Sensible Carrot Pulp Pudding

‘Ello eaters!

We’re almost to the weekend and I couldn’t be happier. Mother is coming up with a carload of furniture and other things I forgot, so we’re having a belated Mother’s Day celebration.

That means brunch out on Sunday and pizza on Saturday.

But before I get caught up in weekend festivities, let’s talk about sensibility.

More important: British sensibility.

Sensibility seems to be so under-appreciated these days. Sure, whimsy and frivolity are all fun and games, but sometimes you have to wonder where sensibility, practicality, and utility went.

Well, in England, sensibility was alive and well. And I loved it.

Example: pasties! Sheppard’s pie! Crumbles!

A beef and vegetable pasty from Borough market.

All of these things are brilliant examples of how the British took leftovers and with very little money or effort, turned them into completely different and equally delicious dishes.

Waste not, want not, increase your grocery bill not.

I love it!

So this past week, when I found myself with a juicer full of carrot-pear pulp and a longing for London, I decided to be sensible.

Please note — When I say “pudding” I don’t mean the kind you find in a Snack Pack. Think of the texture of a really gooey, warm brownie. And then think of that in flavours other than chocolate. That’s about what a proper pudding should be like.

Carrot Pulp Pudding

1 c (whole wheat pastry) flour

¼ c sugar

2 t cinnamon

3 dashes nutmeg

1 ¾ c (soy) milk

1 ½ T chia seeds

½ carrot juicer pulp*

3 T plain (dairy-free) yoghurt

1 T vanilla extract

*The pulp I used had a bit of pear in it, which may have affected the sweetness. If you’re just using carrot pulp you may want to add 1 T sugar extra (making the total amount of sugar 1/3 c). That depends entirely on your taste.

In a mixing bowl, mix the flour, sugar, and spices.

In another bowl (or a mixing cup) mix the milk, chia seeds, pulp, vanilla, and yoghurt. Leave this to sit for about 5 minutes to give the chia seeds a chance to gel up.

Mix the wet with the dry and then spoon the mixture into 4 jars/ramekins*. Place the containers on a high-sided baking dish (like a loaf pan) and fill the dish with water about as high up as the batter.

Bake at 350F for about an hour, until the top feels firm and a toothpick comes out almost clean.

Fresh from the oven.

*This depends entirely on what you have on hand. I filled 4 12-ounce jars up a little less than halfway. I do suggest using something big enough so you have some space at the top to keep water from splashing in.

Serve hot or cold. Serve with ice cream, yoghurt, whipped cream, or plain. Serve for dessert, breakfast, lunch, or a snack.

The only requirement is that you serve this with a long spoon.

This doesn’t taste exactly like carrot cake. It doesn’t feel like a muffin or a cupcake. It’s…pudding, in every sense of the word.

And it’s sensible in every sense of the word — cheap, easy, HEALTHY, and suitable for almost every dietary need (sorry GF people!).

Mmmmmpudding.

Who ever said sensibility was out of fashion?

Your turn, eaters:

Do you favour sensibility or whimsy? Or something in the middle?

Have you ever had this kind of pudding? How would you describe the texture?

Later eaters!

To Recreate

Hiya eaters!

I promise, this is going to be my last London post.

But I absolutely had to get this out to keep myself accountable. And really, I think it’s helpful for you, too.

So as you know, I ate a heck of a lot of great food in London.

More importantly, though, I ate a heck of a lot of great BRITISH food.

Oxymoron?

I think not!

Sure, traditional British cuisine may not exactly be the fanciest. And they may not be terribly into the foams and reductions and essences that a lot of more “upscale” cuisines boast. And a lot of it is based around root vegetables.

But none of those things are bad.

Frankly, I kind of love the sensibility and simplicity that is quintessential of British food. Theirs is a food that’s made to nourish you in more ways than one, and it does just that.

