Lady in The Lanes
Blog: A Lady in London - 7 November 2009
On Friday I went with a friend to Brighton for the day. Before leaving we knew little about Brighton save for the fact that from the time of George IV it has been a town dedicated to partying, eating, and a general sense of conviviality. It wasn't hard to sell us on that idea.
Sunny but windy, Brighton was a nice escape from the rain and hail that plagued London throughout the day. Our first stop was the beach, which reminded us of how much we miss the ocean. We spent some time walking along the rocky shore and gorging ourselves on a healthy plate of fries before heading off to explore the carnivalesque Brighton Pier.
The Pier was an odd jumble of Victorian architecture-meets-arcade games, something I can't imagine would have amused the stuffy queen Victoria. We walked through halls of video games and around outdoor waffle and fudge vendors, and made our way to the end of the pier where the rickety amusement park rides were chugging up their poorly-maintained tracks. The Americans in us couldn't help but assess the amount of money each rider could sue for if the ancient rides malfunctioned and jettisoned them into the sea.
Leaving the pier, we headed over to the Royal Pavilion, the pleasure palace of the fun-loving partier, King George IV. The Indian-style exterior gave way to the most opulent display of Chinoiserie I've ever seen. Chandelier-toting dragons flew across ceilings while snakes wound their way around wall decorations and gilded cockle shells scalloped the domes. We headed outside on sensory overload, glad of a little concrete austerity to balance us out.
The remainder of our afternoon was spent exploring The Lanes, a series of small streets in the city center. The Lanes were packed full of shops, restaurants, and pubs, all of which we availed ourselves of (vanilla toffee fudge, anyone?). George would have been proud.
Our sugar highs winding down, we took the train back to London and rode the tide of Brightonian gluttony right to a burrito place in Islington. Several friends had recommended it and we had been in the UK for just long enough that we threw our strict "never eat Mexican food outside of Mexico or a US state that borders it" rule out the window. While I can't say it was the best burrito I've ever had, it was certainly the best I've had in Europe.
If this were a cautionary tale, now is the time I would write about the massive heart attack I suffered as a result of my day of gastronomic indulgence. Lucky for me it didn't happen this time. However, if George IV's late-life obesity and bad health serve as a warning, I had better take heed before it's too late.
Sunny but windy, Brighton was a nice escape from the rain and hail that plagued London throughout the day. Our first stop was the beach, which reminded us of how much we miss the ocean. We spent some time walking along the rocky shore and gorging ourselves on a healthy plate of fries before heading off to explore the carnivalesque Brighton Pier.
The Pier was an odd jumble of Victorian architecture-meets-arcade games, something I can't imagine would have amused the stuffy queen Victoria. We walked through halls of video games and around outdoor waffle and fudge vendors, and made our way to the end of the pier where the rickety amusement park rides were chugging up their poorly-maintained tracks. The Americans in us couldn't help but assess the amount of money each rider could sue for if the ancient rides malfunctioned and jettisoned them into the sea.
Leaving the pier, we headed over to the Royal Pavilion, the pleasure palace of the fun-loving partier, King George IV. The Indian-style exterior gave way to the most opulent display of Chinoiserie I've ever seen. Chandelier-toting dragons flew across ceilings while snakes wound their way around wall decorations and gilded cockle shells scalloped the domes. We headed outside on sensory overload, glad of a little concrete austerity to balance us out.
The remainder of our afternoon was spent exploring The Lanes, a series of small streets in the city center. The Lanes were packed full of shops, restaurants, and pubs, all of which we availed ourselves of (vanilla toffee fudge, anyone?). George would have been proud.
Our sugar highs winding down, we took the train back to London and rode the tide of Brightonian gluttony right to a burrito place in Islington. Several friends had recommended it and we had been in the UK for just long enough that we threw our strict "never eat Mexican food outside of Mexico or a US state that borders it" rule out the window. While I can't say it was the best burrito I've ever had, it was certainly the best I've had in Europe.
If this were a cautionary tale, now is the time I would write about the massive heart attack I suffered as a result of my day of gastronomic indulgence. Lucky for me it didn't happen this time. However, if George IV's late-life obesity and bad health serve as a warning, I had better take heed before it's too late.
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