Kitchen In the Wild – Day One

Posted on October 18, 2026 by julianrolfe

Six O’Clock – Rather Too Excited to Sleep

Six o’clock. Wide awake.

Not because of an alarm, a passing vehicle or the familiar noises of everyday life, but simply because I was far too excited to stay in bed. After nineteen months of anticipation, and an excellent opening dinner courtesy of Val Warner the previous evening, I had finally spent my first night on Eilean Shona.

My home for the next few days was Tioram Cottage, a wonderfully comfortable stone-built house overlooking Loch Moidart, shared with Ruth and Tim, each of us occupying a separate bedroom. The cottage was generously appointed, with a large open-plan kitchen, dining and sitting area, comfortable sofas and an open fireplace. Its windows looked across the water towards the magnificent ruins of Castle Tioram.

There were also some thoughtful little touches, including fresh milk, drinking water and three miniature bottles of Nc’nean Organic Single Malt Scotch Whisky, produced on the nearby Morvern peninsula. I was particularly impressed by the provision of both whisky and fresh milk. Clearly, somebody understood that the needs of a gentleman can vary considerably according to the time of day.

Outside, the island was slowly emerging from the darkness. Beyond the cottage lay woodland, sheltered bays, rocky coastline and the waters of Loch Moidart and for once, I had absolutely nowhere I needed to drive, a rather unfamiliar situation after four days of chasing castles, archaeological monuments and interesting places to eat across western Scotland.

My carefully annotated OS maps could finally enjoy a well-earned rest, I couldn’t.

With another hour and a half before breakfast, I consulted the itinerary, an altogether more agreeable document than anything produced by the DVLA. Val and Clare had thoughtfully explained that we should enjoy the island at our own pace. There were activities, demonstrations, excursions and plenty of opportunities simply to relax. We were under no obligation to participate in everything.

An extremely civilised philosophy.

The first choice of the day rather neatly illustrated the point. From 7:30am, there was an optional swim and sauna down at Sail Loft beach, coinciding with the start of breakfast in the main house.

I considered both possibilities.

One offered invigorating immersion in the bracing waters of the Scottish Highlands, followed by the restorative warmth of a sauna, whilst the other offered a roaring log fire, freshly brewed Earl Grey and a breakfast menu that I’d already heard very promising things about.

As a man who had travelled all this way primarily because of his enthusiasm for excellent food, I felt it important to remain true to my principles, by the time breakfast began, I was already at Eilean Shona House.

First to arrive, naturally.

I appreciate that some people embrace the wild through physical endurance and exposure to the elements, but personally, I was perfectly happy to begin with a cup of tea.

A Roaring Fire and a Proper Scottish Breakfast

And what a lovely welcome awaited me.

The house was wonderfully atmospheric in the early morning. A roaring log fire filled the room with warmth, the comfortable surroundings invited you to linger, and the dining room, with its magnificent abstract mural and long communal table, had been transformed overnight from the scene of our splendid first dinner into an equally inviting breakfast setting.

There was something particularly enjoyable about being first downstairs. The quiet before everyone gathered, the smell of toast, the fire crackling away and that wonderful anticipation of a day with no emails to answer, no traffic to negotiate and no pressing decisions beyond what to eat.

Admittedly, given the breakfast menu, that final responsibility was not entirely insignificant, and once again, there was the reassuring sense that everything had simply appeared as if by magic.

Of course, it hadn’t.

Behind the relaxed atmosphere was an extremely hardworking team of skilled chefs, house staff and organisers, quietly ensuring that everything ran beautifully. Meals were prepared, rooms looked after, activities coordinated and drinks produced, often before anyone had thought to ask.

And somebody had already grasped the importance of a properly timed cup of Earl Grey.

An excellent start to the day, and considerably less traumatic than a swim in Loch Moidart.

The breakfast menu was a thing of beauty.

On the help-yourself side were Eilean Shona granola, rhubarb and elderflower compote, thick Scottish yoghurt, toast, jams and salted butter. There was apple juice, tea and coffee, along with Nick’s Bloody or Virgin Mary. Given Nick Strangeway’s considerable credentials in the drinks department, even the prospect of a Bloody Mary at breakfast came with rather more pedigree than usual.

Then there were the cooked choices.

Scottish porridge with whisky cream or ordinary cream, Tobermory smoked trout with crème fraîche and homemade dill pickles, butterflied kipper with poached eggs, herb butter and watercress, or a full Scottish fry-up incorporating MacSween haggis, bacon, sausages, tattie scone and an egg fried in dripping.

Honestly, I could have spent the next four mornings investigating the menu and still felt I’d neglected something important.

[INSERT PHOTO: 08:00 – Freshly sliced bread, toaster and breakfast preparations.]

The bread alone looked excellent, with generously sliced rustic loaves waiting alongside the toaster. There was something satisfyingly domestic about this arrangement. Extraordinary cooking in a remarkable house, but without losing the simple pleasures of making yourself a decent piece of toast.

