Sunday 30 August 2009

FINE FINNAN HADDIE



Scotland produces some of the best meat and fish in the UK, not to mention their biggest export, whisky.
Haggis, Cullen skink, Athol Brose, Finnan haddie and Arbroath Smokies are all exclusively Scottish dishes, the last of which have even obtained PDO status. I remember seeing a roomfull of French food buyers reduced to silent admiration once at a Scottish food show in Paris. And yet what do they advertise to the rest of the UK? Deep-fried Mars bars, fish suppers, Scotch pies, Irn Bru. You'd think they didn't want the English to visit.

I wouldn't recommend eating on Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow. A curry house is almost a pilgrimage when you learn that chicken tikka masala was invented in this city - but The Indian Gallery was really slightly below average, despite a pleasant corner location with big windows through which I observed the young gels (barely legal some of them) going uptown for a night out in the skimpiest of outfits. If the weather hadn't been so inclement I would have ventured towards Kelvinside and the shrine of the chicken tikka masala, the Shish Mahal. Along with Andy Warhol, Ali Ahmed Aslam has used a can of soup to attain a kind of immortality.

I identified what has to be the worst Chinese restaurant in Scotland, and possibly in the UK. There was little attempt at decor, ancient or modern, and the staff barely spoke English. The waitress was a surly little thing who blew her nose loudly while waiting for a customer's order then put the snotty rag back in her waistcoat pocket where it stayed all evening. Despite the fact that only 3 of the 30-odd tables were occupied, they rushed the customers as if there were 3 coach parties coming in any minute. There was no wine by the glass, she said unapologetically. She plonked a bottle of apple juice down unopened on my table with a glass and walked away again. The poor people at the next table were trying to get her attention, but she was too busy round the corner chatting to the manageress. The crispy duck dishes were available as half or whole ducks. I asked if I could have a quarter (quite common practice in most Chinese restaurants). She shouted at me that I could have a quarter of Peking duck but not of crispy duck. If anyone would like to explain the difference, please feel free. To be fair, the quarter of duck came with a double helping of microwaved pancakes plonked on a plate which was stuck on top of a platewarmer. They had obviously never seen bamboo steamers or chopsticks. I wondered which part of China these people were from. The Chinese equivalent of Rochdale, I shouldn't wonder. I ate my meal quickly, whilst watching some young ladies smoking and drinking beer out of bottles in the doorway of a sports bar opposite. Just so that you don't make the same mistake as me, avoid the Jade Garden at 303 Sauchiehall Street, on the corner of Holland Street.


"blas" (with a small b), right opposite the Kelvingrove Art Gallery in the posh West End, is a wee gem. They serve traditional Scottish fare in a modern way. Of course I could not resist ordering the haggis. The girl didn't even burst out laughing. "Och no, we eat it too ... sometimes" she said. It was served as a timbale, with the tatties on the bottom, a layer of neeps in the middle and the haggis (from Cockburn's of Dingwall) on top, surrounded by a swirl of tasty gravy. Washed down by a glass of chilled Sauvignon, it was delicious. But the dessert was what made me nearly do a Meg Ryan. Sticky toffee pudding in caramel sauce with a dollop of vanilla ice cream. The pudding was dark and very moist, I might go so far as to say saturated, and married perfectly with the creamy luxury vanilla ice cream, made by Mackie's of Aberdeen. The sauce, moreover, was ... well, suffice it to say I told the gel to convey to Chef that he had made an old woman very happy.

The revamped East end of Glasgow has been renamed the "Merchant City", and is chock full of trendy, if not always good, restaurants and bars.
It's a regeneration along the lines of London's East End, with old warehouse conversions and covered markets turned into continental style brasseries. At QUA in Ingram Street, I had one of the best pizzas I have ever eaten. The restaurant is owned by one of Glasgow's oldest Italian catering families, of which there are a fair few.


