Monogamous Blogging?

First, an apology; I've been rather cheating on reads of this blog. I've been having a torrid & passionate affair with the Guardian Word of Mouth food blog comments page. Pushing this metaphor, possibly far too far, I have my recently consummated my marriage to Slow Food and 'birthed' a beautiful baby website, my first of which we're all very proud. So you may well be asking yourself, if I have a loving partner in Slow Food, a tasty bit on the side with Word of Mouth, what does that make O&EI? Some kind of bastard child, abandoned when it is inconvenient? Far from it: I admit I was away too long recently, but I did build slowfoodlinlithgow.co.uk from scratch, including writing much of the content, while my Word of Mouth comments (I'm worststripineurope if you're curious, a reference to Partick Thistle, my other, other great passion & revealing that I originally signed up to the Guardian to rant about sport) will serve as inspiration, not replacements for posts here.

All this rather whimsical description of how my foodie writing energies are absorbed got me to thinking; what in the world of food really gets me going? So I'm aiming to write a few posts on some of my favourite foods, causes that get me going and ire inducing pet hates.

I hope you enjoy them & would love to hear some of yours.

Greenhouse Dreams

When I was 6 years old, I wanted nothing more in the world than the Transformer 'Ultra Magnus'.

He transformed from a car transporter into an Autobot with a HUGE missile launcher on his arm. He combined to with Optimus Prime to form he quite ridiculous looking 'Omega Prime'; he was the coolest thing I had ever seen and I believe I wrote a dozen letters to Santa Claus (some detailing multiple stores from which he was available) begging for his presence in my stocking. Needless to say, I have sympathetic parents, so 'Ultra' was there come Christmas morning. Unfortunately, the very same day, Santa also delivered up to my sister the Fisher Price Little Tike Kitchen. It was entirely rendered in red & yellow plastic, it had an oven with a light-bulb, a two 'rings', a fridge & an array of plastic food (I now wonder if this was preparation for modern processed food). I was immediately smitten; out of politeness (and the fact that my sister hit me with a spatula any time I got near it) I left the kitchen set alone. I played with Ultra Magnus, smashing him into other Transformers, Decepticon & Autobot alike. I tried to turn him back into a transporter & failed (it is a universal truth that almost no Transformer toy is ever played with as a robot or a car, its just to much effort when you could be smashing it into something, so they exist in a constant 'phase' state, something the recent Michael Bay moves captured quite well), but it was clear to everyone that my heart wasn't really in it. My heart now belonged to that Little Tike Kitchen. For the first time in my life I had gotten exactly what I wanted, then immediately discovered something I wanted more.

What, you may entirely reasonably ask, has this got to do with greenhouses? Well, I never did get my own Little Tike Kitchen (I did ask, on both my birthday & the following Christmas), but Sarah eventually stopped hitting me with a spatula so I played with it a lot and my love affair had begun in earnest. Over the years I have lusted after many pieces of kitchen paraphernalia & mainly I've managed to acquire them, but one thing had always eluded me, a vegetable patch. My dad has always grown veg, starting with potatoes behind the garage & now culminating in four immaculate raised beds biggerthan my first flat.

I didn't crave anything so grand, but when I we moved to our beautiful cottage almost 3 years ago I was agog at the space I had to craft the veg plot of my dreams. We sectioned it for all our favourites; potatoes, onions, carrots, purple

sprouting broccoli, French beans and a couple of others just for fun. It backed onto our chicken run & was bordered down one side by established apple trees we had inherited. To call it perfect would do it an injustice... then my dad got a greenhouse.

It was Christmas morning 1987 all over again. My veg patch was beautiful, contained everything I ever wanted to pull out of the ground & say 'I did that!' and of a sudden it was a second class citizen in my heart. My father had, in fairness, acquired the Rolls Royce of greenhouses an 8x6 Rhino Premier. He was producing tomatoes in what seemed like seconds, chillies that exploded in your mouth, salads in November... growing corn, corn in Scotland for God sake! Fortunately, I'm not six anymore, my only income is no longer £1 a week pocket money. This time the Little Tike kitchen would be mine, so to speak.