The rhubarb and elderflower compote was particularly tempting, its soft fruit offering a combination of sweetness and gentle acidity. Alongside thick Scottish yoghurt and the house granola, it made a rather civilised beginning and was also exceedingly good, slathered on buttered toast.

But I had already made my decision about the main event.

Tobermory Smoked Trout – A Very Good Decision

I chose the Tobermory smoked trout, crème fraîche and homemade dill pickles, with the optional poached egg.

Optional?

Under what circumstances would a perfectly good poached egg be regarded as unnecessary?

The plate arrived looking wonderfully restrained.

A generous piece of beautifully coloured smoked trout, its vivid orange flesh contrasting with the pale crème fraîche, delicate slices of homemade pickle and a perfectly formed poached egg.

The trout possessed the rich, gently smoky character that makes this style of fish so appealing. The crème fraîche added a welcome freshness and richness, while the crisp, lightly acidic pickles, scented with dill, provided the contrast needed to bring everything together.

And then there was the poached egg, a beautifully formed little parcel, its delicate white concealing the promise of a magnificent golden yolk. Some things simply belong together, and smoked fish, good bread and a properly poached egg are very high on my list.

It was an excellent breakfast, enjoyed beside a roaring fire, and I was beginning to appreciate just how pleasant it was to have an entire day ahead without the slightest responsibility for organising any of it.

An unusual sensation.

But one I felt I could learn to enjoy.

Egg Tempera – Three Hours in the Company of Anna Koska

At 9:30am, it was time to head to the Studio for an activity I’d been particularly looking forward to: a morning exploring the ancient art of egg-tempera painting with Anna Koska. Unlike most of the people I’d only recently met on the island, Anna was already something of a familiar presence, having discovered her extraordinary natural-history illustrations some months earlier, I’d become completely captivated by her work, and we’d been briefly exchanging comments on Instagram in the lead-up to the trip.

Her paintings have a quality that photographs, however accomplished, rarely achieve. She notices the tiny variations in colour, structure and texture that most of us simply overlook: the subtle translucency of a petal, the curve of a leaf, the extraordinary detail in the scales of a fish, or the delicate architecture of something as seemingly insignificant as a snail’s shell.

There is something wonderfully absorbing about her approach to the natural world, and now I was about to discover rather more about how she achieved it.

I should probably explain that my enthusiasm for beautiful botanical artwork does not necessarily indicate any corresponding ability to produce it.

Appreciation and execution are two entirely different disciplines.

An Ancient Technique, a Rather Unusual Ingredient

Egg tempera is one of the oldest established painting methods, used since antiquity and particularly associated with medieval and early Renaissance art. Before oil painting became dominant in Europe, it was the medium responsible for many of the extraordinarily detailed religious panels and altarpieces that survive today. Its essential ingredients are remarkably simple: powdered pigment, water and egg yolk.

The yolk acts as the binder, holding the coloured particles together and fixing them to the painting surface as the paint dries. It is a beautiful meeting of natural materials and artistic endeavour.

Although it does mean that, having already enjoyed a magnificent poached egg for breakfast, I was now about to spend the remainder of the morning investigating an entirely different application for its close relative.

Clearly, Kitchen in the Wild had decided to explore the versatility of eggs in some depth.

Our workspace had been prepared with paper, brushes, pigments, small containers and the various materials required to make our own paint, and what initially appeared quite straightforward rapidly developed into a fascinating lesson in the nature of colour itself.

The Extraordinary World of Pigments

One aspect I found particularly absorbing was Anna’s explanation of pigments. Long before artists could purchase conveniently packaged tubes of colour, their materials came from the natural world: coloured earths, minerals and other substances that could be processed and ground into fine powders.

Some colours were relatively inexpensive and readily available, earth pigments such as ochres and umbers could be obtained from iron-rich clays and mineral deposits.

Others were historically extraordinarily valuable.

Natural ultramarine, for example, was produced from lapis lazuli, much of it transported from mines in what is now Afghanistan. Its remarkable blue made it so prized that, in certain periods, it could cost more than gold. An artist’s palette could therefore represent not merely a collection of colours, but an astonishing network of geology, trade, craftsmanship and expense.

Even with modern pigments, differences in their composition, fineness and behaviour affect how the paint mixes, covers and responds to the brush.

I found this fascinating.

Something that appears so uncomplicated when looking at a finished painting turns out to involve a remarkable degree of material knowledge.

And then there was the egg.

The pigment is first mixed into a workable paste, while the yolk provides the binding medium. Combined in suitable proportions, they produce a paint that can be applied in beautifully fine, controlled layers. It dries relatively quickly, meaning that the artist cannot simply push wet paint around indefinitely, as might be possible with oils.

Instead, depth and subtlety are achieved gradually, through repeated applications, carefully judged colour and patient brushwork.

