Candy Wrap-up

As my time in London Comes to a close, I give you a rapid-fire list-and-review in no particular order of some candy bars I’ve eaten here. Nothing tells you about an area like the candy bars you can find there.

Double Decker
As the first candy bar I ate here, it will always hold a special place in my heart. As the name implies it is two tiered, with a layer of chocolate nougat and one of crispy rice, all covered in the obligatory layer of milk chocolate. It’s fluffy and crunchy at the same time, a rare combinations toward which more bars should strive.
4 Sporks

Mars
Your basic Milky Way with a new wrapper. Being a fan of Milky Ways, I’m a big fan, but the only real advantage this bar has over its American counterpart is its black wrapper with red writing and fun television commercials with lights turning on as a man eating a Mars Bar passes them.
3 Sporks

Fruit Pastilles
These little round gummy pieces of fruit are a real paradox. At first bite, they are revolting and sickeningly sweet. By the fifth pastille, you are somehow dreading the end of the roll. They definitely don’t taste like real fruit, but somehow that doesn’t seem to be too much of a problem.
3 Sporks

Crunchie
This is a very solid candy bar. Puffed hard toffee draped in a coat of milk chocolate. The toffee is “crunchie,” just like the name implies. Truth in naming and advertising is always worth some brownie points.
4 Sporks

Alpen
This is a granola bar masquerading as candy. The wrapper seems to imply the fun of a candy bar, but the inside is the mundane dryness of granola.
1 Spork

Wispa
From their ad campaign, I’ve deduced these were around in the 80’s, left store shelves, and are just now returning. They should have stayed gone. There is are sort of “blown chocolate” innards that are more air than filling. As a result, it is decidedly unsatisfying.
1 Spork

Bounty
Coconut covered in milk chocolate, or, if you prefer dark chocolate. It doesn’t resonate with me because I’m not a big coconut fan, but the little palm trees and “bounty” stenciled into the bottom of the bar gets brownie, er, Bounty points.
2 Sporks

Timeout/Twirl
These are both “double” bars, following the two side-by-side bars in a single package of Twix. One is quite similar to a Twix, the other is “blown chocolate” covered in chocolate. “Blown chocolate” is not good; Twix is. Unfortunately for them, both bars have a purple wrapper and yellow writing, making it hard to differentiate between the two. Bad labeling + bad brand identity = inferior product.
1 Spork


Lion
Just like its namesake is king of the jungle, the Lion is king of the candy bars. A wafer sits in the middle draped in caramel and a thick outer chocolate shell. That thick shell also has puffed rice sprinkledin, making for a sensational mixture of tastes and textures unheard of in other bars.
5 Sporks

Boost
Boost wrappers claim the product is “Charged with Glucose!” It’s true. A creamy chocolate center has pieces of crushed biscuit in it and is surrounded by caramel. It’s all encased in milk chocolate. This is a flavor on level with the Lion, but is hurt by the fact that its shiny foil wrapper and high charge of glucose might give little children or older eaters a bit more than they can handle.
4 Sporks

Fruitella
It’s just Starburst in less colorful wrappers. This version of everyone’s favorite childhood candy are even more mundane because the flavors are grouped together in the wrapper, not interspersed like a proper candy.
2 Sporks

Wine Gums
Colorful little gummies that give your jaw a workout and have fun labels like “port” or “Chardonnay” on them. They don’t taste anything like wine, and really don’t taste like anything but Wine Gums for that matter. Still, they’re quirky and appealing.
3 Sporks.

Recognizable brands like Kit Kat, Snickers and Milky Way are also on the shelves. But if you get the chance, try something different. Candy is a lot less adventurous then Toad in the Hole, but it provides fresh new flavors and combinations just the same.

Lebanese Food is no Bologna

For over three months, I've lived in a Lebanese area of London; Edgware Road. I've walked by newsstands with Newspapers from the Persian Gulf. I've passed The Islamic Bank of Britain almost daily. I've looked up to read the names of restaurants that are written in both English and Arabic.

Somehow, I never went in to those restaurants to eat.

With my time in London drawing ever more quickly to a close, I had to atone for that sin as quickly as possible. The easiest way to do so was to eat lunch in an establishment called "Maroush" two doors down from my flat.

Maroush actually has 11 locations in London, according to the information on their menu. The chain was started in 1975, and now has diagram/phrase "We [heart] Maroush" stenciled on the windows. Inside, its pretty classy, not the usual change-in-your-pocket cuisine you're used to reading about in this blog.

For London, though, Maroush isn't expensive, even though its Web site says "a taste of Lebanese luxury in London." After my meal, no doubts twitter in my mind about the high quality of the cousine. It just doesn't come at the same price as luxuries in the Celebrity stomping grounds of Marlybone or Mayfair.

For just under £10 I got a plate of Falafel and a bowl of rice with lamb. Falafel is one of those funny things that some people hate and others simply adore. The quality of Falafel also plays a part, though. I hated the falafel in Syracuse University's dining halls. I loved it at Maroush.