And since it wasn’t until I went to London that I experienced this food (and thus, it’s not widely available in the States), I am vowing to attempt to re-create (while only mildly bastardizing it) some of my favourites.

So what makes the cut?

Scones!

Puddings, which include but are not limited to sticky toffee pudding, Christmas pudding, white and black puddings.

From Bumpkin.

Chicken tikka masala

Pasties

A beef and vegetable pasty from Borough market.

Pork and chorizo burger from my favourite neighborhood pub

Fishcakes

Smoked haddock fishcakes with boiled potatoes and mixed greens.

Duck confit quiche (This one is from Paris.)

Scotch eggs

l. mulligan grocer, dublin, ireland

I don't know it Scotch eggs actually came from Scotland. But I love them.

So what do you think, eaters:

Did I leave any out that you want to see me try my hand at?

If there was one cuisine you could cook amazingly (besides your own), what would it be?

G’night eaters!

Queen’s Arms Pub

G’day eaters!

I’m hoping you enjoyed the little blip of Paris yesterday, because today we’re going back over the Channel and back in time to talk about my absolute favourite London pub — Queens Arms.

First, let me preface this post by saying that I didn’t really immerse myself in the pub scene. I went to a large handful, mostly for drinks, but a few for food. So I am not an expert on London pubs in the least.

But since everyone has a favourite neighborhood pub, mine certainly deserves a mention.

The Queens Arms is lovely little pub in a mews off of Queens Gate Road. I only found it because it’s right across the street from one of my school buildings. But once I found it, it quickly became my go to pub.

Meantime's London Pale Ale.

I went there for quiet drinks. I went there to rub elbows with musicians after they finished practice at Royal Albert Hall. I went there to flirt with the cute bartender. I took visitors there, ranging from Papa & Co to Mother to my professor and his wife.

This was my all occasion pub and I already miss it.

So what makes this pub better than the rest?

Papa and Brother holding down the bar.

It is mismatched in a very nonchalant way, not like it’s trying to be “shabby chic.”

The chairs and tables don’t match. The wallpaper and chandeliers are elegant, but nothing else was. Everything is written on chalkboards on the wall or clipboards, but the door is a classic soft blue with big gold doorknobs.

The bar is simple, unpretentious wood and a good height.

They have all the classic British pub beers — Guinnes, Stella, Stella Black, Stella 4%, Strongbow cider, etc. — along with a few American brews — Sierra Nevada, Corona — a couple of lesser known beers — London Meantime, Sharp’s Doombar, a few ciders I never tried — and an ever-changing selection of really random, but enticing brews.

Oh, and the food is f’ing amazing.

It’s all pretty much classic British fare, but with a fun little twist. Sometimes that twist was upscale. Sometimes that twist was just different. But it was always a good twist.

A twist I would like to be able to inject into my food.

Hubba hubba.

Just about every time I went to Queens Arms to eat I got a pork and chorizo burger. It had some sort of tomato relish (think an upscale ketchup) and caramelized onions.

It came with crispy, lightly salted fries and the cutest little pickles.

It was juicy and thick and hearty and I needed extra napkins and loved every minute of it.

If you come in for lunch there’s also a pretty well stocked sandwich menu, all of which come with beet crisps.

Papa's lunch.

I also know for a fact that they have some pretty delicious fish and chips, and the one time I was in real need of red meat, their classic beef burger left me satiated in the best possible way.

And while I never got around to their dessert menu, I know it boasted sticky toffee pudding and a beet and chocolate brownie a la mode. So therefore, I know it was wonderful and that I really missed out.

It may not have always been easy to find a table or a place to perch. The bathrooms may have been confusing. And there may not have been as many odd little craft brews as I like. But this was my pub.

And I really do miss it.

So please, if you ever make your way to London (more specifically, to around the Gloucester Tube stop on the Circle, District, or Picadilly lines), you must go there for a pint and a snack.

You won’t be sorry and I’ll be happy knowing that my favourite little place is still going as brilliantly as when I left it.

