Hubby keeps forgetting that chips are fries in England. He especially draws disappointed comments from the boys, Samuel and Nathaniel, when he make this vocabulary faux pas. He teases them that he’ll steal one of their chips when they’re so obviously eating a bag of crisps, and their eyes light up as they picture the prospect of a hot, aromatic bag of chips from the chippy. He wonders what he’s done to elicit comments such as,
“Where are the chips?” “We’re not eating chips.” I have to reassure him that he is indeed seeing what he thinks are chips but they know them only as crisps.
“Oh, I forgot!” He says when my reminder sinks in.
He’s not the only one to confuse this play on words!
Ever since our first visit to Beckenham last August, Malia has wanted to sample the Mexican Restaurant on the High Street. We would walk passed and the windows would call out to us with their brightly painted signage advertising “tonight’s special.” The French doors opened up onto the street so that diners were neither in or out. Gaudy tablecloths adorned the tables and customers looked as though they were having a good time with the blaring music and frozen margaritas . Malia would drag her feet as she stared longingly inside and we’d promise ourselves a visit but somehow never got around to it preferring to eat at home with Mum.
When we came in March we were too busy to go Mexican but did fulfill another food dream, Indian.
Last week she and her Dad went out on a date. The restaurant she chose? The Mexican on the High Street of course. Was it as good as anticipated? Well, after Texas, no! But after four weeks without salsa or refries, tortillas or rice her standards had dropped a bit.
There was not a Mexican waiter in sight, they were foreign all right but Middle Eastern foreign. The food was their rendition of what they thought was Mexican food. Texan Cowboy Man said there was a distinct lack of cilantro, how can Mexican food survive without the “C” herb?
Malia did what I always do, she ordered a Chimi, our way to measure the level of quality of a new Mexican restaurant. She gave it an enthusiastic thumbs up…hubby’s burritos were spicy, not particularly south of the border, but acceptable. They brought home their left overs but they were gone at breakfast so no samplings for me.
Apparently the margharita’s were excellent.
Only one draw back, a minor language problem…
When they asked for chips and dip, guess what they got? Yes, I’m not joking, along came a plate of French Fries with salsa! My brother said,
“You’re kidding…in a restaurant that’s selling itself as Mexican? You should have said ‘nacho chips,'” he suggested!
The point is, they should have said what they said, it was a good test of authenticity. I don’t think we’ll be rushing back there again!
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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