Enquires were made, a 12x10 greenhouse was found second hand; get in! My Dad's might be fancier, but mine was bigger (which is a sentence you want to use carefully). Despite it complexities, I must say that dismantling it, then reassembling it back at the cottage was one of the most enjoyable couple of days of the year. It was like being let loose on the biggest Meccano set you'd ever seen with the added tension of handling really very thin glass which might explode at any moment.

I discuss all this because I have recently had to replant my greenhouse following a minor weed-killer/fertiliser mix-up. I have in the last month had the sheer audacity to replant herbs, salad leaves, peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, beans, aubergines & courgettes in August, in Scotland. At a time when my veg patch is winding to a conclusion, giving up it's last as autumn closes in, the greenhouse is bursting forth with new life. Thanks to a paraffin heater, I'm tolerably confident that I'll get rocket & lettuce all through the winter.

In short, my modern day Little Tike Kitchen is everything I dreamed it would be and more. I still enjoy my veg patch, much as I enjoyed good ol' Ultra Magnus, but there is only one place I run to in the morning to see what has happened overnight!

The Joy of Beer Gardens & Hedges

One of the great pleasures of where we live is the long walk home from the centre of town. It's not often you can say that, but the long, looping route around the loch is fairly spectacular; the view of the palace, the swans, the sail boats and at this time of year, most gloriously, the hedges! Don't get me wrong, the rest of the year they are both pretty and practical, but only now, for 4 or 5 weeks in August & September are they feasts of riotously coloured berries.

Last night I walked Christina home from work with Elspeth in the pram. Given that one of the most pleasant places on Earth is quiet beer garden on a warm summer evening, we stopped in at The Swan for pint. The Swan is surely the most under-realised spot in Linlithgow. It has a wonderful walled space (I hesitate to call it a garden given the complete absence of plants) with a couple of sturdy tables, which acts as a afternoon sun trap, completely protected from the wind and with a gate that brings you out 30 yards from the loch. Unfortunately inside it has all the worst aspects of the Scottish 'old man' pub. Noisy fruit machine; check. Multiple televisions showing horse racing; check. Walls covered in brewery tat old & new; check (I should say that I like an old brewery liveried mirror in a bar, it's a nice focal point, I just don't like a dozen of them, you feel like you are in an alcoholic hall of mirrors). Solitary, bored looking member of staff; check. Food limited to bar snacks available in packets; check, with the bonus factor of proudly stocking Double D nuts, those ridiculous cardboard sheets where every time you sell a packet, more of scantily clad lady is revealed (in this really a draw anymore?).

Often the only saving grace of such places is a decent pint and here you are only half disappointed; The Swan sells Sam Smith's Cider and their Dark & Mild. Both are excellent, but if you are in the mood for a lager or a heavier beer then you are out of luck since its either bottles of the standard fizzy stuff or Belhaven Best & Tennent's (Scotland's other shame) on draught. So we grabbed a couple of pints of cider and had a thoroughly enjoyable 45 minutes hanging out in the sunshine. The drawback of this was that we were getting dangerously close to Elspeth's dinnertime and on the walk home, it was the hedges who came to our rescue.

"Are you sure those are ripe?"

The brambles are getting tantalisingly close to full fruit. There are a few that have fully ripened, looking like little collections of glistening, purple bubbles. When you see a bramble like that it easy to understand why purple is considered a royal colour by so many cultures; it screams richness, wealth & desirousness. Frankly not picking them seems like a non option, but a special picking trip will be made for these in a couple of weeks, right now most still have a pinkish blush, hinting at the goodness to come.

What is perfect right now are the wild raspberries. They are less plentiful than the brambles, but what a joy they are. Less brightly coloured & smaller than their commercial cousins, they hide amongst the reeds along the water's edge, making picking them an adventure. What makes it all worthwhile is the burst of fruity sweetness and grin on my daughter's face as she tucks in to an unexpected pre dinner snack.

"Linlithgow Loch's finest produce gets the ultimate taste taste"

A Journey Back in Time in Bo'ness: The Richmond Park Grill

Last week, the wife, daughter & I had a curious day out in Bo'ness. We spent much of the day in the 50's and the rest of the day in the 80's. I'll let you guess which was the more satisfying.

