EATING FOR BRITAIN: ON THE ROAD WITH RHIDIAN

I meet amazing, curious and crazy people as I travel around, but few have been as beguilingly barking as my new chum, Rhidian. I was put in touch with him by Henrietta Lovell, of The Rare Tea Company, who explained that he often took his obsession with food to ridiculous levels. After one short day in his company, I can see what she means, hanging with Rhidian is a dangerous business.

He reminded me of a character from Wallace & Grommit, with unbounded and infectious enthusiasm for everything and everybody, particularly food and food people. His first sage advice was to have a light breakfast at my guesthouse and I soon began to understand why after I met him as planned opposite The Balmoral Hotel on Princes Street and he began to outline his challenging food itinerary for the day.

First up, second breakfast at a small, unassuming café called Embo where, while Rhidian broke open a decent looking wrap, I found room for a large portion of scrambled eggs and local smoked trout on honey bread.

Next up, one of the highlights of the day, indeed one of the highlights of any number of days. Rhidian took me to meet his chum Mark who runs George Bowers, one of Edinburgh’s top game butchers. Rhidian, it transpired knew everyone there well and would often pop in to help in busy times in return for being taught the skills of a master butcher. This shop is the real deal. A huge chill room filled with ageing beef, game birds waiting to be plucked and butchers of years standing, cutting and trimming with uncanny precision. Rhidian had persuaded Mark not only to show me how they made their haggis, but also to allow me to create my own Chieftain O’ The Pudding Race.

In a large steamer, the carcasses of trimmed game were being boiled to make a deep stock whose gamey fumes filled the air. In a pan, Mark mixed this with the classic ingredients for the haggis, heart, lung, liver and fat. He cooked them off for a short while before mincing with fresh onions and then adding the spices (lots of white pepper, I reckon) and pinhead oatmeal and then it was my turn as I was instructed to rinse off the salted ox stomach used for the casing and then, using the sausage machine, to make a haggis of my very own.

Well, despite the laughter from the assembled, gnarly faced old butchers, I thought I did a rather splendid job and was pleased as punch when Mark wrapped my creation up for me and added to it a fresh Scotch pie for extra measure.

After a quick stop at Luca, one of Edinburgh’s most famous ice cream shops, I was surprised when Rhidian slotted his car into a small space in front of what appeared to be a very ordinary looking Chinese restaurant. Rhidian, as I was realising, doesn’t do ordinary and assured me that I was in for a treat. Chop Chop, run by Chinese chef Jian and her English husband, Roy specialises in dumplings from the Northern East regions of China and, under their guidance the staff presented us with plate after plate of juicy, succulent dumplings both boiled and lightly fried. Alongside these came simple yet flavour packed side dishes of green beans and a particularly stunning plate of aubergine in garlic and chilli. Chop Chop already has great reviews in Scotland and recently came second to the famed Manchester restaurant Yang Sing in a major competition sponsored by Tsing Tao.

One can’t help thinking that any broadsheet reviewer willing to eat outside Fulham and head to Morningside, might just be on to a real winner. I can safely say that, if Chop Chop were in London, it would be as busy as Tayyabs. That’s how good it is.

Next stop was one of my organising, a chance to meet with the good people of MacSween’s haggis. Unfortunately, they are a bit iffy about pictures being taken in the factory, so I don’t have anything to show for a fascinating and hugely enjoyable two hour visit with James and Jo MacSween, but what interested myself and Rhidian, who joined me, most was the similarity in enthusiasm between them and Mark at George Bowers. MacSween may be making tonnes more of the things, but their passion for what they are doing was obvious and their generosity likewise as they plied us with goodie bags to take away.

Rhidian had plans to finish me off with not one but two classic Scottish fish suppers. Unfortunately, after the first, at The Cadora Café, just across The Forth Road Bridge, I was spent. Rhidian had beaten me and, despite his cries of “lightweight” the savoury sweat oozing from my brow told me that I should probably call it quits and head to my next guesthouse.

So, after following him back to his house to borrow a cool bag to store my haul for the day, I headed off through the winding unlit lanes of Fife in the direction of the village of Pittenweem, where I would be spending the night mainlining Zantac.

I am already planning a rematch with Rhidian next time he comes to London. The bugger wont know what hit him.

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