photo by Loren Tama
I had worked on Fleet Street (London) before; in fact I spent four months working there last year. I am, therefore, well-acquainted with the food options. Somehow during my recent stint, however, I had thus far neglected my old Fleet Street favorite. Here’s how I rediscovered it:
It was 12:35PM on a work day, and I was borderline hangry from not eating since breakfast four hours prior. Lost in the frantic tasks of my day job, I donned my coat and absent-mindedly stepped onto the sidewalk, lacking an intended destination. It was cold outside, and my fight-or-flight instincts drove my body to override conscious thought. Steered by my stomach, my feet moved, one in front of the other, and pointed me west up Fleet Street. Minutes later, my mind caught up with my body as I stood before my epicurean destiny of the day: Fuzzy’s Grub.
For you neophytes, Fuzzy’s is an English eating establishment whose bovine emblem attracts droves of hungry people (men, mostly) to its eight London locations. The location I prefer has two or three measly stools in the window, but it is primarily a place to grab some lunch before hurrying back to the office to beat time and temperature. Fuzzy’s is an eatery of choices. Customers choose a type of roast meat, a vessel (dish or sandwich), and a variety of toppings. On this glorious afternoon, my stomach said something like this: “roast turkey on ciabatta with stuffing, mashed potatoes, roast carrots, peas, cranberry sauce, gravy, and Yorkshire pudding.”
Upon arriving back at the office, I sat at my work table flanked at the elbows by two co-workers. As I unwrapped my meal (not sandwich; MEAL), comments and questions abounded about the size and contents. My male colleague understood when I simply relayed the famous namesake of the meal’s origin. He proceeded to explain the allure to my female colleague, allowing me to focus on carefully unwrapping and devouring the wonderfulness. About halfway through my tasty task, the male colleague glanced at the slop of turkey, peas, and carrots that had fallen to the wrapper.
“You’re never going to finish that,” he said.
“Uhuh,” I protested with a mouthful.
And I did. I ate every last scrap of turkey, every drop of gravy, and every single pea that fell to the paper. And that – that commitment, that desire, that satisfaction – that is Fuzzy’s Grub.