When I moved to London in 2004, I thought of Casablanca. Especially the opening scene, where the camera pans on the map of occupied Europe illustrating the route taken by the refugees to reach America... "from Paris to Marseille, across the Mediterranean, to Oran, then by train, or auto, or foot across the rim of Africa to Casablanca in french Morocco. Here, the fortunate ones, through money, influence, or luck, might obtain exit visas and scurry to Lisbon. And from there to the New World. But the others wait in Casablanca, and wait, and wait, and wait..."
I thought of London as a harbour for all those who did not now what to do with their lives, a generation of twenty and thirtysomethings who decided to escape the rat race in their native countries or simply take time for themselves, to explore and discover. Some found a way, an inspiration, some others simply got stuck in a foreign rat race. But neither of these is my story.
London can be a very daunting place indeed. As a big city, it endorses anonymity. Which can be liberating, or frightening. Personally I found it to be a bit of both. At the same time, London can appear open and narrow minded to the perceiver. Open, as nowhere else a man dressed up as a chicken on the Tube during rush hour does not attract more than a few sleepy and confused looks. Narrow, as at times and in certain establishments, foreign looks and accents can be sniggered at. This, added to the feeling of alienation given by the vastness and crowdedness of the city, can be difficult to bear. This is why it has taken me 5 years to be able to come to terms with my love for this city, a love which was born and developed through food.
London in the Noughties presents several examples of transactional acculturation, a two-way relationship through which minority and mainstream culture influence one another. I always thought transactional acculturation becomes alive and tangible through food; the fact that curry alongside fish and chips is the food that identifies Britain abroad, and at the same time several Indian families around the country enjoy roast dinners on Sunday. Post-empire citizens, refugees, men and women from all over the world coming to wealthy London in search for a better life, and alas the aforementioned 'confused generation' have influenced the London scene with music, art and food from their home countries. As such, the cultural and gastronomic scene is alive and everchanging, stimulating and exciting.
But more on this later. I will be leaving London in 37 days in order to fulfill a dream of travelling around the world. This blog aims to follow my steps, illustrating where I am and what I am doing through the food and stories of wherever I am, accompanied by my husband's pictures. I will try my best to capture the 'real food' of wherever I am, sampling street food and home restaurant or little known 'mum and dad' places. However, I can pretty much guarantee that at times I will fall into tourist traps. Any advice is more than welcome, the first destination is Brazil.
That's all for now.
Buona notte, e buona fortuna.
