The British Food Challenge

Before moving any forward, lets get one thing straight. I am one of those people. The gluttonous and incorrigible ones who live and breathe food. I love everything about it, cooking it, reading about it, talking about it, eating it and sharing it with the people I care about. Try talking to me about food – my face will light up, my mouth will open and close at unthinkable speed and you will be my friend forever.

To bring the cliché back on the table, as a New Year’s resolution, I said I would fill my days with things I love doing. So, I put myself on a mission, named “Explore British food and report back to the people reading my blog” (a.k.a my mum). When I say British food, I in no sense mean eating at the 2336^th mediocre Italian restaurant in London. No friends, I mean hard-core dwelling in the day-to-day comings and goings of traditional, contemporary and really fatty British food and produce.

Coming from a place where olive oil doubles as water, tomatoes can be eaten as apples and tangerines smell from a 100m distance, British food is the polar opposite of Greek cuisine. English cuisine generally comprises of roasted and stewed meats, meat pies, boiled vegetables and broths as well as many dishes whose roots can be found in Indian cuisine. And of course, one shouldn’t forget the British pastry making tradition, but all of these will be getting their own individual posts.

Fancy reading the documentations and reactions of a hungry Greek girl, ready to try all sorts of tasty, bizarre, fried and meaty British culinary eccentricities?

Brace yourselves; we’re about to go on a culinary trip across London (and possibly Britain.)

This Year I Will..

Yeap, it's that time of year. The time where everyone decides that it's time to stop smoking, go to the gym, lose weight, be nicer to people, find the guts to apply for his dream job and so on. Don't you just love New Year's resolutions? For a couple of hours at New Year's Eve you actually believe that you will do all those perfectly plausible things -although you've been too much of a slob to do them these past years - and this year you will turn your life around.

Fast forward to New Year's Day. You wake up without having digested what you ingested the night before, you're so hungover that everything on your body aches, and guess what? Holy shit, IT'S THE NEW YEAR. Remember that? 2011? You know, the year you would change, improve and feed the orphans? You remember alright, but everything you said you'd do over fine wine and turkey the night before, right now is being postponed. And it will keep being postponed for the next 12 months. Sad, isn't it?

Well, dear procrastinating, postponing slob, the only thing sad is you! (Yes, I'm talking to myself again). Instead of dwelling in your bullshit, your so called "busy schedule" and the reasons not to do things, why don't you for once get off your ass and DO THEM?

Do things that make you happy, do things you love, do things you never thought you would do, change the things you don't like. The important thing is doing something. Being active, and trying new awesome things, and changing old, annoying ones.

Just think... there's an entire new year ahead of you! 12 months, 365 days, 8,760 hours, 525,600 minutes and 31,536,000 seconds of a completely clean slate.

And if you don't do anything new, noteworthy, amazing, insane, deranged or messed up with it, then face it: You're a complete pussy.

Happy New Year!

x

PS: if you're out of ideas, try this New Year's Resolution Generator. Press the Gimme More button until you find the coolest, most extravagant thing there. And then do it for fuck's sake! What have you got to lose?

The art of being a complete amateur

am·a·teur

 [am-uh-choor, -cher, -ter, am-uh-tur]-noun1. a person who engages in a study, sport or other activity for pleasure rather than for financial benefit or professional reasons.2. a person inexperienced or unskilled in a particular activity: Hunting lions is not for amateurs

Disagreeing with the example on the second definition, given that I often engage in amateur lion-hunting, I'm here to discuss the subtle art of being a complete amateur, and if one wishes to take it to the next level, the subtle art of being really bad at something.

In life, there are things at which you are good, whether that be a sport, an art or some freakish physical ability like twisting your thumb, and then there are other things; things at which you are complete shit. Not necessarily things you don't like; but rather things you enjoy doing but you're a total novice at. Everyone knows what I'm talking about. Yes, even the extraterrestrial overachiever that everyone went to high school with, the one with the 500 extracurriculars, the perfect grades, and the kick-ass clarinet playing skills (or some similar shit).

Well today, I'm here to praise all amateurs who've made complete fools of themselves while trying something. Yes, WE SUCK at it. But who gives a fuck? We're gonna keep doing it because we like it. And any perfectionist freak who has a problem with that can shove his/her sparkly awards in an area I will refrain from naming (because after all, I'm a lady).

