When I packed my bags for my study abroad adventure in London, I prepared for many things: the rain, the accents, the endless cups of tea. What I didn’t anticipate was developing an entirely new relationship with my sweet tooth. Three months into my London experience, and I’ve become a completely different dessert connoisseur than the person who first stepped off that plane at Heathrow.
They tell you that studying abroad will immerse you in a new culture, but nobody mentions that this immersion might primarily happen in the bakery section. While my professors expected me to absorb British literature and history, I’ve been busy absorbing scones, Victoria sponge cakes, and enough Cadbury chocolate to build a small chocolate castle. In America, I was the friend who would politely decline dessert. “Just a coffee for me, thanks.” Now? I’m plotting my day around which bakery I’ll visit between classes. This isn’t just cultural adaptation; this is a full-blown pastry revolution.
Strawberry Cream Croissant from Donutelier
Last Tuesday provided the perfect example of my transformation. There I was in Tesco (a grocery store that I’ve now visited more frequently than my university library), standing transfixed in front of the candy aisle. The sheer variety was overwhelming – Maltesers, Jelly Babies, Wine Gums, Percy Pigs – treasures we simply don’t have in the States. I must have been standing there for a solid five minutes when I realized I wasn’t alone in my sugar-induced trance. A woman about my mother’s age was equally mesmerized by the selection, muttering something about “just popping in for milk.”
Our eyes met in a moment of pure confectionery connection. Without missing a beat, we both burst into laughter. “They’re just better here, aren’t they?” she said with a knowing smile. “I came to study business, but I’m getting a degree in the business of chocolate,” I confessed. She proceeded to give me an impromptu masterclass on British sweets, introducing me to Hobnobs (life-changing) and warning me about the divisive nature of Marmite (which, while not a sweet, apparently inspires the same religious devotion among Brits).
My academic schedule has now mysteriously aligned with London’s premier dessert destinations. It’s purely coincidental that my economics class lets out just as Crumbs & Doilies in Soho opens (their cookie dough cupcake has taught me more about perfection than any philosophy class ever could). For serious study sessions, I’ve discovered Peggy Porschen in Belgravia, where the pink façade and flower arrangements are almost as impressive as their lemon drizzle cake. Yes, it’s slightly pretentious and definitely Instagram-bait, but one bite of their chocolate layer cake makes all academic stress temporarily dissolve. For budget-friendly options (because let’s face it, study abroad isn’t cheap), Greggs’ vanilla slices have fueled many late-night essay writing marathons. At £1.50, they’re practically academic financial aid.
What they don’t tell you in orientation is that understanding a country’s desserts gives you insight into its soul. The precisely measured British afternoon tea service? A window into cultural restraint. The indulgent, excessive sticky toffee pudding? Evidence of the underlying hedonism beneath that proper exterior. I’ve learned that “pudding” doesn’t mean pudding, that a “biscuit” is a cookie, and that scones with clotted cream and jam are worth every penny of my rapidly dwindling student budget.
As my semester abroad nears its end, I’ve accepted that I’ll be returning home with slightly tighter jeans and a significantly expanded palate. My suitcase will be mysteriously filled with Cadbury bars and McVitie’s Digestives rather than souvenirs. They say studying abroad changes you. In my case, it’s changed my blood sugar levels – and I wouldn’t have it any other way.