digs, this was our first meal at this spot, which we had previously only visited for a drink or two.

Joining us on the Quest today are Vera, Roland, Oscar, & Darren.

Not joining us is Dag, who despite asking specifically to come along this Sunday, cancelled on Friday. Werder Bremen weren't playing today, but we're sure there's a good reason for his absence.

We settled in at the venue, only to find that Oscar had overslept.

Being a polite lot, we waited for his arrival to place our orders. The waitress fed us bread as a bit of a consolation prize and despite getting a late start to order, we at no point were hurried.

The Well's Sunday menu boasts both a brunch and a lunch section, but we stayed on plan and stuck to the lunch offerings.

Dishes Ordered: (Pictured left to right)

• Roast fore-rib of beef, Yorkshire pudding, creamed horseradish (Vera, Roland, Oscar, & Franc)
  
• Billingsgate Fish Pie (Darren)
  

and because we like to eat... dessert!

• Golden syrup pudding, custard (Darren)
• Pear tart tatin, vanilla ice cream (Vera)
• Selection of British cheeses, oatcakes and quince jelly: Mrs Bell’s Blue, Spenwood, Isle of Avalon, Tovey, Smoked Gubbeen (split by Franc & Oscar)

Observations: (collective and individual)

• I received everything I wanted, as I wanted it. I asked for a more rare piece of beef, and the server gave me the rarest serving on the table. (Oscar)
• I thoroughly enjoyed my meal. The dining area's design is well executed but in no way unique. (Roland)
• My faith and will to live are restored (Roland, still scarred from his last roast)
• I like the aesthetic of the brick walls, windows, and blue window trim. (Vera)
• The Roast was served with plenty of vegetables, horseradish sauce, and amuch appreciated little boat of gravy. (Franc)
  
• The Oatcakes with the cheeseboard were crunchy, delicious, and not too thick, and I usually won't eat oatcakes because I think they take from the cheese experience. I also liked (aka: devoured) the generous ramekin of quince. (Franc)
• Nice, clean, modern space. (Darren)
• Good list of whiskeys (Oscar)
• Fishtank in the basement is nifty. (Franc)
• The sliced lemons in the water are a nice touch. (Franc)
  
• The staff was very understanding about our late friend (Darren)
• I have a new favorite dessert (Darren, who also declared last week's pub as his favorite dessert... it seems the torch has been passed)

On to the scores: (awarded on these guidelines)








Our Updated Map of Eats:
*note: All Pubs visited including today's are noted with their scores in parentheses

View The Quest for the Best Sunday Roast in a larger map

The Easton, Clerkenwell

Our first Roast of 2010 is The Easton.

We had actually planned to skip roast this week, and instead, to have a wander around the neighborhood. I had high hopes for my camera on this first sunny weekend day of the year, but after said walk and a dearth of souls I wanted to steal, we were hungry.

We had read about The Easton in the past, and when we found ourselves around the corner at Exmouth Market, we decided to venture over.

From the outside this pub looks like nothing special. It doesn't even have door handles. It actually looked almost closed, as the windows were covered with condensation.

The wave of deliciousness hits you once you open the door. It smells amazing. The interior is simple, bright, and very clean. The collection of mismatching chairs lends character.

The menu, pictured, looks wonderful.



Dishes Ordered: (Pictured left to right)

• Roast Beef (Darren & Franc)
  
• Apple Crumble (Darren)
  
• Chocolate Bread & Butter Pudding (Franc)
  

Observations: (collective and individual)

• Every table was booked; however, the staff welcomed us to sit for as long as the table was available. (We enjoyed Rodney's 2:30 table until 2:15.)
• Portions were very generous. (Franc)
  
• The meat was a bit gristly on the edges, but removing those bits, it was excellent. (Darren)
• The food was served piping hot. (see picture, Franc)
• The mix of vegetables with the roast was nice.
• It was both child and dog-friendly
  
• Best dessert since I've moved back to the UK (Darren, who moved back 2 years ago)
• I'm glad I didn't have to share my dessert (Franc)
• Our table was for four, but it wasn't suited for four, as the table's legs got in the way on two sides. (Darren)
  
• Ladies' room was impeccably clean. (Franc)
• This pub could be much more aesthetically inviting from the outside and cozier on the interior.
• We would definitely come here again.
  