Trying to describe falafel isn't easy. Calling it ground chickpeas and beans that are deep fried just doesn't do it justice. For that matter, it might not even be accurate. Just try it sometime, chances are you'll find it quite good.

The rice and lamb had much less uncertainty. It was, well, rice with chunks of lamb meat. Because of the way it was cooked, the rice became infused with lamb flavor. It might not sound good, but any doubters will be feeling sheepish after they try it.

Sheepish is how I feel for not trying Lebanese cosine earlier. I [heart] Maroush too.

Miracle Whip Makes Miracle Chips

Remember when the White House renamed “French Fries” to “Freedom Fries?” It was quite a strike at the hearts of the French, who were opposed to invading Iraq in 2003. Never mind that they would actually be quite pleased to be disassociated with fried strips of potato forever.

In England, French Fries aren’t called French Fries anyway. They’re called chips. And these fries/chips have one huge difference from their misnomerly American counterparts.

Pulp Fiction fans know the difference, since it exists to a greater extent in the Netherlands. It’s a substance that tastes “butter” than lard on sandwiches. It shouldn’t take a miracle to whip the answer out of your head.

Yes, it’s time to talk about putting mayonnaise on fries/chips. This might happen by accident when munching on fish and chips if the mayonnaise for your fish runs onto your fries. When ordering fries/chips in Amsterdam, it won’t be an accident. After asking if you want mayonnaise, the person behind the counter will douse your fries/chips with the stuff. It would probably be more accurate to ask whether you want fries/chips with your mayonnaise, not the other way around.

It sounds distinctly unappealing if you’re used to eating in the United States and getting ketchup on your fries/chips. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Something about the combination works. Maybe the fat in the mayonnaise binds with the grease in the fries. Perhaps the salt from the fries brings out some normally-buried flavor in the mayo.

Above all, it is oddly reminiscent of the classic combination of baked potato and sour cream. A smooth, cream on a starchy potato product, but with a bit more salt. When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so bad, does it? And it’s actually wonderfully delicious.

Wonderfully delicious, and wonderfully unhealthy. Remove the only remotely fruit product (or non-starchy vegetable product, depending on your personal beliefs) from fries/chips, ketchup, and replace it with collagen. Eat mayo on your fries/chips too often, and you’ll end up in the clinic named after it, not smacking your lips in enjoyment.

Just be careful. The snack can be pretty messy. Usually it is served with a small two-pronged wooden fork to help keep your fingers clean. Unfortunately, it doesn’t to anything to scrape our your arteries.

But for a delicious treat every once in awhile, mayonnaise on fries/chips is a wonderful combination. Take my advice, and don’t worry about being in Europe while eating it. Try it at home. Four (wooden) sporks out of five.

Lambasting the Mint Condition

Pretend you don’t know anything about lamb or how to eat it. For one moment, picture it as a new meat that has been discovered by mankind, and a team of scientist and chefs are fast at work to discover the best way to eat this new “lamb.”

Now, imagine that they declare lamb and mint to be one of the best ways to eat this new and mysterious meat. Chances are, you’re a little put off by this declaration. Meat and mint? Isn’t that like having beef flavored Altoids?

Of course, lamb and mint isn’t a new discovery. It’s actually a quite old and traditional pair. Put it in a pasty, and chances are you’re in England.

And if you happen to be in England, you really should try a lamb and mint pasty. Whether you get it from some old-fashioned bakery in the country or a commercial “Cornish Bakehouse” in London (like I did) it is an excellent piece of grub. Pasties, for starters, are nice flaky pastries typically containing potatoes, onions, and some form of meat, though you can find vegetarian versions. They’re kind of like the stepbrother of steak and kidney pie.

Inside a lamb and mint pasty lies a plethora of potatoes, some onions and lamb meat. If you’re lucky, the cubed potatoes and diced onions will be so soft from cooking that you can’t tell the difference between the two. You’ll also get a little more meat than I did. The only real bite of lamb I got was in the very center of the pasty.

There wasn’t much mint to speak of, either. Whether it just blended in to the pasty experience so seamlessly that it wasn’t noticeable or whether the folks at the Cornish Bakehouse are too cheap to include a man’s portion of mint sauce is debatable, but the fact that you can’t taste much in the way of mint isn’t.

Which is a shame, because as someone who has never tried lamb and mint before, I was really wondering what kind of mint is best with your slice of sheep. Is it peppermint? Spearmint? Some form of mystery mint?

That will have to be a question for a rainy day. In the meantime, the Cornish Bakehouse is serving up some pretty good food that overcomes its flaws. For £2.95, you can’t get much more artery-clogging, brick-in-the-bottom-of-your-stomach food than the brick-sized pasties they are serving up. The potatoes and onions are so good, you probably won’t mind that there’s barely enough meat to constitute a carnivorous meal.

Hey, the cheese and onion pasties are even cheaper. Why not save your lamb experience for another venue and just try a cheap and tasty pasty? The lack of meat and mint forces me to rate my Cornish Bakehouse pasty at just 3 out of five sporks, but a cheese and onion pasty would probably get higher marks for its more accurate nomenclature and lower price.
Now, “wool”dn’t you like that?