In today’s guest post, we’re pleased to present you with part three of our intrepid traveler C.C.’s adventures with British cuisine. To catch up, here are Parts One and Two.

C.C. would like to pride herself on being a “good” traveler—curious, respectful, an impeccable sense of direction, a comradely cheerfulness when slaughtering any native tongue, and a fearless approach to food. But the first week in England challenges her assumptions.

C.C. is in Cambridge to work on a video. Cambridge is lovely. Parker’s Piece is verdant, dotted with golden fall leaves. People ride by on granny bikes with twee wicker baskets and C.C. can’t stop herself from recalling Morrissey singing “Stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before.” In fact, this refrain plays over and over in her head as she runs late to work, woefully in need of coffee, which she had no time to take at the hotel, and let’s not forget she’s operating on an eight-hour time difference.
 
C.C. learns a thing or two at the video shoot. There is no craft services table to speak of. Instead, there are kindly interns constantly proffering chocolate Hobnobs that C.C., who has the snacking predilections of a monkey, is constantly nibbling. The interns also offer tea or coffee, but C.C. pauses for a moment when her choice of coffee is met with the question, “White or black?” C.C. is confused and requests a “coffee with milk,” which the intern in turn translates as “white.”

The coffee arrives in a small mug, like one might find at granny’s house. And the coffee is very, very, very white. So white, in fact, you might say a dot of coffee was added to the milk. C.C. takes a sip. She tries not to make a face…
>> Read on to discover the truth about British coffee >>