European breakfasts in our hotel did not disappoint. Maybe it’s our travel ideology dancing around here but they overachieve in the gluten department—fresh loaves, pastries and croissants on view for our drooling pleasure. The Full English breakfast buffet is quite a display in person—beans, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, and more. We skipped on this but were able to pick out the bacon, bread, veggies and fruit for Ella as she likes at home.
One thing we refused to bend on was touring Old Trafford Stadium. We basically booked our entire trip around this damn tour, just for Ethan, and it was going to happen come hell or high water.
As it happened, it was raining that morning but not flooding.
Regardless of your preference in the sport, so many great players have been in that stadium and played on that pitch. The tour itself has patrons start in the museum, then tour the stadium via a tour guide, and of course everything feeds back to their mega store (insert eye roll; sentiment confirmed by tour guide) for overpriced items wherein the kids will pitch a fit for an oversized T-shirt because they don’t carry much kid gear.
In the museum, we learned of Manchester United’s Munich tragedy of 1958—lost players and crew on a botched plane takeoff. On the tour, we learned of the stadium’s expansions, how they now have 75k seats available, and only about 18k are open tickets. The rest belong to season ticket holders which makes it nearly impossible to see a game as a passerby. Lunch at the stadium restaurant was not planned but a win. Short menu makes it easy to spot fish, chips and mashed peas. Or a burger in Ella’s case.
The light in Ethan’s eyes was all worth it. And honestly I don’t think he was nearly as pumped as we were… to see him pumped. To be 11 years old and have your parents take you to your favorite football team’s actual stadium, on the other side of the world, plus have to confess to friends that it’s for Manchester United??
We had the afternoon to tool around Manchester. The city has distinct areas, nearly each corner has something completely different: the indie/artsy area, the bougie shopping mall, or goth and tattoo shops. Interestingly, lots of Doc Martens throughout. What stood out most? Everyone smells great. I can’t recall a city of such determination on wearing cologne. And not at all the terrible kind, seemingly. And every place we went to played great music—from R&B to post punk (I mean the Smiths are from Manchester) and nearly none of the top charts pop garbage circulating in American grocery stores.
David had dinner set for a particular restaurant that evening but with a heavy lunch we weren’t quite ready to eat at the time set so we canceled and then decided to see if they would let us in a little later. Yeah, no. I mean, bad decisions happen. David had worked out a backup plan which involved walking from the denied restaurant to a Michelin Bib Gourmand tapas place with no reservation. Seems like a winner with two kids in tow, right?
We showed the host no mercy, that we were willing to wait in a cramped three-story galley-style restaurant with tiny tables, even willing to go to the cramped bar and order a couple of drinks, and then get in the way of waiters trying to get by. And it worked. Surprisingly our 30 minutes turned into about 15 or 20 minutes.
It was likely the latest dinner we had on the entire trip but it was FAN FREAKING TASTIC. El Gato Negro did not disappoint.
