(and in an effort to get her back to Boston eventually, I've promised to troubleshoot some recipes I've found and come up with the perfect method, which I'm sure I'll post here)
Now, to me, when you say "sticky toffee pudding," you're saying a dessert that you get at a coffeeshop, like Area Four, Flour, or even (gasp) Starbucks. So, when Sara said we were going to a place called The Britannia, that's what I assumed it would be.
And sure enough, we walked down Allen Street towards our destination, and the building had little window boxes, looked extremely quaint, and wouldn't you know, walking through the door continued the trend.
The Britannia was filled with comfy chairs, cute little tables, a lovely window seat, and was bright and well-lit. There was also an unobtrusive TV on mute to a sports game in the opposite corner, and a bar obscured by a few pillars.
One of the servers came over and told us to sit where we'd like, and I just couldn't help gushing, "This is such a cute little shop!"
The server looked at me, horrified, with a touch of "I'm sure I didn't hear her correctly, that phrase didn't just come out of her mouth."
Sara looked at me, with an expression of "What did she just say out loud, seriously?"
"Bridget, this is a pub. A pub. She means a pub!"
The server started laughing and giving me a hard time. "So this is a cute little shop, is it?"
"Well, yes! I mean, it's comfortable, well-lit..."
"Doesn't mean it's a nice little shop. It's still a pub."
"Well, I obviously know that now."
In all fairness, Sara never once called it a pub before I put my giant American foot in my giant American mouth. Thank goodness my comment was quite obviously intentioned as a compliment, otherwise I'm pretty sure this post would have been titled "So, about that time I got kicked out of a pub..."
But instead, we sat there and enjoyed another perfect pot of tea with our sticky toffee pudding. A perfect afternoon, to be sure.
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