Visiting the British Museum in London (UK) with Savvy Mom Ruth Paget
I
continued my tour of London with a visit to the British Museum. Toddler Florence was sleeping in her
stroller. I lifted the stroller with her
in it and walked up the steps of the British Museum to see the main collections
at the British Museum.
The
Museum was still a hot house from the previous day’s heat wave. Florence started squirming as soon as I hit
the room with the Elgin Marbles from the Parthenon frieze (Athens, Greece), the
Rosetta Stone (Egypt), the Sutton Hoo Ship Treasures; and the library which had
pages on display from the Lindesfarne Gospels and the Harley Gospels.
I
would show Florence all the pretty artwork she saw as a toddler later in life
in art books as we sat at home.
I
went back to Hampstead Heath to look for a place to eat. Hampstead Heath reminded me of Lincoln Park
in Chicago with its brick apartment buildings, used bookstores, and wonderful
shops where you could buy coffee, tea, wine, blank journals, pens, and
Florentine stationery with its paisley swirls of color.
I
was hungry and decided to try an Indian Restaurant, which I knew was Punjabi.
When
I entered the restaurant, the owner was eating a pizza.
I
looked at him and said, “Please tell me your restaurant is open. Every other place in town is closed, and I’m
starving.”
“We’re
always open,” he said and sat me by a corner window in his vacant restaurant
after the afternoon rush. I might have
fought him for the pizza, if the restaurant were closed. That is not true; I would have offered to buy
two slices of pizza.
I
never got to eat Indian food in Paris, so I was really living it up at the
Punjabi tandoori chicken restaurant. I
ate red-colored tandoodri chicken without skin with a platter of coral-colored
rice.
I
also ordered a tray of curry vegetables – potatoes, peas, cauliflower, and
tomatoes. Curry vegetables probably do
not go with tandoori chicken in a traditional meal, but I liked them. I also ate lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers on
the side as a salad. I dipped warm naan
bread in the curry.
I
think the owner enjoyed plying me with naan bread as much as he enjoyed giving
Florence chocolate mints to eat. She was
a sticky, brown mess by the end of the meal.
She smiled and giggled as I cleaned her up with some water and a cloth napkin.
I
bought a coffee and cream at a local coffee shop to drink in the room.
(As
a side note, the Punjab region is shared by both Pakistan and India in the
Northwestern corner of India. The
Punjabs are mostly Muslim and speak Urdu.
Naan is their bread not India’s.)
By
Ruth Paget, author of Eating Soup with Chopsticks and Marrying France
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