Let us start in the 50's, which is surely the last time that such a homely little cinema as the one in Bo'ness last opened. The Hippodrome reopened at the beginning of the summer having been closed for around 40 years. It is wonderful, with a proper balcony, great interior & little old ladies running a concession stand. The parent & baby screenings, where the lights aren't dropped all the way, the sound is a little quieter and no one looks askance if your baby cries are inspired creations, even if the new Harry Potter isn't.

The fifties feel continued when we wandered out into sunny afternoon and stumbled almost straight into a family butchers, Thomas Burns & Son, who was able to give us a cracking ham hock (see the pea & ham hock soup recipe) and some very decent smoked bacon. Sadly my search for pork mince from local butcher continues. They all offer to have some for tomorrow, but come on, you have diced neck right there, would it kill you to take it through the back and mince it for me? Frankly, if you can't, then you aren't a real butcher.

Having had such a great day, we decided to stick around for lunch, at which point it all went a bit 80's. Certainly that's the last time I was in unfamiliar town and couldn't find anywhere to eat. I only got one hit for a restaurant (in a town of 15,000 people) when I searched online, but hey the restaurant's site looked good so we walked up the hill to the Riverview. Unfortunately, we had missed the tiny mention that the restaurant is closed Monday & Tuesday. Despairing of finding lunch, we made for home & Linlithgow, but on the way out of town, we encountered the the Richmond Park Hotel & its astonishingly large banner proclaiming lunch until 2.30pm.

We huzzah'd and headed for the entrance... we thought. The door to the bar, where the banner said lunch was served, was locked. We looked around & saw the door to the Grill, our mistake we thought and headed on over... also locked. We were on the verge of giving up when a member of staff pulled up in his car & directed us to a gap between two wooden hoardings covering building work. This was the entrance to the hotel proper, completely unmarked and unseen from the road. On entering, a builder directed us to a very empty conservatory where lunch was being served to two other couples. Had we had any other real options we would have given up and left, but we stayed and boy was it eye opening.

Drinks arrived quickly from one of the two waitresses who seemed to disappear for hours at a time any time they needed to deliver or collect an order: it was the last thing that would happen quickly. The three menus we collected for ourselves. Each claimed completely different things about what was available & when. In the end, we just asked if the burgers were available, our waitress wasn't sure (I don't blame her, it stated categorically on the bar menu that they weren't available until 5pm), but her colleague assured us that they were. We ordered two with bacon & cheese and a side order of fries. I went in search of the toilet & on the way back found a collection of highchairs, which hadn't been offered for our 1 year old daughter, I grabbed one & headed back to our table. I'm glad we had food for Elspeth, because her rice crackers gave us something to snack on. Fully 40 minutes after we ordered our burgers arrived. We'll I'm in the odd position of criticizing food that didn't taste too bad for what it was. The burger was bought in, but not bad, but it was covered in so much coloured cheddar that it had spilled out to cover much of my plate and I needed to fold it back into the bun. The bacon, lettuce & onion was crisp, but the tomato was cut into slabs almost as thick as the burger & the bun disintegrated half way through. The whole thing arrived on a little side plate with no side salad or attempt at presentation. The fries were again bought in, but nice & crisp; unfortunately they were getting a little cold by the time that the salt & ketchup arrived ten minutes after our food. This was where my 80's flashback fully coalesced; I was eating in a Wimpey burger! Not sure if it is fast food or a restaurant, table service or order at the bar, real plates, but no attempt at further presentation.

All in all, the Richmond Park Grill is hugely confused & confusing. It seems to be the only game in town at least two days a week, it has someone who can assemble a half decent burger (not good, but not awful) and it really reasonably priced, yet it has no business. Presumably locals are as unsure of where they will get something to eat as we were. As I've recommended to many places before, pick a couple of dishes & make them really good. Simplify your menus (making sure you know which one to order off of would be a start), beef up the presence online, perhaps drop some flyers at the swish new cinema, put up a sign that says 'Entrance' and I imagine that you'll see a few more customers. I'll be back at the Hippodrome, but not necessarily back at the Richmond Park, I'd rather wait until they caught up the rest of the world.

Celery Soup

I don't know about you, but I'm not a huge fan of celery. Raw it supposedly has 'negative calories' taking more calories to consume than it provides, unfortunately it is also tough, fibrous and relatively taste free. When cooked, it often just filler, providing nothing more than bulk to dishes that work quite happily without it. This is one of the few dishes which concentrates the flavour of the celery and allows it stand alone.