It was beginning to dawn on me that Anna’s extraordinary illustrations were not the result of somebody casually waving a paintbrush about for half an hour. There was rather more to it than that.

Learning to Look

What I enjoyed most about the session was the change of pace it encouraged.

The previous few days had involved covering considerable distances, searching out ancient monuments, photographing landscapes and attempting to absorb five thousand years of Scottish history. Now, for almost three hours, the objective was simply to stop, look carefully and concentrate.

To consider colour rather than merely recognise it.

To notice subtle changes in tone, how one shade sits beside another, how light alters what we think we’re seeing, and how even a seemingly simple natural form can contain an astonishing amount of visual information. There is a particular kind of calm that develops when you’re concentrating completely on a small piece of work, like a simple leaf!

The conversations around the table gradually gave way to quieter discussion, the occasional question, the gentle movement of brushes and the business of mixing and testing colours. Coffee appeared at appropriate intervals, which I regarded as an essential contribution to the creative process.

Anna guided us through the materials and technique with patience and enthusiasm, encouraging us to experiment while developing a better understanding of what we were actually trying to achieve. Choosing a brush was itself an education. Different sizes and shapes offered varying degrees of control, but egg tempera rewards a particularly considered approach, building colour through fine, deliberate marks rather than great sweeping applications.

At least, that was the theory.

My own approach occasionally suggested somebody attempting to decorate a very small fence.

Nevertheless, I became thoroughly absorbed. For somebody whose usual relationship with a paintbrush involves making sure there aren’t any visible drips on a skirting board, this was rather a revelation.

My Contribution to the World of Fine Art

By the end of the session, I had produced my own little egg-tempera creation.

A small study involving variations of deep green, with fine pale lines radiating across its surface.

Was it likely to trouble the National Gallery’s acquisitions committee? Perhaps not immediately.

But I was rather pleased with it.

More importantly, it represented three thoroughly enjoyable hours spent discovering a new medium, developing a little patience and learning to appreciate the care behind an artist’s work.

Anna very kindly added a handwritten message to my painting:

“It’s been a pleasure teaching you, Jules! Carry on! Best wishes, Anna xx”

Which I thought was rather lovely.

And, being a reasonably perceptive chap, I decided to interpret “Carry on!” as encouragement rather than an urgent plea to keep practising.

A Very Special Gift

Anna also gave us all beautiful little paintings, created in egg tempera.

Now this was something quite different.

The painting was an incredibly thoughtful gift, and one I’ll treasure.

There was another lesson from the morning, too. Egg tempera is not a technique to be mastered in a few hours. Developing the sensitivity, precision and understanding of colour that Anna brings to her work takes years of observation, practice and patience.

Our three hours had been no more than the first tentative steps on what promised to be a very slow journey.

A journey undertaken, appropriately enough, at a snail’s pace, although judging by Anna’s beautiful little painting, even the snail was considerably further along than I was.

After months admiring Anna’s work from afar, it had been a real pleasure to spend the morning learning from her in person, and I came away with something rather more valuable than a rudimentary understanding of egg-tempera technique, a renewed appreciation for the importance of observation, patience and simply taking the time to look.

Three hours had disappeared almost without my noticing, which, considering my normal ability to become distracted by the prospect of lunch, was quite an achievement.

Fortunately, lunch was next.

And Kitchen in the Wild had something rather splendid waiting for us in the Village Hall.

Lunch in the Village Hall – Not Quite Cullen Skink

By lunchtime, we had gathered in the island’s village hall. There is something rather appealing about eating in a simple communal setting after a morning of activities. It suits the spirit of Kitchen in the Wild perfectly: wonderful food without the need for elaborate surroundings or unnecessary ceremony.

And what arrived was exactly the sort of lunch you want in the Highlands in October.

A generous bowl of rich seafood chowder, served with Saltine crackers.

Now, I initially found myself thinking of Cullen skink, that celebrated Scottish soup traditionally made with smoked haddock, potatoes and onions.

But this wasn’t Cullen skink.

It was a considerably more varied seafood affair, with visible shellfish, chunks of vegetables, sweetcorn and finely chopped herbs in a creamy, deeply comforting broth. The bowl looked magnificent, its pale golden liquid dotted with orange, yellow and green, with pieces of seafood generously distributed throughout.

Alongside came long, crisp saltine crackers, providing something suitably crisp and salty with which to accompany the chowder.

Simple food, generously prepared, and precisely what the moment called for.

Our drinks were served in the blue enamel Kitchen in the Wild mugs, which were rapidly becoming part of the character of the whole experience. Practical, robust and delightfully informal.

There was also a pleasing contrast between the morning’s artistic pursuits and the straightforward pleasure of sitting around a table enjoying an excellent bowl of soup.

I may not have been able to produce a painting worthy of Anna’s approval, but I felt considerably more confident in my ability to appreciate a good chowder.

We all have our strengths.

