UBC October 2025 - British Food: A Fry-up too far

Nadya’s granddaughter, who studies in Liverpool, is suffering from the British food, and honestly, I can’t blame her. While she says it’s lacking spices, my main complaint is: Everything is fried!

A logical consequence of every restaurant having a deep fryer is that the smell of oil is practically omnipresent outside on the street, not to mention inside the restaurant, and to be honest, I don't think the quality is always the best.

This is particularly annoying when you're traveling and only have a limited number of clothes, gas station laundromats notwithstanding.

And there’s not much variety either. It’s fish & chips (the British, chunkier version of French fries), steak & ale pie  (or, if you’re lucky, a vegetarian one), burger, or a piece of meat with potatoes. The only vegetable, if there is one, tends to be peas.

Why no veggies?
What I couldn’t help wondering was: would it really kill them to serve a bit of broccoli or a carrot or two? Apparently, yes, or at least financially. Fresh vegetables are expensive in Britain these days, partly because so many are imported and perish quickly. Potatoes, on the other hand, are cheap, local, and can sit in a freezer for months. And in restaurants, convenience trumps nutrition: Fries can be portioned straight from the bag, while vegetables need washing, chopping, steaming, and plating. Plus, most customers don’t complain about missing vegetables, but they do complain about soggy ones. So broccoli lost the battle to chips, and here we are.

While it’s fun to try local specialties, it gets old. And it gets unhealthy. A side salad is not a given at most places, and if there are salads on the menu, they’re often topped with bacon and fried chicken.

(Not-so) fun facts about fries
Speaking of fries, they may be everyone’s favourite comfort food, but they’re not exactly easy on the system. A meal of fries and meat can take anywhere from two to four hours just to start leaving your stomach, because all that fat slows digestion. And the oils used for frying - usually cheap vegetable or seed oils - don’t age gracefully. Reheating them again and again produces oxidised fats and compounds like acrylamide, the kind of stuff your body really doesn’t appreciate. In short: delicious, yes, but your digestive system won’t thank you later.

I did find two commendable exceptions: at “Aye Eat” and “The Harvester.” The first had an autumn salad as part of the menu, and the second offered a self-service buffet with various salads “free” with any main dish. My grilled chicken there was wonderful.

Also, thank God for pizza!

By the way, I noticed that most restaurants had already decorated their reception areas for Christmas at the beginning of October. In addition, all the places where we ate had Christmas menus available, either to take away or to eat in. Talk about being prepared for the season!

Otherwise, I struggled.

It started with breakfast. As a continental European, if there are no pancakes, I don’t eat a cooked breakfast. The thought alone of bacon, eggs, beans, sausages, and hash browns - or the smell of it in the morning - makes my stomach turn. So I depended on bread and jam. Sometimes there was Nutella.

The bread though?

My idea (and every Western European’s idea) of bread is something like I talk about in this post.

In the UK, much like in the US, the hotel buffet offers white and brown toast. Don’t be fooled though, the brown toast is by no means whole wheat bread. It’s white bread with a few seeds sprinkled in and probably some caramel for color.

So my vacation consisted of trying hard not to overeat on bad carbs and bad fats, and wondering how the Brits manage to make it past retirement if that’s their diet. The intake of polyunsaturated and trans fats is usually supplemented by a not insignificant amount of alcohol consumption.

So what about my favorite meal of the day; dessert? I tried a cherry chocolate cake (a weird version), a brownie (OK, had better), a donut (of an American chain, so it doesn’t count. Though it was fried, so it fit right in), and a cheesecake that tasted of absolutely nothing. I eventually decided not to waste my calories on desserts anymore. Until London.

We walked past Café Concerto, and the chocolate gâteau looked amazing. Colin and I couldn’t resist. We were not fans. So sad.

Speaking of London... After mostly complying with hubby’s motto to “eat local,” he put me in charge of my “last supper.” My flight home was a day earlier than their long train journey, so I picked a wonderful Thai place in Soho and was very happy with my red curry prawns.

Throughout the entire restaurant, there were only community tables. We were the only ones at ours until a kind-looking man with black-painted fingernails sat down. (Sharing this detail for no reason other than that it caught my attention.) He pulled out a book and started reading, despite the loud atmosphere. I felt like striking up a conversation but didn’t dare. Later two female friends joined him, and they were having the best time, laughing and drinking wine.

As we were getting ready to leave, I bravely approached them, wished them a nice evening, and said they reminded me of Bridget Jones’ friends and I meant it as a compliment. They lit up, thanked me, and couldn’t stop laughing. Probably not something they hear every day!

Guess what my first meal was when I got home? A veggie bowl with quinoa. My body wholeheartedly approved. 

And guess what I watched that night? Right: Bridget Jones’s Diary, the sequel, and the… what-do-you-call-the-third-and-the-fourth-one?

So if this post sounds like a complaint; sorry! I know I’m a picky eater, and I do worry about health. Apart from one exception, the food was always at least OK, sometimes really nice if you forget about the nutrients.

Would I move to Great Britain for the food? Nope.

How about you; do you care for fried stuff? And which one is your favorite Bridget Jones movie?