London, Part 6 (the thrilling conclusion)

Eventually, I came to discover that the “authentically Cambridge experience” would be something called “formal hall.” Of course, I had no idea what that was, but the event got more intriguing the more I learned.

To start with, we went to a wine store to pick up a couple of bottles. The “formal hall” was a dinner, but according to Justin, the included wine is not very good, so everybody just brings their own. Made sense. But wine instead of something like beer?

Well, it turns out that the dinner was actually a multi-course affair, replete with servers and lots of forks. A pub lunch, it was not. Yes, quite formal.

The word “formal” really means “formal.” Everybody at the dinner was dressed up. The men wore suits, the women wore dresses, and gowns for everybody (similar to those seen at American graduations, but of a higher quality) were de rigueur. But what sort of people would wear such things to dinner?

The students, it would seem. About 100 of them. Before the meal, Justin described the event as something out of a Harry Potter movie. I must admit, there were striking similarities.

The event bore a resemblance to a certain scene from the movie. All of the students were seated at two long tables, 50 at each. The tables were within a large room with high ceilings, ornate woodwork, and multiple stately paintings. The event was lit not but by candlelight.

I learned these things bit by bit as the time for the dinner drew near, and yet when I entered the hall and the dinner began, I was still wholly unprepared. Everything seemed at once formal and casual, medieval and modern. The first course was goat cheese with crispy pancetta and roasted bell peppers. The main course was roast topside of beef with chateau potatoes and leek mornay. Dessert was slightly less exotic: baked Alaska. The food was by far the best I had in Britain. In fact, it was good — full stop. And oh, how the wine flowed!

It turns out that many of the students use the dinner as an excuse for getting sozzled. I learned a new game, pennying, which was a sport of gratuitous imbibing. Still, even as we quaffed libations, the dinner maintained an air of polished refinement. Good manners prevailed, and people remained cultured in their actions even as the volume rose.

I fear that I’ve made the experience sound stuck-up; that was hardly the case. It was really a jovial time. Justin pointed out, quite astutely, that nobody would attend the formal halls if they were stiff and somber.

You know what it was? It was a bunch of kids who got dressed up and participated in a grown-up activity without forgetting their youthful outlook on life.

From the dinner, we proceeded to a pub, The Anchor, with a group of Justin’s friends. The ale flowed (at room temperature!), the fire in the hearth crackled, and the conversation buzzed.

It was a fun night.



It was a fun trip.