sense of place

Camp Cooking

Campfires are just brilliant. Very little beats sitting round a fire chatting, passing round beers and just watching the flames flicker. 

I love The Future is Unwritten, the recent Julien Temple film about Joe Strummer and the way he put campfires as the central theme of the film as a tribute to Joe's advocacy of them as an art form to rival his music:

"For Joe Strummer, the idea of a “campfire” - any loose assembly of people bonded by the rising flames and the advancing dawn - became an art form in itself. The campfire was the melting pot, the wisdom stone, the HolyGrail; the essential outdoor forum for constantly evolving ideas and conversations. First perfected backstage at Glastonbury Festival - where the nightly assembly was first dubbed ‘Strummerville‘ - Joe took his campfires, and his circle of friendships and voices, all around the world, and finally back home to Somerset, where a Stone Circle now commemorates the campfire" (Julien Temple interviewed by Craig Erpelding).

So almost the very first thing on our list of 'things to do when we finally move house' is to find the right spot in the woods for a fire area, cut some logs for seating, make a fire area, get some friends around and start passing the beers. And now we have all the tools we need for a full on campfire eating experience as well. Mrs sense of place came up with the perfect birthday gift in the form of a Danish mobile bonfire kitchen complete with tripod, hanging cook pot, bbq pan, long handle tools, fireproof gloves and the chains to hang it all from. I'm particularly taken with the 1.3m handled pancake pan. Campfire pancakes. Thanks Jacky.

The makers have thoughtfully provided a little youtube snippet to get potential buyers in the camp cooking mood. Personally I didn't find that the chosen soundtrack got me in the mood quite as much as say Revolution Rock by The Clash might have done. And clearly in Denmark they have a more tolerant attitude to people wandering down the local park to start a fire whilst patiently waiting for the current benchsitters to vacate it and free up a handy supply of firewood.  But anyway. Its still encouragement to follow Strummer's rallying cry and keep perfecting the fire as art form.

Cookschool

Mrs Sense of Place very thoughtfully bought me the gift of a days cookery lesson at the Martin Wishart Cook School in Leith. Obviously I managed to completely fail to undertake this prior to our departure from Edinburgh. So we went back for the weekend. The course was great. It was a small class of 8 people led by one of the senior chefs from the MW restaurant (in this case a guy called Ryan who harbours medium term ambitions to open his own place back in Cumbria). The format is to each cook a 3 course meal spread throughout the day. Eating each course as it gets completed. The menu was wood pigeon, beetroot and black pudding salad, sole murat and fig tarte tatin. All of which were great to cook and great to eat. And deserve repeating at some stage cooking at home. The highlights were in the details. Learning all the little tricks that  make the food 'restauranty' rather than 'homey.' In no particular order the memorable bits include: clever tricks for slow cooking beetroot and ending up with consistent salady shapes; experimenting with using their convection hobs which I wasn't sure about but turned out to be great; successfully filleting both a wood pigeon and a dover sole after initial nervousness induced by being accused of 'mishmashing that mackerel' on the last course I did; a cunning way of cooking little onions; being reminded that good stock can create good food; caramelising figs for a yummy tatin. A good day. And a very good present. Thanks Jackyx

From nature to plate

A foodie few days in the lovely Edinburgh. The primary reason for the visit was to take part in a cookery class (on which more here). But whilst there we treated ourselves to a meal at Tom Kitchin's place at Commercial Key in Leith. The list of world class restaurants I would like to eat in is a long one. But my top 5 (on this continent at any rate) are characterised by either being at the cutting edge of innovation, creativity and sheer joyful exuberance (The Fat Duck and El Bulli). Or their obsession with local ingredients and an attempt to express a sense of the locality they inhabit through the food they create. In this last list I'd include Noma, Bras and The Kitchin. So I can now tick off one of the five.

The restaurant's motto is 'from nature to plate,' expressing his committment to simple, fresh seasonal ingredients. His cook book is subtitled 'seasonal recipes' and structured to provide a collection of recipes reflecting the finest ingredients from each of the four seasons.

"My cooking in winter is, as always, a reflection of the seasion. The dishes are naturally heavier, the sauces darker, and I especially enjoy experimenting with new game dishes. Nowadays we can get hold of most types of produce at any time of year, but I like to maintain the classic procedures and techniques and base my cooking around seasonal produce. In winter, as at other times of the year, local seasonal ingredients are best, as the foods have a natural affinity" (p207)

This passion for the local and the seasonal is reflected in a committment to a wide array of suppliers and foragers dotted throughout Scotland. His book finds its best stride when he goes beyond his biographical descriptions (many of them interesting but fairly standard career journey for for a well regarded chef) into anecdotes about suppliers and sources of ingredients. There is a real sense of his nurturing a dispersed community of equally committed foodies and enjoying the search for fine ingredients as much as the conversion of them into edible surprises.