A Stag, Some Sunshine and the Sound of Scotland

One of the pleasures of spending time on Eilean Shona is that its wildlife doesn’t appear to have received the memorandum about keeping a respectful distance from the guests, among the afternoon’s sights was a magnificent red deer stag, standing in the grassy woodland amongst the trees and autumn bracken.

There is something particularly impressive about seeing a red deer in its natural surroundings. The stag’s antlers, dark neck and thickening autumn coat gave it an unmistakably commanding appearance, even while engaged in the comparatively undignified business of eating grass.

For a while, it seemed perfectly content to continue grazing.

Then it lifted its head.

Quite magnificent.

The contrast between the dappled sunlight, lush green grass and copper-coloured bracken made the scene especially beautiful.

October is also the season of the red deer rut, when mature stags compete for access to females, their deep roaring calls carrying considerable distances across Highland glens. I had spent part of the previous day contemplating animal carvings made thousands of years ago in Kilmartin. Now here was the living subject, looking directly at me.

I felt the prehistoric artists had been onto something.

We were also treated to the unmistakable sound of the bagpipes, played by Matt, our naturalist and guide later that day, he was very good.

There are few sounds more closely associated with Scotland, although hearing pipes in the open air, surrounded by woodland and Highland scenery, is rather different from encountering them outside a busy tourist attraction.

Their music has a remarkable capacity to fill the landscape, and I have to say that the combination of tartan, a piper, a nearby stag and some unexpectedly beautiful sunshine suggested Scotland was making a determined effort to deliver the full promotional package.

All we needed now was a rainbow.

Although the weather had rather different plans for the afternoon.

The Afternoon – Life Jackets On

After lunch came our first proper expedition onto the water.

Matt Waterston’s expertise would now come into its own as we prepared to explore Loch Moidart and the surrounding coastline aboard the RIB, there is something undeniably exciting about travelling in a rigid inflatable boat. Particularly when you have spent the morning in the civilised surroundings of a beautiful house, enjoying poached eggs and experimenting with egg tempera.

Now it was time for waterproofs, life jackets and the altogether less predictable business of Scottish maritime weather.

The island’s landing stage was framed by woodland, old stone buildings and shoreline exposed by the tide, in the sunshine it looked wonderfully peaceful. The sort of setting that encourages the entirely reasonable assumption that the weather might remain pleasant for the rest of the afternoon.

An assumption Scotland was about to correct.

Four Seasons in Twenty Minutes

Setting off across Loch Moidart, we were treated to a remarkable demonstration of Highland meteorology.

One moment there was blue sky and sunshine illuminating the surrounding hills. The next, dark clouds were gathering, the wind was picking up and the water was developing an altogether more energetic character.

Then came intense rain.

Then sunshine again.

And, for good measure, another threatening bank of cloud.

It was as though somebody had decided to demonstrate all four seasons in approximately twenty minutes, without bothering to consult those of us sitting in the boat.

The changing conditions made the landscape look quite extraordinary. As sunlight moved across the hills, individual stands of trees glowed against the darker slopes, while the water shifted from a bright reflective blue to a much moodier slate grey.

The scenery was constantly transforming.

And, as we rounded one of the headlands, Castle Tioram appeared once again.

What an extraordinary sight.

The castle stood in silhouette upon its rocky island, the low autumn sunshine breaking through the clouds behind it and scattering silver light across the water. Having photographed it during the previous day’s journey, I was delighted to see it again from a different perspective, the weather had provided its own theatrical lighting.

Admittedly, it had also made certain that everyone aboard appreciated the practical value of waterproof clothing.

But one shouldn’t complain when Scotland offers this much atmosphere free of charge.

The Wildlife of Loch Moidart

Our expedition was about rather more than enjoying the scenery. The sheltered waters, rocky shores and islands of Loch Moidart support an extraordinary variety of wildlife, and exploring by boat gives you an entirely different perspective from anything available on land, and among the highlights was a seal resting on the exposed shoreline.

It appeared entirely untroubled by the conditions, occupying a comfortable-looking patch of rock with the air of an animal perfectly satisfied with its afternoon arrangements.

Seals are wonderfully expressive creatures, and there is something particularly appealing about observing one stretched out on the shoreline, apparently contemplating the world with considerably less urgency than most of us. The dark, wet rocks, bright green seaweed and beautifully mottled coat made a striking photograph.

Meanwhile, Matt helped bring the surrounding landscape and its wildlife into focus, drawing upon his considerable experience of exploring Scotland’s western coastline.

It was exactly the sort of expertise that made Kitchen in the Wild so appealing.

One moment we could be discussing the delicate details of botanical illustration with Anna Koska; a few hours later, we were out on the water discovering a completely different aspect of the same extraordinary environment.

And then, of course, there was the lobster.

A magnificent specimen, held up for everyone to admire, with Matt explaining its features and behaviour, its impressive claws offered a useful reminder that not every ingredient encountered during a culinary adventure is necessarily enthusiastic about participating.

