We all remember, of course, about the sinusoid of an immigrant adaptation: first, you look at your stepmotherland through rose tinted spectacles (euphoric/honeymoon phase), then the culture shock (or whatever you fancy for the term) comes, followed by adjustment/ “blending in.” If you claim that it cannot be fully applied to your own experience, there’s a mild risk to be exposed as a hypocrite.
But of course you can toss all the stereotypes in the bin where they belong, simply saying that you can love this country without any specific “imposed” jingoism or naïveté, in all the complexity of its ups, downs and flaws. But British food, the butt of lazy jokes about its peculiar awfulness is the thing I always feel obligated to fight as a foreigner living in England: it’s lovely, and delicious, and yes, it can be versatile if you know what you’re searching for—and I mean it.
In Cromer, you have your fair share of more or less upmarket experiences with lavish modern eateries, but what reflects its spirit in the most perfect way are those slightly shabby but perfectly clean tea rooms with old fashioned tablecloth, creaky chairs and older stuff where food—savoury Crab with greens, scampi with chippies, bangers and mash (with Norfolk sausages that, surprisingly, don’t have boar taint), Sunday roast, a bunch of cakes, and, of course, fish’n’chips you must eat by the sea.
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