What do you think, eaters:

Will you tell me if you go?

What’s something you especially love about your favourite watering hole?

G’night eaters!

G’Bye London

*This post was written Sunday, but my electrical adapters weren’t working, so my computer died before I could post it.*

Bonjour eaters!

Can you tell from my greeting that I’m not in London anymore?

I try to be transparent like that.

But yes, as I’m writing this I’m on a train speeding away from my ah-maze-ing London life and towards a week of springtime in Paris.

I certainly have mixed emotions about my UK departure. On the one hand, I absolutely loved London and British people and all their culture. On the other hand, it never felt like it was really real life, like I had another life somewhere that was just paused.

But whether in the years to come I refer to this time as “the time I lived in London” or the longest vacation ever, one thing I can’t deny — I’ve grown up a lot.

On the first day, after a 7-hour plane ride, an hour spent waiting for friends in the airport, and an hour taxi ride, I made it up six stories to my flat with my combined 70-something pounds of luggage. I was dazed and disoriented, but the one thing I knew was that I needed food.

Rather than diving head first into London life and finding a pub or going for a curry, I did what I always did — bought a frozen pizza and ate it on the couch in front of the TV.

Goat cheese and roasted vegetables.

And all at once, with the first bite of this pizza, I knew I wasn’t in Kansas America anymore. The pizza was shit (pronounced “sh-eye-t”) and my culture shock had begun.

Fast-forward almost 4 months to my last full day in London.

It was threatening to rain at any moment, but not even that could deter Mother and I from going about our business. We took the Tube (without talking, like a local) to Tower Hill. We gawked at the Tower of London and crossed the Tower Bridge. We walked along the Thames for a bit before deciding to venture away from the water in search of refreshment.

Not 5 minutes later we were knee deep in Borough Market (because I always stumble upon it, but I almost never find it when I’m looking for it)*.

Assorted of flavoured marshmallows. These were nothing like Jet Puffs.

Knowing that this would be my last chance, Mother and I dove in head first with the intention of eating the whole market.

We sampled marshmallows and pates and chocolates before finding a pie shop.

I love pork.

I was feeling this little mister, which was full of all the lovely British foods that I will miss dearly, but Mother’s not a fan of pork (the horror!), so we compromised and went with a British classic.

We ate this leaning against a column as trains rumbled by on the bridge overhead and people pushed around us.

Isn't that adorable?!

It was glorious and now Mother wants a freezer full of little pies.

After the pie, I had just one thing on my mind — fish and chips.

My entire time in England I hadn’t had quality fish and chips, so when I saw that the line at Fish!, which is heralded as one of the best chippys in London, I jumped at the chance. In no time flat an order of haddock and chips with salt and light vinegar was warming my hands.

We found a perch out in the sunshine of the Southwark Cathedral courtyard and dug in.

So crispy. So lovely.

The chips were thick and soft in the middle, as a proper chip should be. And the haddock was fried to a crispy perfection and surprisingly flavorful for a dish that usually gets all of its flavour from vinegar and grease.

To round out our midday feast, we went to a Middle Eastern stall. We bypassed the dried fruit and nuts and chocolate covered things and went straight for the pastries.

We took home a bag of assorted baklava-style sweets, all sticky with honey and dates and the oil from nuts.

And now, as I sit here on the train, listening to the train manager make announcements in French, I’m fully satisfied, both from my last meal in London and my life in London.

I lived on the 6th floor of number 13.

And I’m fully excited knowing that I’m one step closer to getting back to my life in the ‘Boro.

Yeah, my life is pretty grand.

Your turn, eaters:

What’s the best last meal you’ve ever had?

What would be your last meal if you could choose?

Later eaters!

*If you’re ever looking for Borough Market, the best way to find it is to go to Southwark Cathedral. It’s right behind it. And it’s pronounced “Suth-ark” with very little emphasis on the “r.”

