Actually, I rather like most British cooking. My problem at the
last Wolf was that the dining room was open for only -- what? -- 15
minutes at a shot, and never when I was either awake or not on a panel,
so all I had for four days, except for when we chose to go elsewhere
(and that was difficult) was fish&chips. Four days of fish&chips. It
will drive you mad. So finally, on Sunday morning, after the
restaurant had closed (having expended its fifteen minutes of food) I
planted myself in the restaurant regardless, and explained that unless
I had a proper breakfast I was going to go out into the hall and do my
version of Night of the Living Dead and start eating the flesh off the
first person I encountered. They saw the crazed look in my eyes, and
wisely fed me.

jms