food and drink and foraging

High Brow or What






It is no coincidence that food and drink feature highly on my list of first fifties. I adore food (and drink). The weekend before last was the beginning of my collection of food firsts.

Every year Aberfoyle hold a mushroom festival and being close at hand seemed like an opportunity not to be missed for a novice forager like myself. I booked a couple of places on a mushroom foray. The weather has been pretty yuck here but thankfully the rain stopped just in time for us to meet Liz, our guide for the day. She led us under screaming children having fun on the Go Ape slide that operates from David Marshall Lodge. Liz was very knowledgeable about her subject and without being too technical managed to engage an audience of about twenty adults and teenagers. We were given an opportunely to forage for mushrooms and bring them back to Liz for identification. In one small patch we managed to collect a fair haul, most were inedible, some poisonous. There was one log covered in Angels Wings, a white fungi Liz said was edible, so I took a couple of wings to try later.

Next morning I chopped up a small piece of mushroom and fried it in butter. Colin and I both tried some and waited for an effect. When but there was no ill effect I chopped up the rest and put in our chicken gravy. I was not happy when clearing the plates away I found that Colin had left most of his mushroom lying on the plate. Coward.

The next first was a long overdue visit to a Concert, a Canapé and a Cocktail, which plays every Monday at Oran Mor and is a sister event to the much loved Play, Pie and Pint. The concert played by the National Youth Orchestra of Scotland was superb. Unfortunately the canapés were unremarkable and the cocktail had dubious ingredients and little alcohol content.

Not so the last of my firsts this week. On Saturday night we went to dinner at friends’. We were royally treated to champagne, red wine, roast beef with perfect vegetables and a cocktail I have never tasted before. ‘A dirty girl scout’ was served between courses, this is a concoction of three parts Baileys to one part crème de menthe, I think vodka might have been mentioned too. It tasted like peppermint creams and judging by the hangover I had yesterday it was lethal.

Food for Free but no vitamin D

One of my few sunflowers not felled under the weight of August's rain.

Experts said on the radio yesterday that the people of Scotland suffer from a vitamin D deficiency because the sun's rays refuse to shine here. Looking at the weather today I can see their point but there is so much more going for us that we forget to look beyond what the experts tell us.

Last night's full moon could not been seen through the rain clouds, but I knew it was there. I am inclined to call this the Harvest Moon although that technically is not correct; the Harvest Moon is the moon after the first frost and miraculously we haven’t had a frost yet. But harvesting is what I did most of the weekend. The wet summer means the hedgerows are dripping with produce and there is enough for me and the birds. The day was dry and bright on Sunday and Colin and I stepped just outside our door and foraged for sloe berries, rowan berries and brambles. The hawthorn is in abundance too but we had run out of bags when we reached them. I also collected some beechnuts which I intend to roast.

And like last year I collected pounds of plums and damsons from my neighbours’ trees. Yesterday while the rain poured down and the sun refused to gift the Scots with their necessary dose of vitamin D, I spend the afternoon in the warm company of the radio making compote, jam, chutney, wine, sloe gin and rowan berry liqueur. I think we now have more than enough sugar and alcohol in that batch to see us through the wet winter.

I just need to find my own herring stock and then the vitamin D problem will be sorted.



My barrel garden

More firsts

The harvest in the garden has also been a bumper. In keeping with my Fifty First Timers here is a list of all the vegetables and fruit I grew successfully for the first time this year;
Peppers, cucumber, cauliflower, leeks, celery, asparagus pea, red onion, tomatillo and Brussel sprouts. I am also attempting to grow aubergine but as yet they have to bear fruit. Rhubarb, gooseberry and blackberry, have also been planted this year although the birds had the feast of the harvest there. I grew marigolds from seed and used these as a companion plant for the greenhouse plants. It was amazing to watch them being shredded by tiny beasts while the veg plants were left to grew in peace.

If the food prices continue to rise at their present rate I may have to put in even more effort next year to reduce my food air miles and the strain on my budget.

Blisters on feet and hands

Southern Upland Way

My usual lazy Saturday morning was disrupted this week. A 6.15am rise was required to transport me to Wanlockhead in the Scottish Borders to begin a long, long stage of the Southern Upland Way. But because this was a charity walk for CHAS, my moaning was kept to a minimum. Wanlockhead claims to be the highest village in Scotland, and judging from the freezing mist that welcomed me when I left the nice cosy car I realised the this boast was true.

The stage Colin and I did was Wanlockhead to Beattock. The freezing hill fog persisted as we climbed Lowther Hill. This hill has a huge 'golf ball' aircraft tracking station on top, and although I walked within feet of this marvel, I detected only a notion of a globe in the gloom. As the mist sprayed my face and dewed my leggings I realised that this fine moisture was beginning to soak through to my skin. I had no alternative but to don waterproof gear.

The terrain was undulating to say the least, as soon as my legs became accustomed to the climb they were asked to descend. A gentle wee stroll across a dam head was followed by a steep trudge along a switchback ridge. Fifteen miles into the walk I felt the beginnings of a blister. Miles later a visitor's car park sign told me I had only two and a half miles to walk to reach Beattock: it was far from encouraging. This last section was on The Crooked Road and the name says it all! What the sign failed to mention was that the way was peppered by herds of cows lorded over by a massive bull. My blister were forgotten while I manoeuvred past the beast.

After nine and a half hours and twenty plus miles of walking, with over a thousand metres of ascent, I finally peeled off my boots and socks to reveal first degree burns weeping on both ankles. Splendid!

Tibbie Shiels Inn

My reward for this endurance was a night B & B in a local hostelry. The Tibbie Shiels Inn is an old coaching Inn originally run by the widow of a Border mole catcher. The Inn sits on the southern edge of St Mary's Loch, surrounded by rolling heather splashed Border Hills. As I hobbled into the bar and guzzled a pint of the local beer my earlier ordeal began to fade. The menu was uninspiring but I could have eaten a scabby 'dug'. In the end I gobbled up an unremarkable mixed grill before the kitchen closed at the ridiculously early hour of 8pm. The accommodation was a strange mix of antique chairs and white DIY cabinets. 1960s net curtain screened our view of the car park and although the shower worked, a scorching hot bath would have been preferable to the pitiful hot trickle. But the bed was clean and comfortable. A duvet was forgone in favour of a traditional honeycomb blanket and simple hand made quilt.

The owner, a formidable elderly lady with an impeccable white coiffure, took no nonsense from her clients. The Inn's quirkiness was spoiled for me by the sadness I felt. This historic coaching Inn treasure has grown old and tired, but I can imagine that such an operation takes time energy and lots of capital to make it work.


Food for free

The two trees in my neighbours garden drip with jewels, rubies waiting to be plucked. When he invited me to help myself to the ripe plums I jumped at the invitation. A jelly pan full of plump juicy fruit made hardly a dent in the tree's offering. 12lb of fruit was collected in minutes. That is a hell of a lot of stoning. 6lb I tackle right away and soon had a gallon of wine brewing. The rest will be chopped up for jam and chutney tomorrow night; after I have been out to check up on the progress of the sloe bushes in the hedgerow