Whole Foods’ Thirsty Thursday

Hiya eaters!

It’s been a long day.

Mother came in today, which meant I was up extra early to meet her at Heathrow. Then we walked to Harrods in the rain, walked around some more, and then I went to work (where I wrote three press releases and packed a handful of boxes in three hours).

I can only imagine how exhausted Mother is with jet lag added into the mix.

So when it came time for dinner, we wanted something easy and cheap.

Enter: Thirsty Thursday at Whole Foods.

This means you get 5 wine/beer and food pairings for £5. The menu theme changes every week and I’m yet to be disappointed.

I’ve done this a handful of times, including the first time with Marisa, a fellow college bloggirl, and it’s always a good, cheap evening out.

So after I got off work, Mother and I met up at Whole Foods to quench our thirst.

The theme for tonight was classic British, which I thought was wonderful for Mother’s first night.

The servers were friendly. Mother was very out going (which I’m realizing is a very American trait).

Mother took this picture. I think she's trying to steal my job.

And overall, the pairings were pretty spot on.

Tonight there was a nice mix of white wine, beer, cider, and a rose.

Mmmmmbeer.

While I’m normally only a fan of beer out of that mix, I did find the others far more enjoyable than I remember them being (except the cider, which Mother rightfully said tasted like cardboard).

Oh, and…

Tuna salad with sweet corn on a jacket potato.

I don’t like tuna salad. I do like oak-free, citrusy white wine (the name of which I don’t remember at all! sorry) with rosemary and thyme.

Roasted potatoes and asparagus with a rosemary, thyme, butter sauce.

Free samples are awesome. Free samples of fancy schmancy balsamic vinegar are extra awesome.

The balsamic vinegar bar at Whole Foods is my new favorite place.

After Mother and I finished our samples, we were still a bit hungry, but not hungry enough for a real meal. So we did the next best thing.

We grabbed a bottle of cheap (but oh so delicious) wine and headed back to her hotel.

There we nabbed a couple of forks and plates, and ate some fried food. While watching TV.

A scotch egg and some baked goat cheese.

And then I drank more wine while laying on her plush bed.

It was so absolutely wonderful. And it almost completely made up for getting hailed on AGAIN today and getting splashed by a bus.

What do you think, eaters:

What’s your drink of choice: wine, beer, cider, or spirits?

What’s your idea of an indulgent night?

G’night eaters!

WAIW: Off My Feet

‘Ello eaters!

I was going to title this post “WIAW: On My Back,” but that felt a little weird.

Anyway, today was my last full day at my internship. It felt weird, to say the least.

But it was also rather uneventful. So let’s talk about yesterday!

Breakfast:

I forgot to take a picture until I ate it. That was mainly because I was chatting about Paris plans with my friend who used to live there.

This was scrambled eggs with spinach, chipotle ketchup, and bean sprouts with a slice of multigrain bread on the side.

Did I mention I’ll be there for about a week on Sunday?

Exercise:

My legs were feeling really, painfully exhausted on Monday night so I decided to take a rest day. Except that it’s nearly impossible for me to totally rest, especially when there’s still so much of London I want to explore on foot.

So I headed off on a 2 mile walk to Buckingham Palace. My legs hurt a bit, but I thought the easy walk would be a nice active recovery.

Wrong! My legs hurt more and more as I went along. By the time I reached the Palace, my legs (especially my right one, which is the side with my Not Good Knee) felt tight and sore and just generally out of whack.

I quickly found a bench and rested a bit.

Lunch:

While I was resting, I ate the weirdest sandwich.

Sandwich with smoked tofu, goat gouda cheese, spicy mustard, and spinach on multigrain bread with an (tasteless) apple and a carrot.

And then I got suddenly bombarded with hail. So I ran to the Tube, getting pelted and soaked along the way. (The running made my legs feel worse.)

Snack:

I didn’t have time to finish my lunch before the storm came, so after class I ate the carrot with some PB. And then I ate a Clementine.

