It has to be the name. Aubergine versus eggplants, and cougette, versus zucchini. They’re so…sexy that I can’t help buying them all the time. In fact, they are the only vegetables I buy because a single girl only needs so much food, especially when I’m out of hampstead so often. I’ve been finding new ways to cook the aubergine. Yesterday, a Mediterranean salad featuring chickpeas, tomorrow a ratatouille, maybe eggplant Parmesan, a grilled aubergine and cheese sandwich. Its bizarre that I enjoy one vegetable so much.

I’m also officially exploring chocolate. Wille’s peruvian 70% chocolate with tropical fruity flavors, amazing. Darjeeling chocolate, the tea flavor flavor is too subtle toe explain.

And a vegetarian restaurant called Tibits where a falafel turned out to actually be a pakora and tiramisu more closely resembled a fruity cheesecake. London, you’re getting your colonial subjects’ food all wrong. Jokes, its actually a Swedish restaurant. But they played old American pop/ballads which were so arresting, in a bad way, that Tina and I sat in a trance for half an hour after we paid the bill. Its tucked away in a side alley off of Regent Street, packed and commercial like Times Square. Its walls are tall windows where the alleyway becomes a sort of impromptu theatre production, or we’re all like voyeurs, watching each other but feel like we’re protected behind this semi-transparent walls. At every turn there’s a different restaurant or bar, and the one I was facing had an ialianesque awning with a small french window on the second floor. Even as the evening drew to seven, the restaurant was empty. Wide open spaces. It was a bizarre dinner.

Food, food, they lie when they say London isn’t a foodie.