Peyton and Byrne do not impress me

So Liz and me navigated the British Library without getting chided / tutted at, which I will count as a win. The BL is, without doubt, a beautiful place to work (despite Nottingham's beautiful campus – I freely admit one of the reasons I chose to go there was because I went to a spring Open Day and the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. Why yes, I am going to Japan in a few weeks – the library is a concrete block) but the BL cafe…

Hmm.

The economics of having Peyton and Byrne run the catering has been gone into elsewhere so I won't (apart from to say: £2.50 for a bun? Which is chiefly icing? Are they mad?); my beef is with the actual food. (Mmm, beef.) It's probably fair to disclose that, since I've not done any kind of academic reading in over a decade, by lunchtime my brain was screaming in protest and I found myself staring uncomprehendingly, possibly dribbling, at the sandwich labels. But even when I've got back into the swing of things I suspect my head will still be wrapped up in what I'm reading and not in the mood to examine sandwich wrappers and work out what the chuff 'mizuna' is. (It's a mustardy salad leaf, apparently.) Or ponder why they're calling the bread in what is clearly a panino (oh yeah, get me and my Italian singulars) something different and poncy. And that's before I even get to sit down and be underwhelmed by the paucity of the expansively described filling. I have been busy absorbing information: give me a cheese and ham toasty, stat. And don't charge me four quid for it, either. Or insist on making it with gruyère and finest prosciutto.

And, in a building covered with signs about having clean, dry hands, provide some sodding paper napkins.

I think I'll be taking my own sandwiches from now on.

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