Krystle and I walked to a little place called The Neighborhood for breakfast this morning. It had been recommended to us by Dr P and our cabby, so we decided it would be worth a try. It was only three blocks away, but since May in Liverpool feels like March at home, I was more than ready for something warm. I had about five cups of tea with milk and raw sugar as nature and God intended. And since we walk everywhere, I felt quite entitled to slather my croissant with as much butter and jam as I liked.
Servers in the UK actually make minimum wage (What a concept…), so tipping isn’t expected like it is back in the States. But I was just so content with my breakfast that I couldn’t help giving a pound to the girl behind the counter, who seemed to be the one preparing the food. She blushed and thanked me, saying “She did all the real work!” and gesturing to our waitress (for whom I was going to leave another pound on our table). “Well here’s a pound for her too!” I said, offering a coin. But they both just looked shocked and refused, insisting that they’d share the tip. They were both still laughing and thanking us when we left. So my apologies, Paul, but it seems that we Americans really are going to ruin it for all of you with our tipping habits.
It’s a short post today. I’ve decided it would be a losing battle to try and chronicle every day of this trip for my readers, so instead I’ll just be describing and reflecting on little tidbits here and there. Today I just wanted to share a moment of my happy little morning. I hope you are able to live vicariously through my croissant.