Jack's London Grill ~ Not a Call of the Wild spot

Jack's London Grill is a spot-on nice pub and grub.  Cold beer, hot fish and chips, roast beef sliders, Scottish eggs, great onion rings and good service makes this family happy.   Add a fun game of trivia and the night becomes even more enjoyable.

Located on north 62nd Avenue North, just off 10th Street, (St. Petersburg) in a nondescript closed Pizza Hut.  Jack's London Grill has quickly become a delicious addition to the pub scene.  The decor is comfortable, the lighting is dim, the TV's in the corner are set to the sports channel.  The waitresses are sincere and caring.    The menu is dominant with the favorites from over the pond.  There are specials offered nightly.  I want a Sunday visit for Yorkshire pudding and Roast beef....emphasis on the Yorkshire pudding.

My grumpy spouse wanted to go out desperately and was going to give me his regular directive "not too far from home, two miles tops."  I'm designated driver and I get to choose, dear heart.  That's how I roll.  We put the top down on the convertible and I headed due north.  He started to complain once we passed Tropicana Field...whine, "Where are we going?"   Shush, honey, you'll like it.

We chose a comfy booth.  Looking over the menu, I was immediately drawn to the fish and chips.  A personal favorite because I don't fry at home.  Our waitress gave us the specials of the night.  Fred was drawn to the 12 ounce sirloin with mushrooms, spuds and gravy.    We had to start with a couple of appetizers of course.  We ordered the Scottish egg with mustard and a couple of Roast beef sliders.  They were served quickly and were yummy.  The roast beef was delicious and tender.  The roll was fresh and tasty.

 Fred was very happy with his first Scottish egg.

 The tempura light battered onion rings were half price and we added an order to our dinner order.  The onion rings came with a Thai chili sauce that was a nice change of pace.  Our beers were cold and swiftly refilled by the staff.

My fish and chips were delectable.  The fish was huge and curled up nicely over a pile of thick cut chips.

Fred enjoyed his sirloin with spuds and the mushroom gravy was too die for.

After the appetizers and entrees, you would think we would have sense enough to stop there.....but no, as professional chow hounds, we had to try dessert.  Fred had to have the chocolate mousse...and I was enamored with a red wine poached pear.  Freshly unsweetened whipped cream was the perfect garnish to bring down the intense chocolate.  I will have to try the bread pudding (apple & cranberry)next visit.

Prices were very reasonable, the food was good, the atmosphere while a tad spartan, was warm and comforting because of the friendly staff.  Of course, the Tuesday night trivia game was an added bonus.  We stayed to listen to the questions and had a blast with the trivia host.  Much fun to be had by all present.
To quote Ah-nold, we'll be back.



In a former life time I was known as "Tina, the Tourguide."  Maybe I gained my nickname because of my penchant for telling 'people where to go' or maybe not.   My former employ as a resort front desk manager allowed me to indulge in tasting, trying and then recommending restaurants for our diverse base of guests. It was the favorite part of my job....investigating what was new, what was popular and what would be a good fit for the diner.  I was not compensated then or now for my dining choices, it is purely my personal opinion on finding the best tasting restaurants, value or splurge, family or intimate to recommend to either guests or friends.  That being said, I do have a personal bias to the old St. Pete establishments as a life long resident of a city I love.  I am drawn to visit and review the places that have been re-vitalized into something new from my recollections.

Memories of my father.....Buddy

Another Father's Day rolls around and my dad has been gone for three years...although his heart disease robbed him from me far earlier and more cruelly.  Senile dementia, a cold clinical term for a cruel disease.

"It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was." - Anne Sexton

Most of my life, I felt cherished and adored by my Daddy.  It was always a favorite story to hear my mom tell of my adoption into their lives.  They tried and tried for a baby and it just didn't happen.  Then some of Dad's cronies, a lawyer and a pediatrician, got together and guess what, I found a new home.  Funny birth certificate, you can see where they crossed out the birth mother's name and typed my mom's name over the her name.  I don't have the original, just a microfiche xerox copy.  Things were done differently in 1957.  I was "supposed to be a boy" and I wasn't due until December.  Mom and Dad went out and bought a lot of clothes and fixed up the nursery early.   Good thing, because I arrived in October and turned out to be a girl.  I spent 6 weeks in Mound Park hospital.  I came home wearing a sailor suit that Dad had purchased for his "son."  My mom would tell me the story of him cradling me in his arms in that white suit and the horror on his face when he realized his little girl had soiled his arms.