All of this was eaten with my legs above my heart to hopefully easy some of the pain. In case you’re wondering, eating while lying on your back is hard.

And this is about where things fell apart.

I’m going to be honest, eaters, I snacked on pb, bread, and other random things from my fridge all evening. And I did it all while lying on my couch with my legs elevated.

I wasn’t snacking so much because I was hungry, but because I was frustrated and bored.

Here I was, on one of my last days in London, when all I wanted to do was go out and explore and see things, and all I felt capable of was lying on the couch because my legs hurt too much.

Even more frustrating, though, is that I know I did it to myself.

I’ve been going hard in the gym, walking a lot more than usual, working at my standing desk/perch constantly, and just generally beating my legs without giving them the rest or stretching that I should have. It’s stupid of me, but sometimes I just forget to pause and take care of myself the way I should. And then I get hurt.

So once again, I’m refocusing on treating my body well. Hopefully one day taking care of myself will be the norm.

Because I’m really sick of lying on the couch.

What do you think, eaters:

How do you deal with frustration?

Have you ever eaten a carrot with pb? I honestly think this was the first time I ever have.

G’night eaters!

Routine Deviations

G’day eaters!

Let’s jump right into it and get down to real talk.

Real talk topic: routines.

For good or for bad, I’m a routine person. I like to have a general plan for what I’m going to do depending on the day of the week. Having that routines takes a lot of the guess work and indecisiveness out of my life.

When all else fails, defer to the routine.

So it’s a bit of a miracle that I resisted most of my urges to routine while here in London. Generally, every day has been different and I’ve loved it.

But since I can’t change my routine-y nature, I’ve let Sunday be routine-tastic. I bask in my routine and rarely answer the phone in avoidance of any and all routine-breakers.

Yup, it’s intense.

But considering this is my LAST WEEK in London, as a show of just how much I’ve grown over these past 14 weeks, I even deviated a bit from my favorite routine-filled day.

I’m going all out here, eaters.

I went out on Saturday night, rather than staying in (to avoid the chance of a hangover) like I usually do.

I sipped guzzled cheap mojitos with an old camp friend and his friends (who knew the barman, hence the cheap drinks).  It was a proper good time and I really need to learn to keep in touch with people better so I can have more nights like that.

Sunday I woke up and leisurely ate breakfast while I made my grocery list. Then I dawned my Toms and hit the city.

Toms and farmers markets are such a perfect pair.

And just like every Sunday for quite a while, I got off at the Baker Street Tube stop, which is like a shrine to Sherlock Holmes.

And just like every Sunday, I dodged tourists taking pictures with this statue.

People do know that Sherlock Holmes was fictional, right?

I walked down the street, trying not to trip on the uneven tiles, and eventually ended up at the land car park of plenty.

Chegworth apples and pears are so lovely.

I took my time. I savored all the gorgeous food. I realized that I may never be back at this market. Realizing that you’re doing something for the last time makes the experience entirely new.

I was a little extra chatty with the vendors that have been growing my food for months. All of them are so wonderful.

I bought food that I didn’t need just because it was pretty. I’m really committed to having a rainbow on my plate.

Loot:

The eggs were a very worthwhile splurge.

Organic rainbow chard, organic apples, organic sprouting broccoli, organic leeks, organic carrots, organic free range eggs.

Then, like every other Sunday, I made the Tube ride back, clutching my precious bag of food and trying to keep it from touching anything or anyone. I look like a loon, but I’m okay with that.

After some unintentional couch time, I went to the gym. I did a fun tricep and ab pyramid workout. And, per usual, the muscle men looked at me a little crazy while I was knocking out burpees.

This sign makes it seem like a dance club, right?

Once I finished working my way up the pyramid, I headed down the street to Whole Foods in all my sweaty glory.

