Return to Review IndexSo imagine my surprise when I come back to Omaha and Max tells me about this British Restaurant in Bellevue that he wants to try. At first, I'm excited. Then I start wondering just WHY the universe is relatively a British Restaurant Free zone. At this point, words like "blood pudding," "mad cow disease" and "gruel" started going through my head. And don't get me wrong, I ate well while in London. They make good breakfasts there, with some kickass sausage-things and these damned-fine cooked tomatoes. But, otherwise, I think I mainly foraged for Indian food and danishes.
So we drove out, musing what we would do if they had haggis on the menu and generally getting psyched up. But it was Monday and they're closed on Mondays, so we went to Hardees.
But later on, we get that hankerin' for some limey grub again and head down again, thinking, "This will be the day I find out what a crumpet really should look like." But it was Sunday and they're closed on Sundays, too, so we went to Edelweiss, a German restaurant in Bellevue, but they were closed, so we went to a nearby Korean place which was closed, so we went to Hardees.
Now on a Tuesday (Max called and made sure they were open), we were worked up as a couple Tottenham Hotspurs hooligans before the big match with Manchester United, so we drove down to find the place fairly full up. This allowed us time to browse the ample gift shop which included what looked like a whole wall of chocolates, including the milky Cadbury's I've had feverish dreams about on sultry nights ever since I received a whole shoebox of them put in the mail by a girlfriend 2 days before I was diagnosed with diabetes, so that when it came I set that little Pandora's shoebox in my closet, not yet understanding enough about diabetes to know if I could eat it without going blind. So Max and I priced things like cans of "Mushy Peas" and Wheatabix, Rollos made in England and all the good Cadburys that taunt me with their wanton and lascivious pleasures.
With no haggis on the menu (I have to admit feeling relief), I ordered the Scottish pie as a way of exploring my Scottish heritage. But they were out of that, so I ordered an item the waitress described as a beef turnover. Max, intrigued by a meal named after a hat, ordered the pork pie and a Coke with no ice. I'll skip to the chase right now and just say that the meal itself didn't get me all tingly inside, but it was okay and certainly not expensive. Max, mortified that, in a moment of confusion, he'd ordered brussel sprouts, appeared less than enthusiastic as he rolled his eyes and used the word "limey" in every sentence. Though a small place, service moved slow with just the one waitress, but she still kept attentive and pleasant. The overall atmosphere, too, was spare but pleasant.
Next to the Cadburys we dipped into for desert, it was the tea which made the trip worthwhile for me (Max, with his brussel sprouts and Coke with no ice, only can refer to the chocolates without references to "limey food"). Whenever I order tea in this town, I usually get a pot that yields one good cup before getting bitter or else the waitress replenishes it by pouring in more hot water to make a nice pot of lightly-tinged hot water. This tea came in a magical little pot and it never got bitter; and, six cups later, I felt sufficiently happy and over-caffeinated.
And so we drove off, one man not overjoyed yet content and one grousing and having a bad- hair day besides. And on a scale of "Bitter Tofu" to "Milk Chocolate With Caramel," we give it a "Wheatabix."