If I have a criticism of the restaurant experience (and it is a very minor one) it is of the failure to capture much of the character of place or locality inside the restaurant itself. Yes its in a lovely old warehouse in lovely old Leith the loveliest and most characterful part of the lovely and characterful City of Edinburgh. But inside its identikit 'smart restaurant.' Its an interior that could be anywhere. In fairness to them a) you could make exactly the same complaint of many other restaurants (eg the nearby Wisharts), b) you could equally complain about other Edinburgh institutions which turn Scottishness into parody (eg Witchery) and c) they proudly admit that "we had limited funds and had to spend most of our budget on buying the right stove and fittings for the kitchen" (p.25). So its 'smart restaurant' without elaborate ponciness, which works for me. I should also say that on subsequently reading the cookbook it refers on a number of occasions to a glass wall that connects the restaurant to the kitchen. I completely failed to notice this. And such a connection between diner and chef would give just the sort of character and locality I'm refering to. 

Anyway. Its the edible surprises that were important. Simplicity and just letting the vibrant, tasty ingredients speak for themselves is the philosophy. No foams, essences or over inventiveness with the dishes. Just some great combinations of ingredients. 

We had the tasting menu. Which they call the "Chef's Land and Sea Surprise." Surprise is a questionable requirement for the dining experience. And can go either way frankly. In this instance it seems to be a shorthand for 'the chef will combine things from land and sea in ways you probably wouldn't consider yourself to create something quite delightful and tasty'. Which is what he'd done.

The sea arrived first. A fish consomme with eel, ginger and chilli. Which was really just very fishy. In a good way. A wintry, pondy stew delivered in a light liquidy form. I'm not sure I'd want loads of it and it was walking a tightrope between being too richly pungent (I definitely got more fish than chilli or ginger) and a sort of cocky statement of intent for the rest of the meal.

And perhaps it knew the next course was coming. A tartare of line caught mackerel from Eyemouth with apple and raw beetroot from the Isle of Arran felt like a taste of summer following the wintry start. A bright blue skied day after november rain. Fresh. With a good sea breeze behind it.

Then we had spoots. There's a lot in a name. Coincidentally I'd had a heads up about spoots a few days before. Hugh FW's prog that week featured some Skye divers waxing lyrical about their merits and the origin of their name (they 'spoot' clouds of water as a defence mechanism) of spoots. And spoot just sounds a lot more approachable than razorfish. Spoot is friendly and even slightly cute. Spongebob is probably mates with spoots. Razorfish is a little more Glasgow hard man. A seabed menace putting it about a bit and likely to garotte you with gravel on the way down after charming its way in with garrulous charm. Anyway. They were nice. The menu described them as being served with diced vegetables, chorizo and lemon confit. I remember it as being a bit risottoish. But a subtler taste of seaside than previous courses.  

Next was Tom Kitchin's signature dish. This is a man who likes to get the best from his suppliers and from his staff. He certainly asks for a lot from his pigs. We got the written menu handed to us as a rolled and bowed manuscript after the meal. It is mere conjecture that this is the result of squeamish diners choosing another menu on the basis of imagining the gruesome machinery and squeals involved in creating a boned and rolled pigs head and crispy eared salad. That's a salad of crispy ears rather than a particularly fresh lettuce for those not paying attention. Oh and it came with a scallop. From orkney. Where the pig who gave its head lived was left unspecified. A shame as regards are due to its family. Imaginings aside this was a very tasty dish. All the satisfaction of a fine pork roast dinner with all the trimmings distilled into a small sideplate size serving of piggy greatness. Smashing.

But time to set sail again. WIth a crew from Marseille. A fillet of North Sea cod served with a bouillabaisse sauce, rouille and a gruyere crouton was a little tribute to Franco-Caledonian relations across the years. And a good summary of TK's approach. Classic food, well made with fine seasonal ingredients and somehow improved via complex simplification.

The wintry seasonality came into its own with the final meaty dish. Saddle of roe dear from Humbie, served with pumpkin, celeriac, roasted apple from Moira's garden and pepper sauce. Humbie's a small, flattish place not far from Edinburgh. I'm sure it has some lovely gardens but this felt more like a little taste of a Lairds dinner in the kitchen of some great estate with Highland views. Wintry, Scottish, delicious.

