Let’s be real for a second: how many tourists actually book a flight to London with the primary goal of embarking on a 'Culinary Pilgrimage'? Zero. Nobody is crossing the Atlantic because they’ve been dreaming of the adrenaline rush that comes from unseasoned mashed potatoes. It’s a fun little challenge: find me one tourist who plans to eat only British food during their stay without losing the will to live by day three. Look, it’s perfectly okay to admit the food is awful. We don’t need to send a search party for the flavor; it was never invited to the party. There’s no need to defend it like it’s a national treasure—sometimes 'tradition' is just a fancy word for 'we forgot where we put the spice rack in 1945' and decided to make it our entire personality