This probably won’t be the last time I’m at this Whole Foods (I may take mother there for Thirsty Thursday), but I still took my time. I slowly browsed the aisles, oogling the fun foodie things I never tried.

Seeing all those fun things I never ate, and all the things I ate and loved, inspired me.

So in addition to my usual groceries…

Loot:

Organic spinach, organic bean sprouts, smoked tofu, soymilk, bananas, rooibos tea, green bell pepper, clementines, goat gouda, multigrain bread.

I indulged and picked up some little gifts (that are probably for myself).

Gifts:

I'm a sucker for a canvas tote.

Pudding chocolate bars, Bean & Seed Cornish sea salt dark chocolate, Suffolk mustard, Cool Chilli Co chipotle ketchup, HP brown sauce, and a diamond jubilee tote bag.

Once my fridge was thoroughly stocked (really, how am I going to eat all this?!), I did the unthinkable.

I completely deviated from my routine.

I didn’t chop vegetables for salads, like I normally do. I didn’t blog, like I always do. I didn’t do laundry, like I wanted to.

Instead, I went over to hang out with my friend Polly in the posh hotel she’s staying in while her mother is visiting.

We drank tea and ate little cakes. We ordered room service (roasted quail with leeks and curried lentils) and drank wine. We watching movies — The Full Monty, for school, and Dirty Dancing, because it’s awesome.

I got home at midnight and immediately went to bed.

It was the most glorious deviation.

Your turn, eaters:

Are you a routine person?

Do you bring back foodie gifts from a vacation?

Bonus  — Does anyone have any clue why there was no kale to be found in London yesterday?

Later eaters!

Things About London

Hiya eaters!

After working on a paper for something like 9 hours today, my brain is mush. And my ability to string together is quickly dwindling.

So let’s keep this word lite and fluffy, shall me?

After having lived in London for these past few months, I’ve noticed quite a few funny things about Londoners, British people, and life in this particular city.

They announce in the Tube station if there is a train delay because someone is “under the train.”

Vacuums have faces.

I see this vacuum, in various colors, everywhere.

People run with backpacks.

Kids ride around on really annoying scooters.

Most people are better at walking on a moving bus than I am.

Instant coffee is considered entirely acceptable.

It took so many stores to find these.

As a result, no one has ever heard of coffee filters. I had to try to explain what a coffee filter is in terms of a tea bag.

Commuter cyclists wear clip-less pedals.

No one holds the door.

“Queueing” means “waiting in line” and people get really angry if you don’t do it right.

Public bathroom doors have “Vacant” and “Engaged/Occupied” signs just like on airplanes.

Your turn, eaters:

What are some silly things that you’ve noticed about life in your town?

What are some things that you do that others might find amusing?

G’night eaters!

PS — I totally got the idea for this post from Scott. Go read his posts about things he noticed from living in London, too. They’re funny.

Easter Means…

Happy Easter, eaters!

Or, Happy Seder, eaters!

Or, Happy Sunday, eaters!

Did I cover all the bases? I think so, but let me know if I left anyone out.

Anyway, I hope your day has been lovely, whether it’s been candy-filled, grain-free, or just relaxing.

Obviously, I’m away from home this year. And frankly, being away from my family isn’t that big of a deal because since my school doesn’t get any time off for Easter (ya know…Quakers) I haven’t spent Easter at home since before college.

But it is a bit weird to not be with Leon’s* family. I realized the other day that I’ve spent the last two Easters with his family, playing lawn games and eating ham.

And while I was a little tempted to uphold traditional Easter traditions, I decided to embrace London in all its glory.

That meant no ham. No Starburst jelly beans. No ladder ball.

It meant Cadbury and farmers’ market tulips.

With a view of London.

It meant going to a high formal, Latin Catholic mass with London socialites who I’ve seen on reality TV (and listening to the priest’s sermon about how Christians in America are being persecuted because the government is trying to make Christian businesses provide insurance coverage for contraceptives).

Carrots, purple potatoes, and fingerling potatoes.

