The Sacred Art of Eating

Before going to the Opera last weekend (fnar fnar) with-but-not-with my parents, we met up for pre-theatre tea. We tried out Spoon Cafe Bistro (fairly recently moved to the glorious big bright first floor space on the corner of Nicolson Street and Drummond Street). The decor had me absolutely tickled; our table had been embellished with a map of France (D and I had been agreeing only that week that our current flat (unlike 5 Caley Place) has a sore absence of maps); there were random bits of old furniture about the place; gorgeous sweetie-paper-coloured big light shades and so much light flooding in through the lovely old leaded windows. The last time I was in that space it was a rather dull Chinese Buffet. I sincerely hope that Spoon lasts years and years and years- please do check it out, and perhaps one day we shall bump into each other there!

But it wasn’t just beautiful; I am not that fickle. We ordered from the pre-theatre menu (largely because fewer choices makes for easier decisions!) and every single thing we had was a hit. D said he could have happily eaten his starter of ham hock terrine for all three courses. Everyone but me had a roasted onion tart for their main which didn’t look so exciting but which was absolutely scrummy. The boys had an intense (?too intense) dark chocolate tart to finish, whilst Liz and I had Lemon Pots de Crème with langue du chat biccies. These were exquisite (I am running out of superlatives here!) and beautiful.

Okay, so they need to invest in some new napkins (or abandon them altogether) but, seriously, love. Dougal and I were in L’Escargot Bleu’s wee shop a few days later and it was all I could do not to buy half a dozen yaourts just for the pots. All as part of some aspirational attempt to transform myself, my cooking and my photography into that of Cannelle et Vanille. Hey, we can but try, right?

If anyone hadn’t noticed, in September I quit my job to go to university. You know, for a second time. I had two leaving do’s, to allow for maximal food consumption.

For my formal do, the lab all went to the frankly marvellous Calistoga for a Wine Tasting Dinner. We’d opted for a Snazzy tasting (as opposed to the shorter Snappy option- they’ve all been renamed now however) which gave us 75 mins in which to be talked through five wines (and a mystery wine at the end to try and identify!) with canapés along the way, before going on to a three course dinner with coffee. My boss very kindly offered to buy wine for dinner, based on our group’s favourites from the tasting. Luckily for him none of the wines we tasted came in too pricey —although we did all love the mystery wine which retails at £20 (or the bargainous 2 for £25, not sure why I haven’t been back to pick two up!)—and they sell their wines in the restaurant for retail+£5.

Whilst I was a little surprised and disappointed that this included only one round of canapés it was nevertheless great fun and well received by everyone. We discovered that some people really like Shiraz where others do not, that Austin can spot a Zinfandel at twenty yards, and that yes, you can taste the difference in a well chosen bottle of expensive wine. We all also agreed that we’d be happy to pay fifteen or twenty pounds for a bottle of wine (circumstances prevailing) if only we knew it would be nice when we got it home. The biggest fear with spending that kind of money is that you’d get something unpalatable.

Dinner was scrummy too although by the end I had consumed rather too much to really taste my pudding- one of Calistoga’s famous pancake cheesecakes. I was then thrust into the spot light for a speech….I had taken some refreshment at this stage, so I fear was rather rambling. However I am told I said lots of really nice things about the lab, so I came off okay!

After that they indulged me with dancing at the Citrus Club. I was wearing uncharacteristically high heels (enough for Pink Justin to not recognise me ‘that looks like Helen- but Helen’s not that tall’) and had drunk an uncharacteristic amount so danced like no-one was watching and had to be held up at times. It was wonderful and I was ever so touched that one special friend managed not to let slip all evening of her disgust for the place (some months later, in passing conversation ‘and then they decided to go to the Citrus Club, and you know how much I hate that place’) and also that so many of my colleagues stayed out dancing into the wee small hours. 80s tunes for the win!

The following week, on my last day proper, we had a Molecular Genetics Lab Bring-a-Dish Picnic.

It wasn’t a full house as a lot of people were on holiday- hence the early leaving party- but there was still an admirable feast of food. Dougal (on special request) made two types of breadsticks. Dorsy made tablet. Hayley made brie and cranberry filo parcels. Ari made an Italian chickpea and rocket salad. Corinne made chocolate boobs (or perhaps they were nipples). Donna L made frickin amazing banofee pie. Jon made a huge caprese and a massive platter of salami and cured meats. I can’t remember what I made but I can remember that no one cared as much about it as they did that did that D had made bread. Spurned!

And then they gave me presents! I was la bunny le plus happy du monde, to steal a phrase from dear old Harv.

Whilst away on our little Highland tour back in, ahem, June, we ate picnic lunches pretty much every day.

We found the combo of rolls, cherry tomatoes (which were in Greenhouse Season and tasted a-bleedin-mazing), soft goats’ cheese, salad leaves, and big dods of salami cut with a pen knife made for great lunches every day. We also found that any moment on a road trip can be greatly improved by the sharing of an apple.

