Stuff Across the Pond is More Different Than You'd Expect

Keeping up with the ever-prevelant theme of discovery, I've made a few discoveries about England, and  myself in relation to living in London.

Discovery number one: "Chilled" drinks, if you can call them that, are not the American perception of cold.

If you go to your local off license (i.e. Kwiki-Mart) and get a Coke Zero from the cooler, as I'm wont to do at least seven times a day, you'll be intrigued by the fact that although it's been in a cooler, it's not cold. Chilled, perhaps…a little chillier than room temp…but not the thirst-quenching, brain freeze-inducing, glacial temperatures I expect out of my Coca-Cola products.

My routine when buying soft drinks (and by soft drinks, I mean exclusively Coke Zero…it really could be considered an addiction at this point) now consists of taking the bottles and putting them in the freezer for 30 minutes before moving them into the fridge. The more partially-frozen, the better.

All of the European kids I know think I'm nuts…although that could have very little to do with the Coke thing…

Discovery number two: I have developed Stockholm Syndrome in relation to Waitrose peanut butter.
In a close second behind Coke Zero on the list of "things I can't live without" is creamy peanut butter. My first interaction with English creamy peanut butter went something like this: "This isn't peanut butter. This is an unholy abomination." True story. Actual words spoken.

However, as Charles Darwin once noted, the individual who survives is not necessarily the one who's smartest or strongest, but the one who's most easily able to adapt. And adapt I have. As we speak, I've finished the banana with peanut butter I was eating and moved on to eating the peanut butter itself right out of the jar.

I still think it's gross and completely wrong in comparison to Jif, but I can't stop myself. For a split second, I caught myself thinking "I like this more than the American stuff…sweet."

I imagine once I return to the States, I'll go through a particularly difficult withdrawal and find myself adding salt and gravel to a jar of Peter Pan in hopes of replicating the rush...