Eating Well at Wright Brothers

Since moving to London, this first month and a half have been a whirlwind of transferring my life to the metric system, and to the left side of the road.  I have also learned that we need to read our own electric meters.  You duck into the cellar under your flat, dust off the meter, write down the numbers on your little scrap of paper, and then send in the data to your energy company.  Attempting to read 4 dials, (arrows pointing in every which direction) I assume that this system only works because only a very small percentage of people have actually figured out how to cheat it.  If you don't send in meter readings, your usage will just be estimated ...which I thought could be a great benefit if I decided to start a bakery in my flat.  We'll at least now I can work as a meter reader back in the US if I need to.
  This past week has been a nice break from my usual routine (got to work, go home, then work at home, then repeat) as my  mother came for a brief visit to take in a bit of the late English Springtime (a mix of rain and pollen- neither one ever cancels the other out).  That also means we took part in tasting some fantastic food.  (Follow my Instagram to be sure that you do not miss out on any daily many of them do not make it to the blog)  
London, in its history, has not been known as a culinary haven, but that has since changed dramatically in recent years.  One of our favorite meals of the trip was at Wright Brothers Oyster and Porter House, which sits just under the train tracks, behind the Borough Market.  The feeling is light and open as the whole front of the restaurant opens up onto a narrow pedestrian filled street.  We sat at the bar that looks onto their their open kitchen. 

To begin, we started off with a creamy pate of smoked haddock and toast.

 Then some fire grilled Padron peppers.


Next we moved on to the incredibly fresh oysters,

and finally our light and creamy Fish Pie, with large chunks of fresh salmon and smoked haddock.

The fish was cooked to perfection, moist and flaky.


After such a delicious meal, a few (too many) glasses of wine, and a few more minutes of flirting with our robust Australian waiter, we started our stroll towards home on what turned out to be an unusually beautiful evening.  

The sun was setting on the Thames, and the tourists and locals alike were out in droves to soak up those few rare hours of beautiful weather in London.



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