And lastly, just some snaps of some of the notable food we ate along the way:

Rocpool Restaurant, Inverness

Old Inn, Gairloch (I’ve already shown you the Seafood Stack)

And if apples won’t do it- if your Driver is really down- then Jelly Babies are probably the way forward.

Would you find Dougal and I eating Cream Tea (well, that was Dougal) whilst huddling under an umbrella in the lashing Edinburgh rain. Hey, it was nice when we sat down! The location was Eteaket, one of a number of trendy new ‘tea boutiques’ (tea is the new coffee you know! or is it the new cocktail?) to have sprung up in Edinburgh in the last year.

We’ve never managed to get a table before but then we’ve never accepted one outside before either. The experience was a bit hit and miss though, so I don’t know how much of a hurry I’ll be in to go back. Both our sandwiches (Dougal’s mature cheddar with smoked ham as part of his cream tea, mine a New York Deli Pastrami & Swiss) were on slightly dry bread- like it had been sliced for a while. And we had to wait an absolute age for our teas (a lapsang souchon for Dougal, Ceylon Lovers Leap for me- both delicious!) because of a broken down dishwasher. I realise this is the Fringe, as busy as they’ll ever be, but if your dishwasher breaks down you call in all your off staff and pull out all the stops. A Tea Place that can’t bring tea with food? I wonder if the dry bread related to the dishwasher problem- all sliced in advanced to get staff onto dish washing duty rather than made up at the time.

So the wait for the tea rather took away from the joy at the dainty cups or Dougal’s very pretty afternoon cream tea. There were also tray bakes, a (admiteddly very nice!) scone with thick cream and what tasted like home-made strawberry jam, and a mini cupcake. I got the mini cupcake cos Dougal only as a wee appetite. And the salad with my sandwich had been a bit wee for my liking. More like a rocket and tomato garnish, boo.

And yeah, after a while the rains came on. But it was largely vertical rain and it wasn’t cold out, so we hid under our brollies whilst the girls next to us through the window lol’d. Good Stuff.

Video below, shot by Ednbrg, illustrates some more ‘only in the Fringe’ behaviour….tourists being practically blown away on the Royal Mile whilst watching entertainers that they can barely hear for the howling gales. Still, I love it.

It never fails to bother me that we import so much in the way of prawns and shrimp in this country. Why oh why do we fly prawns in from Madagascar and Indonesia when this is available all round the coast of Scotland (and mostly sold to restaurants in France).

We had this for dinner at The Old Inn whilst on our wee Highland Escape and it tasted as good as it looked.

The squat lobster and langoustines tasted so good we barely touched the aioli, going instead for an au naturel licked off the fingers and washed down with ale flavour instead.

Is one where you are met with the words ‘are you going out again now? Only I’ve done some home baking, and it’s got fresh cream in it….’

I don’t usually go in for reviews, but….if anyone is holidaying in Inverness or thereabouts, Dougal and I would thoroughly recommend An Grianan B&B on Crown Drive. It is gorgeous; clean and modern yet traditionally decorated (as opposed to 20 years out of date ‘traditional’); the owner was lovely; the food (both the cakes and the breakfast the next day) excellent; there were fresh flowers (sweetpeas!) in the room and it was also by far the best value for money B&B of four we stayed in on our recent jaunt round the Highlands. The only thing which would have improved it would have been Fairtrade tea and coffee in the rooms (we were even given a thermos of cold fresh milk to go in our tea!) and perhaps a slightly bigger towel- to add to the air of luxury. It felt like how a B&B ought to be and we both really hope to go back.

When you’ve got up on a Sunday morning and painted a wall of your living room, what do you need for lunch (breakfast in D’s case)? Fried stuff!!

The following Saturday, when you’ve done much the same with a second wall? Head off to the lovely Roseleaf with fab friends and have The Leafer for lunch, a glorious vegetarian cooked breakfast (but for good measure, topped with a slice of black pudding!) with a pint of guest ale Golden Hare (from Bath Ales, how appropriate).

The potato scones in the shot above were made with the previous night’s mustard mash. Sadly the mustard was not discernible in the potato scones, I’d rather hoped it might have been.

I popped down to York this weekend, for a piss-up Reunion of Old Blowers, the alumni society of my old uni band/orchestra, Edinburgh University Wind Band. We had a grand old time, drank a bit too much, worried our parents, that sort of thing.

When in Yorkshire? Eat Yorkshire pudding!

Band had toured to York 11 years ago, and at that time a bander’s parents owned a pub in Rillington, by the name of The Coach and Horses. The night has gone down in history somewhat- I think they ended up having a lock in, and much imbibment took place. So the plan was to revisit this legendary place and perhaps re-enact somewhat. Thankfully this time there was no ‘lying down in the road outside’ and we (mostly!) made it home for 1am, very sedate.  The food was lovely pub grub, and a vast improvment on the appaling, microwaved before our very eyes trash we had at Fiesta Mehicana the night before (shame we hadn’t seen that page!). And to think we could have been at El Piano!