The cheese trolley that followed was brimming with goodies from France and Scotland. Its probably worth mentioning the service at this point. The difference between a good evening and an average one can lie in the service. Too often cheese or wine gets served with a slightly haughty sense of testing the customer. We didn't have wine with the meal but the gentle, friendly, authoritative demeanour of the sommelier suggested someone who you could have a really pleasant chat with which you'd come away from having learned a load about wine without ever really having asked. Cheese guy was just the same. He knew loads about what he was serving, gently encouraged us to try certain things and create a sort of tasting spectrum of cheeses and looked like he really enjoyed what he did. And we ended up with a more interesting plate of cheese (with flavours ranging from nutty to woody, savoury, creamy and loads in between) than we'd had for a long time.

And finally... at first glance I thought the dessert might disappoint. Poached pear served with a ravioli of chocolate, vanilla ice cream and a sea buckthorn sauce possibly felt a little bit 'anyone can poach a pear.'  That may well be true. I can and have. I've not made chocolate ravioli. Its never really occurred somehow. Its really good though. The chewiness of pasta with a chocolate goo inside. Wrong but very very right. Sea buckthorn is also a discovery. We actually found out more at this at a budget restaurant we ate at the following night. It grows locally along the coast. And adds a sort of citrusy tang to proceedings. Very nice.

So. I liked this place. It felt cosy and informal and delivered food that felt simple and true to its fine local ingredients, but was clearly the result of great craft and kitchen skill. I am rather envious of Edinburgh. Yorkshire could use a Tom Kitchin.

 

Aga Aga Aga

To paraphrase Underworld.

A lyrical opportunity spurned by AGA themselves who have chosen Mr Stephen Fry as their reader of a very different celebration of their wares. 

We are getting an Aga. Or more accurately we are getting a house that contains one.

This is bad. As Mr Monbiot has pointed out running a coal powered AGA will contribute 35% more carbon to the atmosphere than the average UK home. And Mr AGA himself doesn't seem to have done a very good job of defending his company against these charges.

It is also good. The semiotics of aga ownership seem pretty straightforward. A signifier of homeliness, tradition, comfort and an "unassuming warm bath of fellowship and love" as well as a general understated poshness and propensity towards labrador ownership. I'm not so bothered about labradors. Am frequently suspicious of tradition. And manage to translate any residual poshness into a gigantic shoulder chip of self loathing expressed as a mean spirited aversion to Barbour Jackets, Rugby and The Daily Telegraph.

Homeliness and comfort however I do quite like. And I'm also rather impressed by the almost religious reverence towards AGAs expressed by a number of close acquaintances who know a thing or two about tasty food. They do something special apparently. A little bit magical.

So our stance is this. We're hanging on to the AGA for a bit with the intention of replacing it with an electric one powered by rooftop solar panels once we can afford them. Or sooner if it in fact turns out to be a Labrador - pleasant enough but pointless and in fact a bit annoying. And in the meantime we are going to see if we can become arcane practitioners of the AGA magic ourselves.

So we've had a lesson. Well a demonstration. It was a textbook example of AGA semiotics. Conducted in the Ecclesall Road AGA shop. By a plump, jolly farmerish sort of lady who might have been called Sue. Who was lovely and exuded homeliness. With an also jolly audience of AGA neophytes. We gained some deep insights into AGA lore. Which include the fact that different oven/shelf configurations are the equivalent of turning the dial on a standard oven, its better to do stuff in the oven than on the top whenever possible and the simmering oven is a magical place where you can basically leave stuff to cook forever (and nearly everyone will at some stage have a story of forgetting something is there and coming back days or weeks later to be either delighted at the taste or dismayed by just how much you can shrink a chicken).

More importantly we were able to pass judgement on whether the following items are tasty or not:

Curried Pumpkin & Swede Soup with Feta

Lemon Focaccia Bread

Beetroot Tarte Tatin

Sausage Lancashire Hotpot with Rustic Potatoes

Sweet and Sour Pork with Raisins

Chocolate Upsidedown Pear and Pecan Gingerbread

and Chocolate and Orange Pudding

Mrs Sense of Place appeared to have slight reservations about the Beetroot Tarte Tatin (its lovely but could maybe be a bit less sweet). But otherwise that would be an unqualified yes.

Mega mega red thing.