I had a boyfriend back home at the time, but it wasn’t like the local prospects were all that tempting. Compared to the American fraternity boys I was used to, who essentially majored in shooting their shot, the postgraduate British men I met struck me as self-serious, awkward, and unsociable. (The Welsh and the Irish were more my speed.) I recall eating dinner at Formal Hall, and a man sitting near me, in an attempt at flirting said, in a posh British accent, “You know, when you think about it, the fork really is the best tool to get food to the mouth.”