To Serve 4 generously.

Soup

Hearty splash of olive oil

4 Garlic Cloves, crushed

2 Red Onions , roughly chopped
600g Celery (approx. 2 heads), roughly chopped
750ml Hot Chicken Stock

Ground Salt & Pepper

In a large saucepan or stockpot, heat the oil over a low heat, add the garlic, onion & celery, then cook for about five minutes, until the celery softens, stirring to prevent it colouring. Add the chicken stock, bring to the boil and allow to simmer for 10-12 minutes. Use a wand or transfer the soup to a blender and liquidise. Return the soup the pot, bring back to the boil and season to your taste. At this point your soup is ready to eat, but if you want something a little more refined and more visually appealing, you can do the following;

Finish

4 tbsp of Sour Cream

4 tbsp Walnuts, quartered

Lightly fry the walnuts in butter (until they are just going brown), pour the soup into a bowl, top with walnuts & drizzle with sour cream.

Thanks to the Grow Wild Organic Box Scheme for repeatedly forcing me to come up with something to do with celery and to my wife for putting up with my numerous poor attempts to do something interesting with it.

Pea & Ham Hock Soup

The ham hock is a brilliant cut of meat for soups because it is packed with flavour, cheap as chips and the longer you cook it the better it gets (it one of those borderline indestructible cuts). It's best thought of as an extreme shank; lots of fat skin, tendon & bone. That said, it does have some glorious little nuggets of meat that can be stripped out and they form an important part of this recipe.

The whole thing is divided into 3 steps; stock, soup & finish. The finish is entirely optional, but adds a nice polish if you are having people over.

To serve 8 generously.

Stock
1 Onion, cut in half
1 Carrot, cut in half
1 Celery stick, cut in half
1 Leek (white part only), cut in half
2 Garlic cloves, crushed
1 Bay leaf
4-6 sprigs of thyme & mint
4 Black peppercorns

1 Ham hock
2.5 Litres water

Good splash of Worcestershire sauce.

Whack all your ingredients into your stockpot or a large heavy saucepan and bring to the boil over a medium heat. At this point skim any scum from the surface, reduce the heat and simmer gently, uncovered, for two hours. You'll need to skim the surface every half hour or so to get a nice clear, unfatty stock. After two hours take it off the heat & leave it to cool. Once it has cooled, remove the ham hock and put it to one side, pour the stock through a fine sieve into a large bowl. Pick out the bay leaf & use a pestle or spoon to mash the now very soft veg through into the stock. Your stock is now complete & you can freeze it as is, use a portion to make gravy or just continue on the soup below.

Soup
50g Butter
200g Shallots, sliced
75g Pancetta or streaky bacon, chopped
1 Garlic clove, crushed
500g Frozen peas or dried peas which have been soaked and blanched
Ground salt & pepper

After a quick rinse, melt the butter in the same pan you used for the stock, add the sliced shallots, pancetta and garlic. Sweat for 10-15 minutes until the shallots are tender, stirring regularly to stop them colouring. Add the stock, bring it to the boil and remove any scum from the top. Add the peas and return to the boil until the peas are just cooked. Remove from the heat and either use a wand or a couple of batches in the liquidizer. Strip the meat from the hock, discarding the skin, fat, bones & tendons, leaving you with just the flaky meat; add this to soup. Bring back to the boil, taste and correct the seasoning. If the soup is too thick, add a little water until the desired consistency is achieved. As I said above you can serve it at this point, but for a luxurious touch, see below.

Finishing Touch (amounts per person)
1/2 rasher of smoked bacon, cut into lardons (1cm dice)
30g frozen peas

Fry the smoked bacon cubes in a hot pan until crisp. Cook the frozen peas in boiling salted water until tender, then drain. Pop the peas in the bottom of each bowl, pour the soup on top, then scatter over the bacon and drizzle over a little of the bacon fat from the pan.

I'd like to give credit to Heston Blumenthal for the bones of the recipe and the quantities which should serve 6-8 people, my father for inspiring me too play with it with his far more rustic version and my wife for trying the multiple versions as I experimented and de-Hestoned it a bit (I just don't have enough pans).