The other night, I went to Anchor & Hope, my favorite gastropub in London, with some out of town visitors. I have always gone there on my own, so I was curious to try on of their meals for two. My friend Tonya and I took the plunge on rib of beef with chips and bernaise sauce. When it arrived, I realized it was actually designed for three normal people or two hungry lumberjacks. As it turns out, Halcyon and I are lumberjacks.
We finished the whole thing, minus this little beauty. We felt it wasn’t the kind of restaurant where you were free to do it justice — that is to say, pick it up and attack it like a starving velociraptor. My experience tells me that most restaurants in England don’t really do take home boxes. Not quite sure why, but I often wonder if it’s something only uncouth Americans do. The portions here tend to be smaller, so usually that is fine.
On this night, however, I was cursing good breeding. Thankfully, our waitress rescued me after she caught me staring at the bone longingly, with all that juicy meat just sitting there clinging on for dear life. Let me just say “You want me to wrap that up?” are the most wonderful words in the English language.