If you are a consumer of British novels as I am, you have heard of Harrods. These days, it takes up a full city block of London real estate. From its inception, it’s been where elite schools sent their students for their uniforms, and those with luxurious taste went to indulge themselves.
Robert indulged me on a rainy London afternoon by agreeing to have lunch with me at Harrods. Oyster card conveniently pocketed, off we went.
Christmas lights and decorations, trees everywhere and a floor of designer collections that left me feeling dowdy and nearly breathless at the prices. My explorations stopped too soon, I think. But hunger was the greater motivator. We stood on a line that snaked its way past a pastry case that enticed with beautiful cakes and puddings. Robert got sucked into an enormous waffle with whipped cream, chocolate, caramel, and coffee flavoring. The women sitting next to us, forget about British reticence, oohed and aahed over it. I had the soup which was delicious.
That sounds a bit pathetic placed against R’s waffle, but here’s the thing. The hot chocolate. We both ordered hot chocolate. When we were in Moscow we discovered the wonders, the comfort, the pleasures, of hot chocolate.
Note the little cookie with the distinctive H. The thick, glistening, cup of luxury that was swoon-worthy in its deliciousness had to be eaten with a spoon. Had I known this I might have skipped the soup and ordered two.
So here’s my suggestion on a rainy day in London. An Oyster card, Harrods for the hot chocolate and visual indulgence, then take a double-decker bus back to where ever you are staying so that you can sightsee on the way.