I was perfectly happy to maintain a respectful distance.

Seafood is one thing.

Having it defend itself is quite another.

A Different View of the Island

As the afternoon continued, the boat carried us past wooded headlands, sheltered inlets and rocky shores, distant islands revealing just how varied and beautiful this part of the Scottish coastline really is.

From the water, Eilean Shona and its neighbouring coastline felt wonderfully remote. The woodland descended almost to the shore, interrupted occasionally by exposed rock and narrow stretches of beach. Above it, the hills wore their autumn colours beneath an enormous, ever-changing sky.

At times, the sun illuminated entire sections of the landscape while neighbouring hills remained beneath dark cloud, I had spent months researching the island and the surrounding area, poring over maps, photographs and historical accounts, trying to imagine what it would actually feel like to be here, then the sky opened up and it chucked it down again!

No amount of preparation quite captures the experience of travelling across these waters, with the wind on your face, the Highlands rising around you and the weather changing almost by the minute. This was what I’d come for.

Of course, I’d also come for the food.

And after a morning of artistic endeavour, an excellent seafood lunch and an afternoon exploring the coastline, I was beginning to develop a very healthy appetite for whatever the kitchen might have planned for us next.

From Waterproofs to Whisky – An Evening with Nick Strangeway

Having spent the afternoon experiencing approximately four seasons in twenty minutes aboard the RIB, returning to the warmth and comfort of Eilean Shona House was particularly appealing. It had already been a wonderfully varied day. A magnificent breakfast, three absorbing hours exploring egg tempera with Anna Koska, seafood chowder in the Village Hall and an afternoon discovering Loch Moidart from the water with Matt, the awesome guide.

By any reasonable standard, that would have constituted a fairly full programme.

Kitchen in the Wild, however, was not quite finished with us. At seven o’clock, we were gathering in the sitting room for a Classic Whisky Cocktails masterclass with Nick Strangeway, followed at eight by dinner cooked by Nathan Outlaw.

Now, I have always believed in continuing one’s education.

Particularly when the curriculum involves whisky!

Nick was one of the familiar faces I’d been so pleased to see again on the island, having met him at a previous Kitchen in the Wild event. Widely regarded as one of Britain’s most accomplished bartenders, he has spent decades exploring the history, ingredients and craftsmanship of drinks, bringing a genuine depth of knowledge to a subject that is sometimes treated as little more than an excuse to shake something enthusiastically in front of an audience.

With Nick, a cocktail is never simply a list of liquids poured into a glass. There is history, provenance, balance and an extraordinary understanding of how ingredients interact, and whisky provides a particularly interesting starting point.

Unlike a neutral spirit, it brings considerable character of its own: the influence of grain, fermentation, distillation, oak and maturation, together with the distinctive traditions of the regions and distilleries that produce it. Creating a successful whisky cocktail therefore involves rather more than finding something sweet to pour into it, it requires an appreciation of what is already there, and how other flavours can complement rather than overwhelm it.

A reassuring philosophy, I thought.

Especially after discovering the three miniature bottles of Nc’nean waiting for us at Tioram Cottage. Scotland was clearly providing opportunities for further study at an encouraging rate. The atmosphere in the sitting room was relaxed and convivial, with everyone settling in after the day’s activities, exchanging stories and preparing for another splendid evening.

And there was something rather lovely about being back in the company of old friends. Val, Clare and Nick had already made my previous Kitchen in the Wild experience so memorable that joining them again felt less like attending an organised event and more like returning to a particularly interesting gathering of friends.

Admittedly, friends with somewhat more impressive credentials than the average dinner party, and friends who had a rather worrying ability to make the consumption of excellent food and drink appear educational.

A Few Little Things Before Dinner

One of the joys of these evenings was that dinner did not begin abruptly with everyone being marched into the dining room at the appointed hour, instead, we had time to gather, chat, enjoy our drinks and sample a succession of beautifully prepared little appetisers.

Nathan’s menu for the evening began with two rather splendid propositions:

Potted lobster on toast and crispy oysters with celery and grapes.

The lobster arrived generously piled onto a small piece of crisp, golden toast, its sweet flesh bound in a rich, creamy dressing with herbs and a little fresh dill, it was an excellent example of why Nathan is so highly regarded for his seafood cookery. There was no unnecessary complication, no elaborate architectural arrangement and certainly no attempt to disguise the principal ingredient.

Just beautiful lobster, thoughtfully prepared, with the toast providing exactly the contrast it needed.

Small enough to eat in a couple of mouthfuls, and good enough to make you wish somebody had produced an entire tray.

Then came the crispy oysters.

Now, an oyster served raw, with nothing more than a squeeze of lemon or a little mignonette, is a wonderful thing, but not mine!

But this was a rather different interpretation, presented in its magnificent natural shell, the oyster had been coated and cooked to produce a crisp, golden exterior, then topped with a delicate mixture of celery and grapes.

