I realize that my blog hasn't been exactly culturally revelatory for my readers. What with infrequent posts and random vignettes and updates about my (oh so fascinating) life, I've given you little to no idea what it's like to live over here. So here is a little snippet to fill in the gaps I have left in my narrative.
We've been feeding ourselves here in Oxford, which has been good for all of our wallets in addition to being delicious, because we've got some really good cooks in our houses. Teaching myself to cook British dishes like steak and ale pie, bangers and mash, and jacket potatoes has been one of this semester's big adventures, and I've been very happy with my progress. I mentioned in my last post that we usually buy our groceries from the covered market, which has the cheapest fruits and veggies and the best meat, but often we also have to run to the local grocery store, Sainsbury's.
British grocery stores are a little befuddling for an American. Usually in stores back home everything is located in the same general area, even between different chains. The grocery stores here are organized differently than the ones back at home--I mean, I know they make sense to the Brits, but our first few times in Sainsbury's were disorienting. It's not too bad, of course: the fruits are grouped together, the vegetables are grouped together, and the bread is grouped together. Not too hard to figure out. But trying to find canned stuff or jam or honey can be a bit of an adventure, and once we spent nearly fifteen minutes hunting through Sainsbury's for eggs. Turns out that the British keep them, unrefridgerated, right next to the cereal.
I know. I don't get it either.
Today threw me for a bit of a loop again. You see, the fifteen Americans who are here as part of the OOSC program are throwing a Thanksgiving feast for ourselves on Thursday, to keep us all from missing our families too much and also, honestly, because we all really like to eat. I've been assigned mashed potatoes (as a compliment to my cooking, Sean has deemed me "The Potato Mistress," which I was really happy about until he verbalised it to one of his friends and I realized how silly it sounds) and pumpkin pie. I have never made pumpkin pie before, so I have been looking forward to learning.
We bought pumpkins on Halloween to carve into jack-o-lanterns, and we'd intended on using those pumpkins for the Thanksgiving pie. So after we gutted them and separated the seeds, I put the pulp in a bowl and stuck it in the freezer, thinking I would boil it and blend it until I got pumpkin pie filling. After a few days of sitting out in the English weather, we threw the jack-o-lanterns away.
So up until a few days ago, I thought I was golden in the pumpkin pie area. Until, that is, I called my grandmother, who informed me that you're supposed to make the pie out of the rind, and that the guts are pretty useless. So, I have no pumpkin for the pie.
No big, I think. I'll just go to the store and get some canned pumpkin. Earlier today I walked on up to Sainsbury's and perused the canned goods aisle. Unable to find what I'm looking for and thinking that this is because I'm a silly American, I ask an attendant for help.
Me: Excuse me, but do you guys carry canned pumpkin?
Well-meaning Sainsbury's employee: Do we carry... what?
Me: Canned pumpkin. You know, for pumpkin pies.
Well-meaning Sainsbury's employee: I, er, don't think so. Honestly, I've never even seen that before.
Hm. Well, this posed a challenge. I supposed that maybe British stores just don't carry canned pumpkin because they expect you to make your pumpkin pie literally from scratch, like a real domestic Wonder Woman. But I was holding out hope that I might still be able to find something so I wouldn't have to boil down and carve a pumpkin. Later, as I was paying for an apple at the grocery store at the head of Cornmarket Street to break my 20-pound bill for bus fare, I asked if they carried canned pumpkin.
"Sorry, no," said the girl behind the counter, smiling as she passed me my change. "I suppose that's an American thing."
"I guess so." I explained to her that I was baking a pie for a big dinner coming up, and she seemed very interested.
"Oh, I've never even seen one of those," she said brightly. "If you manage it, would you bring it by so I can look at it."
Whoa. Hold on now. Never SEEN pumpkin pie? Like, never TASTED pumpkin pie? I was honestly astonished. Maybe I thought our ancestors brought pumpkin pie over on the Mayflower in their "Ye Olde Booke of Cookinge" or something, but it had never crossed my mind that people over here didn't eat pumpkin pie. Sure, Britain had a lot of things I'd never heard of before, much less eaten. But... pumpkin pie? It's like there's a whole realm of heaven to which they've been denied access.
I assured her that if I managed to find a pumpkin, I would definitely bring her a piece of pie for her to try, and I left Sainsbury's a little wiser, if a little more astonished.
I know this isn't a very deep post, or very poignant or anything like that, but it just goes to show that the quirks of different countries never cease to surprise me, and even when you start feeling pretty well at home, the new culture you're in reminds you that you still have a lot to learn. Even if it's something as simple as the food you eat.
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