As Matt and I have passed our 1 week-aversary of living in Edinburgh, I figure I'd take some time to tell you about a very important factor in UK living:

Comestibles.

Matt and I, for the most part, have eaten well so far. I make us baked potatoes pretty regularly, or we have pasta, or fake-adillas (no real tortillas here), or toast. Eating out is pretty good, especially kebab or hot chocolate or our new favorites, sausage rolls. Those are basically two sausages cut lengthwise and put on a plain roll. Mmm. Also, we had veggie curry and burritos at the Forest yesterday, which were both good. Snack such as ice cream cones with Cadbury Flake, or oatcakes, or Nutella, are delicious. There is a distinct lack of spicy food over here, which is heartbreaking, but we've been able to manage. And the water in Edinburgh tastes great!

There is a dark side, however. Basic food staples like butter and cheddar taste, well, different. Not exactly gross, but not quite tasty, either. We haven't found a sliced bread that tastes very good. But the worst of all this, my friends, are the american brands

*When Good Food Goes Bad*

The day started innocently enough. Matt and I had gone to Tesco, our neighbourhood grocery, looking for some asic eating delights. We needed bread and beer and pasta and peanut butter, and we found all these things.

While Matt was innocently surveying the pasta, he gasped and grabbed my arm. "Jeni," he breathed, not daring to tear his eyes away from the spot, "Look."

I looked. There, like a mirage on the horizon of some forbidden desert, was this.



I shrieked with pleasure. "Kraft! Yes! Get ten boxes! 20!"

You may not know this about Matt and I, but we LOVE Kraft Mac and Cheese. What is a bland necessity for most people is a source of cheesy, 39 cent delight for us. With cayenne, stewed tomatoes, peas, tuna, or just by its own sweet self, it has always been welcome in our pantry. Many of you know that 2 times we have hosted a "top your own mac" night, where friends have gathered with a variety of mix-ins and we have provided a big pot of the orangey noodles.

Matt, though clearly as excited as I was, took the more cautious role. “Let’s just get one box and see how it is. We’re really close o the store if we want more.” I reluctantly agreed, and one precious box went into the bag to take home.

Once home, I excitedly began preparing my friend, the Kraft. After cooking and draining the noodles, I dumped them back into the pot with the butter and milk, then tore open the package of cheesy powder.

I gagged. What?!? This powder smelled like refuse on the side of a dark alleyway. However, I know from experience that some things smell bad but taste good (hello, sliced lunch-meat, orange juice, and cumin). So I bravely stirred it all together, added some cayenne, and took a bite.

“Bluccchhh...” I sputtered, as Matt looked at me in alarm. I spit it into a paper towel and ran to the fridge to slog some O.J., looking ill. “Not... good... echh... rancid...”

Matt, ever patient with what some my consider “histrionics” and I consider “self-expression”, walked over to the stove. He sniffed cautiously, then recoiled. “That smells terrible.” He looked at the expiration date. “It it still within the date, though.”

Oh, Kraft Mac, how could you be so bad if you are still good?