Nardini's of Largs: sky pretty accurate

Out on the Ayrshire coast in Largs, where I was staying, there is only one name. Nardini's. "Scotland's most famous ice cream parlour" has expanded into a small empire, and it is only a matter of time before the town is renamed Nardiniville. They have four outlets - the main parlour which now incorporates a cake shop and a proper pizza/pasta restaurant; The Green Shutters on the sea front by Bath Street; Nardini's at The Moorings right by the ferry, and next door to it Dolci Nardini the cakeshop. Frankly the weather was not conducive to sampling ice cream, so I did not venture into any of the Nardini establishments, but purchased a small tub of ice cream to taste. It was all right, but frankly not a patch on Berthillon of the Ile St Louis in Paris.


Rothesay - the main drag


Rothesay, the main town on the Isle of Bute, does not offer a huge choice. It is very run down and many store fronts are boarded up, as holidaymakers have abandoned the isles for the guaranteed sunshine and cheap drinks of Ayia Napa and suchlike. Shame. There are two Zavaroni establishments on the front - neither of them particularly upmarket, but the name is memorable for knowing that this is the family of Lena Zavaroni, a talented singer who succumbed to anorexia nervosa. It makes you wonder if growing up in a chip shop might have anything to do with it. In view of the tragedy of Scotland's greatest belter since Lulu, we thought a bag of chips might be tasteless, in more ways than one, so opted for the so-called "award-winning" Galley Restaurant (they never name the award do they?) in the "Discovery Centre" (formerly the winter garden) on the Esplanade with its panoramic view of the bay.

The Winter Gardens, Rothesay

It was empty, but clean and the manageress was as welcoming as she could be while sorting through her laundry. We weren't too optimistic about the quality of the food, and I played it safe with a macaroni cheese, while Maroon interrogated the waitress about the origin of the fish and chips. All local, she assured him. I cast an eye out over the harbour, visibly lacking in fishing boats or paraphernalia thereof. It was not, apparently, very good.
Had we done our homework we could have eaten in one of any number of good restaurants which are hidden away on the island. The Russian Tavern at Port Bannatyne will be my choice if I ever go back, which is highly unlikely.




Edinburgh was in full festival mode and I was swanning about with Old Uncle Edinburgh himself, comedian Arthur Smith. He took me for lunch at the North Bridge Brasserie in the boutique Scotsman Hotel. Very nice.



Our waiter was French - always a good sign. I followed Arthur's lead, as behoves a celeb with a busy schedule, as I had another appointment that afternoon. We had two starters each - he went for the gazpacho, and I had the terrine of pork, which was a bit like rillettes or potted meat,
with pear chutney, and we both had the duck and endive salad as well. The restaurant is secluded and expensively cushioned from all the festival madness outside. Later I went for a drink at The Dome on George Street. This former Royal Bank of Scotland building is simply choc-full of gorgeous gorgeousness. As the MC in "Cabaret" might say - even ze toilets are beoooodifull. Edinburgh is full of luxurious places, I may well return.




As for that mysterious combination, the "full Scottish breakfast", there was no sign of porridge at the Novotel. The self-service buffet was mobbed by coach parties who ate fruit salad and bacon and eggs off the same plate. Only when the various McLintocks, Murrays and Campbells of Toronto, Brisbane and Hoboken respectively had gone off on their "roots" coach tours could I get near the dregs they had left in their wake. Cereal, pastries. Eggs, bacon, sausage, beans ... so far, so generic British. Black pudding on Sunday ... big deal. No porridge. No oatcakes. No finnan haddie or kippers. Whit kinda fuell Scottish ye call thish?



The Indian Gallery
450 Sauchiehall St
Glasgow
Tel: 0141 332 3355


Shish Mahal
66-68 Park Rd
Glasgow G4 9JF
Tel: 0141 334 1057


The Jade Garden (information given only as a warning)
303 Sauchiehall Street
Glasgow
(Telephone not necessary)


blas
1397 Argyle Street
Kelvingrove
Glasgow G3 8AN
Tel: 0141 357 4328

QUA
68 Ingram Street
Glasgow G1
Tel:
0845 8338869

North Bridge Brasserie
20 North Bridge
Edinburgh EH1 1YT
Tel:
+44 (0)131 556 5565

The Dome

14 George Street Edinburgh EH2 2PF
Tel: 0131 624 8624