Everyone has something that they do well, great -hell, even awesome- and being proud of your skills and talents is something no one should ever take away from you. But I say, be proud of your shortcomings, and elevate your sucking into an art form! Keep doing the things you love or like and stop giving a fuck what people have to say about it. In the end, your faults make up a large part of who you are. Being an amateur is great - there are no expectations or weight placed upon your shoulders - and after all, you might even surprise yourself!

PS: Yeah, this means that I will continue playing racing video games (including Mario Kart). I can proudly announce that I've been sucking at them since 1998. Hell yeah!

Insomniac Musings

It's late, I can't sleep and I feel like a shitty person for waking my friend up.

See, I was lying on the pillow and I felt genuinely tired until I started to think. Don't you hate that? When your thoughts and your silent mind-rambling creep into the sleepy parts of your brain and whisk you into consciousness? I tried to fall asleep, I really did. But suddenly, for no specific reason, I started vividly imagining how it would feel like to visit school again. I sound like a corny idiot, trust me, even I'm surprised because I'm not the school-nostalgic type, but this is different. You see, I reconstructed everything in my head and I felt as if I was actually there. In the library, through the corridors, in the cold classrooms on a sleepy Monday morning. And then it hit me: In my reconstructions, every place I visited, was accompanied by people. Familiar faces, friends, acquaintances, teachers.

I realised that from now on, whenever I might choose to visit school, it will be the same place visually, but completely different in its entirety. It will be lacking. Lacking my friend's sleepy morning face, sitting on the wooden bench, warmly wrapped in her coat. Lacking the playful insults exchanged, the gossip flowing around, the heartbreak analysed over Bic pens and notebooks during class. Lacking the way he looked in that baby blue sweater, and the way I got weak in the knees every time we spoke. Lacking the cigarettes we sneaked in between classes. Lacking all the fun. Lacking all the blissful ignorance.

Lacking everything.

My life is so far away from all that now, in every sense. Visiting my school seems bizarre. The fact that we are all supposed to be adults is bizarre. The fact that we're all at university is bizarre. The fact that I'm doing my own laundry is the most bizarre of all!

And though I don't think about it often, sometimes I stand astonished looking at the way time flies by, when you wake up and realise you're not 16 anymore.

I hope writing this, and getting all of it off my chest will help my insomnia.

From now on, I promise to start taking sleeping pills, and not take (all) my bullshit out on the blog.

x.

What London has to offer

to all kinds of compulsive personalities!

Yes, I have decided to do a series of post focusing on what London has to offer to all you psychos out there! No one will be left out (except for heroin addicts and Jesus freaks because they scare the shit out of me). So, here it goes!

London is a multicultural European capital, that provides abundant opportunities in terms of what to do and how to spend your day. The question that arises though... Is London your friend depending on your vice?

Smokers:

Oh, dear smokers, I should inform you early on that London isn't the best place to fuel your lung degenerating addiction. First off, cigarettes here are scary pricey. A 20 pack usually is priced at almost 7 pounds, and a 10 pack at almost 4. Also, the health warnings printed on the packs are accompanied by graphic and disturbing pictures, so even before you get the pack in your hands, everything is working against you. Then, if you choose to disregard the cost and start spending almost 20 pounds a week on cigarettes (yes, you are a junkie), you should be aware that smoking is forbidden in pubs, bars, restaurants, coffee shops and pretty much everywhere.

Now, as any good junkie, you'll say "I don't care, I'll smoke outside" to which I'll reply "good luck getting soaking wet". And then, as any good junkie, you'll say "I don't care I'll smoke in my house/hotel room/dorm room" to which I'll reply "good luck getting past the smoke detectors". But generally, if you indeed are a good junkie you'll find a way to get nicotine in your system. I hear socks and plastic cling film work wonders on smoke detectors. Generally, even though smoking is made as impossible as possible, if you plan to keep smoking you know you will, you filthy nicotine whore. (Yes, I'm referring to myself).

The next post will be dedicated to my alcoholic friends, yes, drinkers, I mean you!

