EATING FOR BRITAIN: BURNS AND THE DOGS

Just by the Brig O’ Doon, where across did Tam O’Shanter ride, in the small town of Alloway, home of Robert Burns, there is an imprint in the soil. It is rounded, deep and shows signs of sticky out ears.

It is, in fact, me shaped. A sort of mud angel created when yours truly went arse over tit into the muddy earth on my way back to my charming B&B after a liquid heavy evening to launch the year of Scottish Homecoming. I arrived, well past midnight, with the slurry of the rain sodden earth dripping from me like chocolate oozing from a well made fondant.

Up to that point, however, it had all been rather fun. The disappointment of finding there was no haggis on the menu for the event (not to worry, plenty of haggis yet to come) was soon forgotten as I sipped on a Whisky based cocktail and then found myself entering the stunning dining room of the Brig o’ Doon, house hotel alongside assorted dignitaries and even the Scottish First Minister himself, gathered to celebrate Burns birth with a blow out meal.

In between each course, of a supper based on excellent Scottish ingredients, we were serenaded by well known artists, including the sublime Sandi Thom, giving us their renditions of Burn’s songs. And, while the meal suffered the usual banquet problems of over saucing, the quality of the scallops and langoustines in one dish alone made the journey from London worthwhile.

Here is a quick competition, the evening ended with a toast to Burns made with one of 250 bottles of 37 year old Famous Grouse. Why are the numbers significant?

Waking up groggy headed and still finding mud in improbable places the next morning, I made my way the short hope to Edinburgh, where, after depositing my car at the next B&B, I headed out to find something to eat. A hugely depressing experience as the best Edinburgh had to offer, outside of its Michelin starred elite seemed to be grubby shops selling, pizzas, kebabs and, for some bizarre reason baguettes. I bought a bottle of wine and some fruit and retired to my room to catch up on my writing.

A solid rib sticker of a breakfast made me feel more sanguine about the whole thing and I decided to make an assault up Arthur’s seat, to make room for lunch. It had been nearly 25 years since I set foot in the city as a fresh faced, idealistic student appearing in a play on The Edinburgh Fringe. It and I were appalling, but my concerns that someone might recognise me and ride me out of town on a rail for crimes against theatre were unfounded and I soon found it time to meet my new chum, Martha Bryce, at her choice of lunch venue, The Dogs.

In a city seemingly filled with poor budget eating options, The Dogs stands out. In fact, The Dogs would stand out in any city and every city, no every neighbourhood, should have a place like it. It is a dining room in the true sense. Well made food in small, sharing portions made from good ingredients with no dish over £5.25. If HP had been with me, I suspect we would have ordered the lot.

As it was, both Martha and I began with soup. My disappointment that the Cullen Skink had run out moments before was short lived when we were both presented with bowls of steaming Scotch Broth. This is the sort of soup my granny used to make with a deep stock offering up a few scraps of meat and lots of swollen pearl barley and a few carrots. Nutritious and nourishing, the sort of dish I was hoping to find on my journey. Like wise a special of Ox Liver with onions, which, gave up pink chunks of offal and slivers of sweet red onion in a sharp sauce. It was spot on, as was Martha’s own choice of haddock coated in crunchy pinhead oatmeal, with only the silly fat, unpeeled chips adding a duff note.

I have a feeling that my experiences in Scotland so far will prove to be common as I travel around the whole of the UK. Incredible ingredients balanced by lots of crappy places selling crappy food and some real gems to be unearthed by happenstance or local guideance.

I wonder if I should change to book title to EATING FOR BRITAIN:THERE’S SOME GREAT FOOD OUT THERE IF YOU TRY HARD ENOUGH

BURNS NIGHT: LIKE AMBER BEAD

By birth I am Scottish. Along with the obvious advantages this bestows (good looks, intelligence, generosity) there are one or three disadvantages. The love of Bagpipe music being one. Using the word Sassenach too many times in polite conversation is another. There’s also the little-known problem which afflicts those of Caledonian origin: they must keep up a regular intake of Haggis to maintain peak physical and mental health.

The result is that by the time Burns Night arrives one is literally sick to the stomach of the stuff. Actually, that’s not quite true, I love the stuff. It’s just the embarrassment of having staff at my local Waitrose greet me with a cheery “Hola Hermano, we have your Haggis waiting for you at checkout three”.

As I’ve already done the trad thing courtesy of HS I thought this Burns Night I’d play with the form a bit – it’s my birthright. The Haggis was broken up into pieces and whizzed together with an egg and some spices: turmeric, coriander, chilli powder and the like. I then moulded the resultant mixture into small patties (or shami kebabs) just a bit bigger than a falafel. These were then baked in a moderate oven until cooked through and nicely browned on the outside. Neeps were mashed and mixed with cumin seeds and olive oil. There was a little Mint Raita on the side.

For an impromptu supper it wasn’t too shabby although what really made it special was the accompanying drink, John Glaser’s impeccable Peat Monster Whisky (see Dos Hermanos passim). Monstrously good in my humble opinion.

For pudding a little Chocolate pot made from a water-based ganache with a little Whisky and some Orange zest mixed in…

…and another wee dram as a nightcap

Sláinte !

HAGGIS: FEELING THE BURNS NIGHT

Friday sees the official start of my EATING FOR BRITAIN trip.

In the early morning, I shall throw a few things in the back of my recently purchased, battered old Ford Focus and point it Northwards to Scotland where for the next eight months I shall be travelling in search of some of the finest that this beautiful country of ours has to offer.

What better way to begin, given that 2009 marks the 250th anniversary of Robert Burns birth, than to head up to Alloway, his home town and accept the kind offer to attend a large, traditional Burns Night, celebration. There will, of course, be the wailing of pipers, the intoning of the immortal words over the “wee timorous beastie” and, possibly even some men in kilts offering me the chance to see their dirks, ahem.

We wont be alone, however, as on the day itself, the 25th January, over 1500 official Burns Suppers have been registered around the world with many more going on in the homes of teary eyed ex-pats.

By way of preparation, last night I cooked up a small little example of lung, hearts, liver, oats, barley and spices in a stomach, from the finest of all makers of Haggis, MacSweens and served it with a traditional side of mashed turnips and slightly less conventional additions of mashed sweet potatoes and a thick parsley sauce.

There are lots of ways of cooking a haggis, but I went for the quick method of using the microwave, which may seem controversial, but is in fact a tradition that goes way back to the mid 1960’s where it was invented by the feared Clan McWhirlpool.

To make sure it did not dry out, I doused the meat with a good glug of whisky while cooking and, of course, made sure to do the same as I was eating it.

My journey is going to bring me, I am sure, into contact with some amazing food and some equally amazing people, but there could be few better ways to begin than to pay homage to this little creature from North of the border