It meant walking around the corner to the little Saturday farmers’ market to pick up some really dirty carrots and potatoes, and then roasting them up.

It meant roasting up an organic, free range, high welfare chicken with loads of wild garlic, lemon and butter.

It meant steamed a bushel of purple sprouting broccoli.

It meant eating all of this with my friends, while we discussed the merits of the TV show “90210,” whether or not we were homesick, and how “purple is really healthy.”

It meant taking having to wash our dinner forks so we could eat dessert.

It meant eating meringues, partially because everyone they’re everywhere here and partially because I wanted to stay with the whole grain-free thing because one of my friends is Jewish.

It meant eating an entire tea loaf, because we’re in England and everything having to do with tea is encouraged.

It meant letting my friend do the dishes so I could drink wine.

And right now, as we speak, it means using the leftover chicken carcass to make homemade chicken broth (with tons of chicken bits because I’m really crummy at craving and cleaning a chicken).

So while this Easter meant being away from everything that I’m used to, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t pretty great.

What about you, eaters:

Do you have any Easter/Passover traditions?

What does being away from home on a holiday mean to you?

What should I do with all this chicken broth, keeping in mind that I leave in two weeks?

G’night eaters!

*Have you noticed that I stopped calling him “manly friend”? Yeah, I came up with that nickname when he was more than just a friend, but we weren’t official. Now that we’re moving in together, though, I think I can just call him Leon.

Saturday’s A Rugby Day

‘Ello eaters!

This weekend something really amazing happened — I went to a rugby match.

If you’re a long time eater, you know that I’m a pretty big rugby fan. Freshman year of college I went from having never watched a rugby match to playing (and starting!) on a rugby team. My horribly engineered legs ended up sidelining me, but that just meant that I went from starting on the team to being the captain of the drinking team.

Don’t knock it, eaters. When the team starts warming up (usually around 10:30am) I have to start drinking. And then I have to remember lots of verses of lots of rugby songs when I’m drunk or risk having to drink beer out of a dirty cleat.

It’s hard work.

But I digress.

This Saturday a couple friends and I got really cheap tickets through our school to go to a match. Our school didn’t tell us anything when we bought the tickets, but it turned out that the match was between the Saracens and the Harlequins.

This is like the 50-yard line of rugby.

Oh, and the tickets were un-be-freaking-lievable.

It was really fun going to the match with my two friends, because they didn’t know much about the game, so I got to explain it to them. Believe it when I say, that was the first (and probably last) time I’ve ever gotten to explain a sport to someone.

Speaking of which, I can say with authority, that these two teams sucked at line outs.

Line out.

They ended up in a giant pile after each one, which is so not what’s supposed to happen. Though, one time the Saracens did fake out the Harlequins by not jumping (when they lift someone into the air to catch the ball), and then the Harlequins responded by literally throwing the person they lifted onto the Saracens.

That was actually pretty brilliant.

Preparing to scrum.

Both teams were pretty good at scrums, though (which is when they get into a special formation and try to push each over off the ball). They got really crazy low (which is good).

The Saracens definitely fell apart in the last 10 minutes, when they kept passing to their strong side wing (the guy running along the edge of the field, which happened to be my position) and he kept dropping it.

Backs (which are offense) kind of falling apart.

Besides actually understanding the game, it was really funny to watch the spectators.

They were so much calmer than American sports spectators in general, and American rugby fans specifically.

And they kept yelling out things like, “that was blood lovely,” which is so much classier than my usual, “fuck his shit!”

I mean, there were over 83,000 people in the stadium that day (which was a new record for attendance of a club rugby match) and people were golf clapping.

It really was bloody lovely.

What do you think, eaters:

Do you like going to live sporting events?

What do you yell when you’re watching a game?

Later eaters!

PS — Sorry if I dumbed down the game too much for you. I really don’t know how many people actually understand the game, so I didn’t want it to seem like a foreign language.