On to the scores: (awarded on these guidelines)






Our Updated Map of Eats:
*note: All Pubs visited including today's are noted with their scores in parentheses

View The Quest for the Best Sunday Roast in a larger map

Oscarkitty

I had to put my cat of 13 years, Oscar, to sleep nearly two weeks ago.

I've never felt so deeply saddened by a decision I executed without a shred of regret.

I found my old friend at the ASPCA, where he cowered in the back in a cage labeled, "George". According to this cage, George was a loving, two year old cat whose previous owners had to part with him because they had concerns about having a baby and a cat.

All lies, I tell you. Lies!

What actually hid inside that cage was a huge, unneutered, 8 month old cat who was easily overstimulated and was a bit of a biter. He didn't bite hard enough to cause injury, but it was enough to be very unpleasant. He had little thumbs which clicked when he walked, which at least allowed one an opportunity to take cover before he lunged.

I named him Oscar. He sucked, but he was mine. I loved him from the minute I held him.

He would run back and forth across my apartment, headbutting mugs off the arm rests of the futons. He burnt part of his whiskers off on a lit candle. He got stuck in a basket. He chewed on cables. He went too far onto the ledge when the cable guy left the window open and may have only survived due to rapid foodbag shaking. He was prone to lunging at the faces of people with sinus congestion.

He developed chronic urinary tract problems, which were only sorted after endless veterinary bills and the procedural equivalent of a gender change.

He ate half a stick of butter, and only stopped eating when I took it away. He rode the train to Albany in a cardboard box labelled, "glasses" and kept me company while I recovered from surgery. He played fetch with me while I did my calculus homework. He let burglars empty my apartment. He threw up on my loft bed while I was out. He started to purr for us.

He terrorized my mother's little dog, only to be terrorized himself by the cats he shared his home with. He howled through the night. He loved sleeping with us. He was such a nag I got him an automatic feeder. He was aggressive towards rollerblades.

He made my home a home. He became a lap kitty. He rested his head on my wrist for hours while I typed, working from home with a broken foot. He stopped fighting at bathtime. He managed to wake up my deeply sleeping housemate while I was in South America by slamming into his door.

He mellowed. He flew on planes and was pet by children. He was too tall for the cat-sized cargo carrier. He held it for over 30 hours when transported from my brother's in Florida to London. He developed a fear of suitcases but overcame his fear of the vaccuum.

He developed diabetes. It aged him rapidly. We gave him insulin. He stopped being able to jump onto the bed. We bought him a ridiculous set of stairs. He grew thin. He still wasn't much for having his picture taken.

He began breathing very quickly. Possibly a chest infection, maybe tumors, the tests were inconclusive. There were antibiotics, a nebulizer, and the aerokat. They alleviated his symptoms, but it didn't cure him. He grew thinner and weaker each month. The nebulizer made him fear us, the stress exacerbated his diabetes. Still, he tried to eat my ice cream. He remained social and seemed happy to be with us.

When the antibiotics ran out after four months of subcutaneous injections, we stopped the medication. In the week that followed, he grew more weak. I didn't want him to suffer.

His favorite people came to visit. We had a bit of a party.

Saturday came, and I took him to the Vet for the last time. He was peaceful.

Photo du Jour: At the British Museum

The British Museum is one of my favorite places in London.

I've fibbed a bit here, as I took this on the 22nd of December, but I've not had time to post it.

I'll probably resume Photo du Jour more frequently when Spring arrives, but until then, I'll be posting as opportunity permits.

Training Update: 28 December 2009

So, as expected, I've been hard at work eating. It is the holidays, after all, so I'm just going to be thankful that my gym clothes are stretchy.

I had my appointment for my second opinion with my new extra super sports medicine doctor (ESSMD) earlier this week. I describe him as, "extra super" because not only did my physio recommend him, but after receiving a fax about my intentions to seek a second opinion from ESSMD, my GP actually called up, raved about him, and mentioned that he is the consultant physician to the England rugby union.

Anyway, the ESSMD checked out my scans and agreed that I don't have a normal MRI. Looking at the cross section scans, the nerve is definitely a bit compromised.

Given that, I have two options:
A. Have an epidural, performed by a doctor referred by the ESSMD
B. Resume all my old exercise slowly, and see if the situation worsens. Supposedly, I can't really do further permanent damage to myself, and my worst case is that the nerve flares up badly again.