A Couple of London Facts

Being in London for about a month now, I decided to do a post about the basics I have learned during my short stay...

First, and most important I will touch upon a subject the British hold dear: The weather. My most import piece of advice is to carry an umbrella with you at ALL times (ALL, dear people, means every single day that goes by, not just the gloomy, cloudy days, but every single time you decide to leave your house) because it has come to my attention that the rain in London is not sympathetic to the fact that your jacket doesn't have a hoodie, that you did your hair in the morning or that you decided to wear ballet flats instead of rubber boots. Simply said, if you don't carry an umbrella with you, you're pretty much fucked and possibly with a bad case of pneumonia.

Also, and this goes especially to my dear relatives, please don't call and ask me what clothes to pack! First off because technology has actually evolved to the point where a click of a button can give you a 7-day forecast of the weather in Reykjavyk, and second because you need to pack pretty much all of your clothes. The weather here is a shady little twat, the day might start off all clear skied and sunny, and end with you getting gangrene due to excessive cold and rain.

Now, let me get into another everyday-practical thing. If you plan to use the underground (a.k.a. the Tube) you can get around London pretty quickly, avoiding the uber-exprensive taxis. You may of course happen to bump into a bomb-carrying kamikaze, but that's all a matter of luck. So, if you're a daredevil, like me, willing to risk your life to save a couple of pounds and minutes, be warned: the tube spans throughout central and greater London with 13 lines in operation - well, at least most of the time, since quite often your journey will be cut short if a line is not in operation, or long if a line operates with major delays (major being the keyword).

Note that a few tube stations only have elevators that take you to the exit. These elevators can get a pretty long, huge queue that might make you think that you will spend the rest of your days standing there surrounded by a bunch of strangers. But please, under no circumstances try to use the emergency stairs thinking that it's a piece of cake. Most often "emergency staircase" means 190 step, spiral ascend to hell, and especially if you are a smoker, such an ascend will most probably leave you with a heart attack, stroke, and low self esteem, given that the old lady carrying Tesco bags climbs it faster that you.

Finally, seating/ standing arrangement is the most crucial fact of your journey while in the tube. If you find a seat, you are one lucky bastard and all your problems are pretty much solved. But, if all the seats are occupied, obviously you will have to stand. My advice:

At all costs, avoid standing next to groups of girls aged 13-17 (whether chavs or more posh looking), trust me on this and your eardrum and brain cells will be thankful for life. Also avoid standing close to families with little kids, because "LOOK mommy, I wiped my booger on the nice lady's sweater!" is not a sentence you ever want to hear in your life. Finally, try to avoid anyone in gym shorts, trainers or even holding a gym bag, because you don't want your face bumping into someones sweaty armpit at an unexpected stop.

So, I covered 2 basic parts of my everyday London experience - the weather and the tube. Expect more cultural and social facts on the next post.

Adieu.

September's here...

and not only did he call, he has blatantly and shamelessly walked though the doors of summer, and sprinkled his rutine and responsibilities all over the debonair moments passed.

I haven't updated in a long, long time. At first I was busy pretending to be engaged in schoolwork. Then I got stressed and I actually engaged in schoolwork. After that I was too busy enjoying the summer holidays, until I, at some point, thought of writing. At which point I began doubting that anyone even reads my rants, and thus began questioning the point of updating. But now, I feel as if this blog might be a good place for me to develop all my thoughts and worries.

This summer was indeed the best. A time filled with fun but also a time for realization. I learned so much about myself and other people this summer. And now, standing on the edge, exactly on the brink of a total lifestyle change, facing a move to another country, starting university and adult life, I find myself both excited and worried.

Change is good, or at least that's what they tell you. But sitting here in the room that saw me through my childhood and teenage, amidst boxes and suitcases and clothes I'm taken by a sense of nostalgia.

I still haven't figured out what it is that I want from life. My goals and aspirations are still shapeless and vague. Still, I am in no position of clearly defining who I am as a person.

But after a summer filled with experiences, I think I've come a step closer. And now a winter full of new experiences times 1000 awaits.

I'll be there, taking every single opportunity and going one step at a time. Or maybe five. And if I trip down the staircase and fall, I'll be the one picking myself up. Because I now know that I can handle it.