I'm at Heathrow at the moment, taking advantage of the free WiFi in the fancy lounge. Not the extra-exclusive First Class Lounge that Ian spent his time in on his way home, just the run-of-the-mill plebian Club World Lounge. Sigh. I'm surviving.
Anyway, yesterday we had a family lunch at a restaurant called "Smith and Western" in Tunbridge Wells, which is housed in a beautiful old brick railway station. It is over-the-top American, decorated with western saddles and bridles and wagon wheels, and employing lots of down-home folks in cowboy hats. It's probably as successful a venture as many English pubs are in the States. In certain ways, though, it was not successful at all, as in the choice for soup of the day:
Very kid-friendly, though, and a fun outing for our mix of English, Portuguese, English/Portuguese, and American eaters, ranging in age from 3 weeks to about 75 years of age.
Anyway, yesterday we had a family lunch at a restaurant called "Smith and Western" in Tunbridge Wells, which is housed in a beautiful old brick railway station. It is over-the-top American, decorated with western saddles and bridles and wagon wheels, and employing lots of down-home folks in cowboy hats. It's probably as successful a venture as many English pubs are in the States. In certain ways, though, it was not successful at all, as in the choice for soup of the day:
Very kid-friendly, though, and a fun outing for our mix of English, Portuguese, English/Portuguese, and American eaters, ranging in age from 3 weeks to about 75 years of age.
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