I've opted for plan B. From what I gather, the epidural is likely an inevitability, but I would prefer to put it off a bit, if possible. Besides, I have a new gym membership that is very convenient for my new digs that I'm so looking forward to.

So, I went for my first bit of running in over two months last Tuesday. On the treadmill, two minutes jog, one minute walk for the most part. It's not particularly exciting, but it's a start. The nerve hurts a bit, so we'll see how this goes. My physiotherapist is away for the next few weeks, so this is a good bit of test time.

With any luck, it will all go well, and these posts can start getting interesting.

A number of people have asked me how my upcoming move will affect my plans for Franc v. Tube, as following a move to a new flat in January, my despised commute will be a thing of the past.

I do plan to do my little train race, even with a new home location. I'll just have to pick up a beer along the way to drink on the finish line of my old front step, rather than collecting one from my old flat.

The Sun in Splendour, Notting Hill

*Please Note: following our experience at this pub, the manager contacted us, apologized, and expressed that we had chosen his first Sunday off this year to drop in. He kindly offered us a free meal to make it up to us, which we declined. Our experience at this venue may not have been typical, and I am highlighting this because of the generous customer service which followed when Darren (the third commenter on this post) contacted them.

Today's choice, The Sun in Splendour, came highly recommended by Roland's father. Admittedly, the last time he had visited this Notting Hill spot was well before any of us were born, but it still seemed worth a go.

With the holiday season upon us, we thought it a good choice, as while visiting his family, Roland can report back that we have taken the kind advice of our elders and have put it to good use.

Joining us on the Quest today filled with festive cheer were Robin (visiting from NYC), Vera, Roland, Oscar, and Darren.

The Sunday menu is available here. Oscar was so enthused, he decided what he was going to order the night before.

All was going well until we actually arrived at this pub. Upon arriving, I found that the reservation I made for six people got us a table that wasnt meant for six people and wasn't even particularly well suited for eating. (Those are my knees in the bottom of the picture.) It was really a bit like eating at a coffee table. When I pointed ths out, the staff made no effort to offer us an alternative.

As you can also see from the picture on the left, we were given a table with someone else's garbage was on it, which we eventually cleared ourselves after ten minutes. (The Blackberry, pint of beer, and glass of wine were ours- the rest was not)

Dishes Ordered: (Pictured left to right)
Beef Roast: Robin, Oscar, Vera, Darren, & Franc

Steak & Ale Pie: Roland






Traditionally, we discuss the food a bit later in the entry, but as our meal was missing two key components that were promised by the menu, I've assembled this picture to highlight these obvious shortcomings:

When we asked about the missing yorkshires, we were told that they had run out, without apology or offer to make up for it. The swede was never accounted for. The food was cold. I bet I spent more time on this diagram than the kitchen did on our food.


Observations: (collective and individual)

• My food was freaking cold. (Everyone's food was genuinely cold, except for Roland's pie)
  
• The beef was veiny and tough. Parts of the meal were missing. (Darren)
• My Sunday is ruined (Oscar)
• Everyone thought I was lucky to have warm food! (Roland)
• Vera wants to leave England now. (Roland, speaking for Vera)
• The pub dining area is nice (Robin)
• I made a reservation for six, and got a table unsuitable for six people dining. The pub wasn't packed. (Franc)
  
• Ladies Bathrooms lacked soap, a working hand dryer, or towels. They weren't particularly clean, but I liked the Nana-tastic wallpaper - pictured (Franc)
• Mashed potatoes AND Roasted potatoes? Where are my any of my 5 a day?
  
• I lowered my environment score further after experiencing the bathroom. The urinal coming off the wall was a nice touch. (Darren)
  
• I've seen better portable bathrooms (Oscar on the men's room)
• The food was better than my mother's cooking (Robin, before she regaled us with tales of her mother's cooking, which seems to involve a lot of boiled meat and a casserole (recipe) involving Velveeta, Ritz Crackers, and God only knows what else.)
• While doing our scores, the waiter cleared our dishes. We made no effort to hide that we were doing a review and that we were tremendously disappointed, and again, the staff made no effort to apologize.
• Simply put, this was our worst pub of the year. The only good thing about it was the bar space itself, which was nice enough.
  

On to the scores: (awarded on these guidelines)








Our Updated Map of Eats:
*note: All Pubs visited including today's are noted with their scores in parentheses

View The Quest for the Best Sunday Roast in a larger map

*Amendment made after original posting.