The combination was inspired, and bloody delicious!

Oysters have a distinctive marine richness, and cooking them this way introduces a particularly enjoyable textural contrast: a crisp coating giving way to the tender oyster within and the celery brought freshness and crunch, while the grapes offered little bursts of sweetness and acidity, cutting through the richness.

And serving the whole thing in its own shell was a lovely touch.

The original packaging, as it were.

Biodegradable, attractive, and conveniently designed to prevent the contents escaping, one suspects nature had been considering the hospitality industry long before we arrived.

The opening cocktail listed on the menu was a Raspberry Manhattan, a suitably elegant beginning to what was rapidly developing into a rather promising evening, and then it was time to head through for dinner.

Nathan Outlaw – A Seafood Masterclass Without Leaving the Table

The previous evening, Valentine Warner had introduced us to Kitchen in the Wild with a wonderful opening dinner.

Tonight it was Nathan Outlaw’s turn.

Nathan hardly needs an introduction to anyone with an interest in British seafood cookery. His career has been built around an exceptional understanding of fish and shellfish, developed through years of working with outstanding ingredients and some of the country’s most respected chefs. Having trained at Thanet College, he worked in London before moving to Cornwall, where his time with Rick Stein helped establish the direction his career would take. Interestingly he historically hated seafood, who could tell?

He went on to build his own highly acclaimed restaurants in Port Isaac, earning two Michelin stars for his former flagship Restaurant Nathan Outlaw — a remarkable achievement for a restaurant devoted entirely to seafood. His approach has always appealed to me: allowing superb ingredients to remain the stars of the plate, while bringing tremendous skill and judgement to the accompanying flavours.

There is often more sophistication in knowing what to leave out than in finding another six things to add.

And looking at the evening’s menu, we were in for something special.

Once again, the dining room looked magnificent, its exuberantly coloured walls and candlelit table providing a wonderfully intimate setting. Menus were waiting at our places, the glasses were ready, and conversation flowed easily around a group that was already becoming increasingly comfortable in one another’s company.

A day’s shared experiences has that effect, particularly when those experiences include being bounced around a Scottish loch in the torrential rain.

Smoked Trout, Cheddar Scone and Pickled Cucumber

The first seated course was smoked trout pâté, cheddar scone and pickled cucumber, an appealing combination of rich smoked fish, savoury cheese and sharp, refreshing pickle. It continued the theme established by the evening’s appetisers: familiar ingredients, treated with care and brought together in ways that made perfect culinary sense.

The accompanying cocktail was a Douglas Fir and Damson Collins.

Douglas fir, with its wonderfully aromatic, resinous character, brought a particularly appropriate sense of the surrounding woodland into the drinks programme, while damson offered the sort of tart fruitiness that works so well in a refreshing Collins. It was a lovely example of how Nick’s approach complemented the setting. The drinks weren’t simply there to accompany the food; they had a personality and sense of place of their own.

And then came a dish I had been particularly looking forward to.

Langoustine and Tomato Beurre Blanc

Langoustines are amongst the finest shellfish found in British waters, sometimes called Dublin Bay prawns or Norway lobsters, they possess a delicate sweetness and firm, succulent flesh, requiring remarkably little intervention when the quality is right.

And this was a beautiful plate.

A generous piece of langoustine sat upon a carefully arranged bed of greens, surrounded by a glossy tomato beurre blanc. Small pieces of tomato (concasse), fresh herbs and the rich, pale orange sauce provided an attractive contrast to the langoustine’s delicate flesh.

A beurre blanc is traditionally made by emulsifying butter into a reduction, producing a sauce with richness, acidity and a beautifully silky texture. Here, the addition of tomato gave the classic preparation another dimension, bringing its gentle sweetness and acidity to a dish that was fundamentally about celebrating the langoustine.

And what a lovely balance it was.

The seafood remained the centre of attention, with the sauce providing richness without overwhelming its natural flavour.

A very Nathan Outlaw kind of dish, I thought, elegant, precise and utterly confident.

The printed wine pairing was Granville Basalt Chardonnay 2023, from Oregon’s Willamette Valley, a region particularly celebrated for its cool-climate wines. A fitting accompaniment to such delicate shellfish and a rich butter-based sauce.

Cod, Hazelnuts, Red Wine, Mushrooms and Capers

The next course presented an altogether different side of seafood cookery.

Now, pairing a substantial white fish with red wine might initially appear surprising to anyone brought up on the old convention that fish must always be accompanied by white wine.

Nathan had explained his wish to cook a cod dish, the variety being extremely difficult to get for his restaurants in Cornwall. Cod has a wonderful ability to work with deeper, more savoury flavours, particularly when its flesh is sufficiently thick and carefully cooked.

And Nathan’s dish was a magnificent demonstration.

