Electric Diner

I met up with the gang on Saturday after a loooooong trip to Steven's on Friday night for some burgers in the faaar west: Notting Hill.  Actually, I'll backtrack for a sec.

My mother was kind enough to send me an early Christmas present that was fabulous: a new sporty coat, a long layer to wear under all the other things and a great new pair of socks, all from the UK equivalent of Mountain Equipment Co-Op.  Yes please.  I had to exchange the coat, however, for another size, and found that they stocked the same one in vibrant, minty green.  Bring it.  Usually exchanging things in this country is a REAL challenge, but in person, the staff at this store were incredible.  I was in and out after a prompt try-on.  I zipped through Notting Hill to Portobello Market, sideswiped all the human foot traffic because it's not my bag, and found myself at the most delightful little spice shoppe off the main drag on Portobello Road.  Bring it.  The Spice Lady quizzed and praised me for about 15 minutes: it was heavenly, before I left with some garlic pepper that would later spice up our already-fabulous steaks.  Yes please, Christmas Dinner.

By the time I got into The Electric Diner, everyone had been seated and drinks ordered.  I had to get in on this action:

Something about a Bloody Mary really does make you feel better after fighting swarms of people, non?  I thought you might agree.  And look at all those pickles!  £8 well spent!

Sloppy soup, towering burgers, and meat served with egg.  What more can we ask for?  I wimped out a bit in ordering a salad in favour of a burger (I was having steak later that eve, after all), but I did have a side order (which was gigantic) of mashed potatoes.  I had to start the mashed potato train early, since we were having some of those too later ;)

Kat, Sam, Rob, and I walked a few blocks down Portobello Market, I bought a fabulous Paris-bound felt hat, picked up some cupcakes and a devilish brownie at Hummingbird Bakery, then got back to Notting Hill.  In the cutest wine shoppe, where I picked up the best bottle of wine I've had in this wine-starved country, subsequently asking Steven to buy every single bottle they had in stock, I asked the shoppe keeper if he knew of a good butcher in the area.  Though he didn't, a lady in the store was more than happy to help out: there was a GREAT organic butcher "just down the way", near Holland Park.  

I stumbled into Lidgate's, fell in love with the butchers and the banter they were having with the tightly packed clientele, and swore I'd be back.  The ribeyes we had were amazing.   My travel companions popped into Daunt Books next door (what a great place), where the most darling shoppe keeper, reminiscent of Meg Ryan's character in You've Got Mail, helped me pick out a book for Calum. Jamie, naturally, being an English teacher and all (read the sarcasm, please) told me, "Oh yeah, because every 8-year-old boy LOVES books (accompanied by an eye roll)!"  Well pardon me...I reckon this one does.  So there.

It was after this that I left my friends, got on the tube, and met up with Steven for the most epic of Christmas dinners and gift exchanges.  I can't tell you how blessed I feel to have met a man like him: one who appreciates me and is proud of me; one who isn't afraid or intimidated or bored of talking about absolutely anything; one who would never start a sentence with, "I love you, but...".  It's amazing.