I was in London with my good buddy Brent ending out a two-day Beatles tour when we stopped for dinner at some British Pub that serves food.
We were hoping to grab a quick bite before seeing Wicked at the theatre across the street.
So the waitress talks us into some chicken pot pie type of traditional dish with mashed potatoes and peas on the side…and a Coke.
We were starving, as I think we had walked 237 miles that day seeing all the stuff American tourists are required, by law, to see.
So my food comes and I dive into the peas. I can’t tell you why I started with the peas, I just did. And they were cold. Not just “sitting around the kitchen too long on the plate” cold, but “just pulled out of the fridge and thrown on the plate” cold.
Our nice British waitress comes to our table and asks “Is everything okay?”
“Well,” I answer, needing to find out if the peas are supposed to be cold, “I have a question for you. Is it customary in London to serve the peas cold?”
She answered “I have no idea.”
I didn’t know what to say. I was thinking “Hmmm…you’re British…you grew up here and probably have eaten a bushel of peas in your life…you work in a restaurant that serves peas with every meal…who would be a better authority in this restaurant than you to inform me of the customary preparation of peas for a meal?”
And then she asks me “Is everything alright, then?”
“It’s great,” both Brent and I answered…then we ate our cold peas and saw Wicked.