A beautifully cooked piece of cod occupied the centre of the plate, its thick white flakes contrasting with a savoury mixture of mushrooms beneath and a generous coating of finely chopped hazelnuts and herbs. Around it were two sauces: a lighter, buttery element and a deep, glossy red-wine reduction.

The composition was striking.

The hazelnuts introduced a gentle roasted character and subtle texture, while the mushrooms brought an earthy depth. Capers provided their distinctive sharp, salty punctuation, ensuring the dish never became too rich or heavy, and that red-wine sauce gave the whole plate an unexpected sense of warmth and substance.

It was the sort of fish dish that could quite comfortably hold its own against many traditional meat courses.

The wine pairing was Jean-Michel Dupré Morgon ‘Côte du Py’ 2022, from Beaujolais. Morgon is one of the region’s celebrated crus, and Côte du Py is particularly associated with structured, characterful Gamay wines.

A red wine alongside cod, scandalous, perhaps, to the more inflexible members of the old wine-and-food establishment, but rather splendid in practice, and a timely reminder that good cooking is not particularly interested in arbitrary rules.

The Man Behind the Menu

One of the pleasures of Kitchen in the Wild is the opportunity to meet the people responsible for creating the food, rather than experiencing their work solely through a restaurant menu.

Nathan spoke to the group during the evening alongside Tim, who has worked for him for over 15 years, and the photograph captures that lovely informal atmosphere: chefs and guests sharing the same space, with the extraordinary mural providing a suitably colourful backdrop.

There was an enormous amount of skill involved in delivering an evening like this, and Nathan’s reputation may quite rightly have been a considerable draw, but the execution depended upon a dedicated team of talented chefs and supporting staff, all working together to ensure that each course appeared beautifully prepared and at precisely the right moment.

It is easy, when enjoying a relaxed evening around a candlelit table, to overlook the planning, preparation and sheer hard work taking place behind the scenes, particularly somewhere as remote as Eilean Shona, where forgetting an ingredient is unlikely to be resolved by popping down to the nearest supermarket.

The whole operation appeared effortless, which is, of course, generally a reliable indication that an extraordinary amount of effort has gone into it.

Chocolate, Whisky and a Rather Civilised Conclusion

And finally, dessert.

Chocolate slice with whisky and vanilla cream and raspberries.

A combination that promised richness, a touch of Highland spirit and enough fresh fruit to provide at least a theoretical argument for nutritional balance.

The presentation was beautifully restrained. A long, immaculate slice of chocolate dessert like a strip of Twix bar!, with distinct layers beneath a smooth, glossy chocolate surface, accompanied by a generous quenelle of vanilla cream, fresh raspberries and a vivid raspberry sauce.

The contrast of colours was striking: deep chocolate brown, pale cream and the brilliant red of the fruit, it tasted every bit as indulgent as it looked. The richness of the chocolate was balanced by the freshness and gentle acidity of the raspberries, while the vanilla cream provided a lovely soft counterpoint, whisky added a further dimension to a dessert that was, in all respects, a thoroughly satisfying conclusion to the meal.

And because Nick Strangeway was in residence, dessert was accompanied by a Woodruff Old Fashioned.

Woodruff is a fragrant woodland herb, traditionally appreciated for its sweet, hay-like aroma and subtle vanilla associations, and its inclusion brought another little connection to the surrounding natural world, while the Old Fashioned provided a fitting final expression of the evening’s whisky theme.

A lovely way to finish.

One Very Full Day

By the time we rose from the table, it was well after ten thirty, I’d begun the morning at six, wide awake and far too excited to sleep.

Since then, I’d enjoyed an exceptional breakfast, spent three hours discovering the art of egg tempera with Anna Koska, eaten a magnificent seafood chowder, explored Loch Moidart by RIB through several competing weather systems, attended a whisky cocktail masterclass and finished with a wonderful dinner from one of Britain’s finest seafood chefs.

Not bad for a Friday.

And all of it made possible by a remarkable collection of people, from the celebrated names we’d been so looking forward to meeting to the immensely capable chefs, organisers and island staff quietly ensuring that everything happened as it should. There was a warmth to the whole experience that went well beyond the food, the scenery or the splendid accommodation.

It was the pleasure of being amongst people who loved what they did, generously sharing that enthusiasm with the rest of us. Eventually, it was time to make my way back to Tioram Cottage, where Ruth, Tim and I were staying, and contemplate the prospect of another day.

The itinerary suggested that Saturday would offer a choice of walking or painting, a demonstration from Nathan and, later, a rather intriguing Fire Pit Dinner, I also noticed that the optional morning swim and sauna remained available, and naturally, I gave this some serious consideration.

For approximately the same three seconds as the previous morning.

Breakfast was at 7:30.

Some traditions are worth maintaining.

