Elvis is playing on the jukebox. The smell of French fries (or “chips” if you\u2019re posh) is unavoidably mingling with the distinct musk of cigarette smoke. We are ushered into the basement of The Diner on an average Saturday night. I order pancakes, coca-cola and bacon–the lumberjack combo. The track switches to a country song; a man is singing about his boots or his horse or something melancholy about a farm. I\u2019m not really listening because the bacon is really good<\/i>.<\/p>\n
We are in an \u201cAmerican\u201d restaurant in London. It\u2019s themed with gaudy wall decorations and archaic stereotypes from twenty years earlier and I cannot look away. This little establishment is only one of many curious stereotypes that we\u2019ve encountered thus far on our trip.<\/p>\n
To my genuine surprise, many of these stereotypes have been positive! It seems as though my fears about being seen as an obnoxious American tourist were unfounded. I\u2019ve had the opportunity to commune with the locals at a neighborhood pub and was pleased to find that they considered Americans to be overly polite, adventurous and charmingly receptive to new cultural experiences. I\u2019m glad to hear they don\u2019t think we\u2019re all going around wearing cowboy boots, eating pancakes and occasionally shouting \u201cYee-haw!\u201d with all the force our American hearts can muster.<\/p>\n
Seriously though. Europeans really think that we love<\/i> pancakes. As in we eat them for every meal, want them for snacks and go to bed with them under our pillow- love<\/i><\/b>.\u00a0 They sell them pre-made in the bakery at grocery stores.\u00a0 I don\u2019t know how I\u2019m going to go back to the states where I am forced to make a batter and put it on a skillet for two minutes like a caveman.\u00a0 I\u2019ve been spoiled rotten.<\/p>\n
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