Daddy had a fascinating life and he would tell me wonderful stories of his young life in St. Petersburg.  His family moved here from Maine very early in his life.  He would graduate from St. Petersburg High School and he always considered St. Pete to be his home.   His mom lived out on John's Pass on the beaches and I still have his letters written to her as a private in the army.   Amazing to think her name and John's Pass Florida was a sufficient enough address for his letters to get to her.  She kept them all.  I have read them and it is a fascinating look at his life through his words.  His words were redacted by censors in some of them, particularly the ones written in his POW months.   I can hear his longing for home and creature comforts, candy and cigarettes, first and foremost.  He was so young and so rebellious. Candy for the boy he longed to be and cigarettes for the man he was becoming before his time.  I have no doubt he became a haunted man in those years away.  He came home gravely ill.  His mom nursed him back to health.  His experiences in POW camp were a constant shadow of pain underneath his jovial flamboyant exterior.  Daddy dressed and lived the life of a bon vivant, hiding his self doubts behind the trappings of a wealthy man.  I often thought of him as a combination of Frank Sinatra, Jackie Gleason and Dean Martin.  He was a sharp dressed man long before and long after it was the style.

We moved a lot when I was young and I can scarcely recall our various homes.  I do have vivid memories of one home on Treasure Island and the other house on the Gulf (his mom's?).  The long stretch of seawall, the pebble backyard and the screened porch with the redwood picnic table.  The shiny slippery terazzo floors and the teal colored kidney shaped bar in the living room.  I can remember sitting on his lap and sharing a bowl of his famous "hangover" cure, watching the waves of the salt water lap against the boat.  Of course, I never knew what ailment Daddy would be suffering from, I was just happy to be sitting on his lap, sharing a spoonful of buttery warm milk toast.  My older sister tells the tale of that summer and how I learned to swim before I could walk.  Out on the boat, Daddy climbed overboard with me cradled in his arms and I started to kick and swim and he let me go in the Gulf.  Mom was ready to kill him for that stunt.  Sherry, my older sister, also remembers all too well the day she was supposed to be watching me and I got hurt. Poor dear, paid for it later with a beating from dad, I'm afraid and it wasn't her fault, but mine.  I was not much more than three and a neighbor boy was jumping from the seawall into the water and then swimming to the dock and he would do it over again.  I decided I should do the same, afterall, I was a swimmer now.   Bad idea.  I fell backwards when I jumped and slammed my head on the concrete wall.   Sherry put me in her bicycle basket and rode her bike home crying and hollering like a wild woman.  I can still remember Daddy again cradling me in his arms and bursting into the ER with those hideous mint green walls.  I can see his face tight with worry and his words of comfort.   Daddy, I love you and I'm wishing you a Happy Father's day.  Thank you for all the love through all those years.  Thank you for the gift of memories shared.  Love you, always.

Daddy's Milk Toast aka Hangover cure

2 thick slices of homemade white bread toasted

butter

salt and pepper

hot milk, just to the scalding point, not boiled/whole milk, no skim

Toast the bread medium dark.

Butter very well.

Tear into chunks.

Sprinkle with lots of black pepper and enough salt to make you happy.

Pour over hot milk.  Soak a minute or two.

Grab a big old soup spoon and eat.

You want to see little dots of butter floating in the milk, then you know you have it just right.

“Good bread is the most fundamentally satisfying of all foods; and good bread with fresh butter, the greatest of feasts.”

James Beard (1903-1985)

Mother's Day Musings

Mother's Day is a bittersweet holiday for me.  I have often felt my life only began when our first child was born and I became a mother.  Tyler arrived far too early and was severely handicapped from birth injury.  Learning to love and care for this precious exceptional child forced this perfectionist-driven and highly impatient person to open her heart to the gift of unconditional love. His life required numerous hospitalizations and hours upon hours of therapy. However, Tyler's compromised health and limited physical abilities never impaired his capacity to love.  His expressive eyes and winsome smile spoke volumes and conveyed his joy of being with his family.

This formerly impatient and often critical woman waited nine and a half years to hear her boy speak. God had granted me patience and had shown me the beauty and inherent grace in imperfections.  Tyler used an augmentative communication device or AAC, programmed for his needs, to pick out phrases and then "voice" them with a press of a button, mounted on his wheel chair head array.  When given a menu of 30 phrases to choose from, he chose "Mom, I love you" as his 'first' spoken words. They were some of the sweetest words I've ever heard.  How I long to hear him again.  I miss him so much.

Of course, by finally giving Tyler a voice, it was another window into the fascinating workings of his mind.  We always appreciated his smile and infectious laugh, but now, he had a voice and could joke.  I'll never forget one time, when Tyler kept saying "Mom" over and over again. It was rather like a scene from Family Guy, with the notable exception that he did not stop at the 45 second mark, but kept up the "Mom" entreaty for 45 minutes.  I kept asking him, "did he need a drink?" Big Tyler grin.  "Do you want out of the wheelchair?" Big Tyler grin.  "Are you hungry?"  Bigger Tyler grin. "Mom. Mom. Mom."  I was getting a little weary of the "moms" by now and told Tyler, "I'm going to take a nap on the  couch and when you can tell me what you want, I'll help you, but not until then!"  I stomped over to the couch and turned my back to him.   As I faced the wall, feeling a bit guilty, I could hear Tyler clicking his way though his dictionary and picking out words slowly but very deliberately.  After ten minutes of scanning and clicking, I hear....."Mom, BIG BUTT" and hysterical laughter.  Yes, Tyler, my love, momma has a big butt.  And my dearest angel, I still do.