pleasure by any other name
June 30, 2008
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I am in London on vacation. This makes photographing food a challenge, as propriety insists that I don' t snap flash photos at the dinner table. And anyway, England is worse than famous for its comestibles: it' s notorious. (An accusation I think is increasingly incorrect, given the abundance of fruit stands, Marks and Spencers and all of the great ethnic cuisine to be had…Not to mention Gordon Ramsey.) Since 
I don' t intend on writing much about Shepherd' s Pie or Fish and Chips, I' ll focus on the British green thumb. One of the reasons I like food so much is that it gives me a reason to pause and reflect at least three times daily. The more I' ve invested in a meal, the more I 
enjoy the experience. Maybe it' s just cognitive dissonance, but when I go out to a nice restaurant I always enjoy myself. And, when I spend a lot of time in the kitchen, the meal never fails to impress me more than a bowl of Lucky Charms would. In England, the gardens demand the same kind of reflection as a high-quality meal. Even better, they exist for everyone, and nearly everyone indulges. Yesterday as I watched hundreds of Londoners gather in Hyde Park to smell the roses, it dawned on me: when you have pergola and green fields this good, some wax-paper wrapped sandwiches, a beer and a box of sliced fruit is all the fancy food you need. 
Unfortunately, I realized that too late and was torn from my rose-sniffing post by a grumbling belly. Tomorrow I will bring a picnic and life will be supreme.
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