Now time to summarize the entire month of March in less than 500 words. Here goes… something.
– Witherspoon, commonly referred to as Spoons: it occurred to me I probably come here too often when I gave my friends a complete in-depth review of the entire menu.
– This restaurant slash bar is one of my weeknight go-tos because a) it’s only a ten-minute walk from campus… and we all know how I feel about exercise being an unnecessary evil b) they have a ‘two pitchers for 10 pounds’ deal (very necessary for margarita fanatics like myself) and c) it’s never a dull time.
– Exhibit A of this: when a 40-year-old (of course, I asked) engineering professor from my uni staggered over to me and my friends to introduce himself. Within thirty seconds I had persuaded him to buy us a round – because, hey, if I’m stuck having a conversation with someone literally twice my age with a cringe-worthy Hagrid-esque accent and breath reeking of Guinness, a reward is only fair.
– The professor lost points when he returned to our table with the wrong order (I was crystal clear that we all deserved our own pitcher of some tequila-based drink) but he gained them back with his explanation: apparently, an argument erupted between him and the bartender when he couldn’t confirm the precise alcohol amount. They tend to mix in about four shots of tequila and obviously that wasn’t adequate. Completely understandable, Professor.
– So we all sipped on cider instead and I tried to gauge whether it was normal in Great Britain for teachers to get completely inebriated with their students. Seems like it was.
– We also chatted with some foreigners, one of whom went by the nickname “Money Bags,” but I was too committed to my drinks to determine whether that was a joke or not. The only thing I really remember was being convinced he was a real-life Cabbage Patch doll which, trust me, is a lot more frightening than it sounds. So, all in all, another typical night at Spoons.
– Earlier that month, I also had the chance to visit my great aunt, aunt, uncle, and cousins in Hertfordshire.
– It was a relaxing weekend that included exploring the town, shopping at farmer’s markets, cracking up at British reality shows (in a twisted way, it’s comforting to know America isn’t the only country with illiterate shitshows “looking for love in unlikely places”), and endlessly debating football after I made the rookie mistake of claiming to be an Arsenal fan. Honestly, I’m lucky they didn’t kick me to the curb right then and there.
– They’re all pretty hilarious people with that classic English dry humor, which shouldn’t come as a surprise considering they’re related to me. During lunch on our last day, I mentioned how my brother, Alexander, still doesn’t drink even as a freshman in college.
– Allow me to give a little background: if there’s one thing Marti and Tim know how to do, besides cook and eat (we’re all professionals at both), it is appreciate a good drink. It’s only natural we have a walk-in wine cellar, outdoor bar, and second fully stocked bar inside the house. While it’s true my mom did teach me the basics of cooking, my dad was much more invested in ensuring I could whip up the perfect Moscow Mule by age 14. I’m sure that explains a lot.
– Really, though, I think it just comes down to a good majority of our relatives being European so a glass of red wine is common during dinner. In fact, it’s basically encouraged when my grandpa starts rotating his same three war stories again and again; when that’s the case, no one blames me for reaching for the liquor.
– Anyway, despite drinking being seen as a casual part of life in our household, my brother never had any desire to get his drink on… ever. Even though we’re complete opposites, he and I are both fairly open when it comes to swapping college stories, and even with all of my blunders on a daily basis, he can still say with 100% honesty he has no interest in drinking or drugs. Or skipping class or engaging in anything remotely ‘bad’ for that matter. Like I said, we’re opposites.
– So, back to the story: if only I could have filmed my British family’s reactions. My aunt goes, “What do you mean he doesn’t drink?” And then my great aunt: “Like… at all?” My uncle: “Even at university?”
– Think of that scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding (or as I think of it, “every Christmas and Thanksgiving visiting Marti’s relatives”) when Ian is revealed to be a vegetarian. Replace “meat” with “alcohol” and you’ve got their responses. All I could do was shake my head and confess I didn’t understand it either.
– But anyway, it’s time for me to pack for Amsterdam now, so I’ll finish up with a few pictures:
The Art of Being Basic 