molly yeh

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london

molly yeh

london, my london, was not ryan lochtes and-- i don't know, insert some other olympic reference here-- i got in and out far before that. my london was also not changing of the guards and big bens. it was a much more, how shall we say, nutso. what i can say about my london included the following:
  my first plum, marmite, and pigeon.
a sprint down brick lane and a mental note to come back very soon and spend many hours on brick lane with my eating pants on.
  a brass band that plays madonna. overdue visits with very good friends.
lentil soup at the portobello market with one of my most favorite photographers in the universe.
bakewell tarts, eton messes, eccles cakes: a world of new desserts i barely knew existed.
  a new swan friend in hyde park.
  harmonielehre in a parking garage with these silly boys.
huevos con rajas on a little date with myself at morito.
  an embarrassing amount of time spent in the harrods food hall.
  late night fish and chips with sammy.
likely one of the best bagels i've ever had in my life. with hot salted beef and yellow mustard at beigel bake.
a little morning stroll down exmouth market.

after just five days in england, i felt the need to catch my breath. so much sprinting. so much anticipating the next cool thing. so much so much. and even though it was so much, i feel like in the grand scheme, it was just an itsy bit. what miraculous energy that place has. i think i could live there. i totally think i could.

-yeh