………………… Until Next Time …………….. L8ers …………………

A Little Bombay Before Several Thousand Years of Scotland (Part 2)

Posted on October 14, 2026 by julianrolfe

Day Two – Bombay Breakfast, Vikings and the Road to Ancient Scotland

After a thoroughly enjoyable first evening in Glasgow, Tuesday morning arrived, and with it the prospect of finally putting my meticulously researched Scottish itinerary into action. First, however, there was the rather important matter of breakfast.

I’d already earmarked Dishoom, conveniently located around a 10-minute walk from the AC Hotel by Marriott. Their Bombay-inspired breakfast offering had caught my attention during my pre-trip research, and I thought it would make a splendid start to the day. I had purchased the book by the same title some time back and was thoroughly inspired by the stories within.

A little Indian influence in Scotland before heading off in search of prehistoric burial chambers, ancient standing stones and centuries of clan warfare. Why not?

Dishoom occupies part of Glasgow’s magnificent former Stock Exchange building, an extraordinary piece of Victorian architecture that makes quite an impression before you’ve even stepped through the door.

Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, with its wonderfully eclectic mixture of old-fashioned furniture, patterned tables, framed photographs and the unmistakable character of a Bombay café.

Dishoom draws its inspiration from the Irani cafés that became such an important part of Bombay’s social and culinary history. Established largely by Persian immigrants, these were places where people from different communities and backgrounds could gather over tea, food and conversation. Once numerous, the original cafés have steadily declined in number, making Dishoom’s affectionate interpretation of them rather appealing. It certainly made a change from the usual hotel breakfast buffet.

Naturally, there had to be chai.

Served in a simple glass, rich, warming and beautifully aromatic, it was just the thing to get the morning underway. There’s something wonderfully comforting about Indian chai, the combination of strong tea, milk, sweetness and warming spices producing a drink that feels considerably more indulgent than an ordinary cup of tea.

Breakfast itself was a wonderfully colourful affair. A richly spiced chickpea preparation, accompanied by a magnificent puffed puri, pickles and a portion of sweet halwa, Chole Puri Halwa, the chef’s favourite according to the menu.

The puri was quite a spectacle, arriving inflated like an edible balloon, its delicate golden shell practically demanding to be broken into.

The combination of savoury, spicy and sweet made for a rather interesting start to the day. A little of the chickpea curry scooped up with the bread, followed by something sweeter, another sip of chai, and suddenly the prospect of an ordinary bowl of cornflakes seemed deeply uninspiring.

Suitably fortified, it was time to turn my attention from Bombay to something rather older, as I was leaving a pristine paper cup was thrust in my hand, Chai to take-away, now that was service.

Glasgow Cathedral – Where the City’s Story Began

Suitably fortified by my rather splendid breakfast at Dishoom, it was time to check out of the hotel and get the adventure properly underway. A swift checkout was followed by the slightly less swift process of extracting the hire car from the multi-storey car park, whose narrow ramps and unforgiving concrete walls seemed designed to test both my driving skills and the limits of the rental insurance.

Car and driver eventually emerging unscathed, I set off for my next destination: Glasgow Cathedral.

This was somewhere I’d particularly wanted to explore. My pre-trip research into Scotland’s religious history, folklore and considerably darker past had revealed that Glasgow’s magnificent medieval cathedral had rather more stories to tell than its imposing architecture alone might suggest.

The cathedral is dedicated to St Kentigern, better known as St Mungo, Glasgow’s patron saint and a man whose story is an intriguing mixture of early Christianity, royal scandal and some fairly improbable miracles.

According to tradition, Mungo was born around the sixth century, the son of Princess Teneu (also known as Thenew), daughter of a British king, and a nobleman named Owain. His arrival into the world was apparently not universally celebrated. His mother, having become pregnant outside marriage, was condemned by her father and, according to later accounts, cast adrift in a boat without oars. Against considerable odds, she survived, eventually reaching the Firth of Forth, where Mungo was born.

Not perhaps the most conventional start to a distinguished ecclesiastical career.

The young Kentigern was subsequently raised under the protection of St Serf, traditionally associated with Culross, who is said to have given him the affectionate name Mungo, commonly interpreted as ‘dear one’.

He eventually travelled west, establishing a Christian community beside the Molendinar Burn, on the site associated with today’s cathedral. Around this early religious settlement, a community developed that would, over the centuries, become the great city of Glasgow.

But it’s the legends surrounding Mungo that make him particularly interesting.

His exploits are immortalised in Glasgow’s coat of arms, which features four rather unusual symbols: a bird, a tree, a bell and a fish carrying a ring in its mouth.

The bird represents a robin supposedly restored to life by the young Mungo after it had been killed by jealous fellow pupils. The tree recalls an occasion when he miraculously rekindled a sacred fire using a branch after the original flames had been extinguished. The bell is associated with his religious authority and a traditional story connecting it to Rome.

Then there’s the fish.

According to the legend, a queen of Strathclyde had lost a precious ring, which her suspicious husband subsequently demanded she produce. With her position becoming increasingly uncomfortable, she appealed to Mungo for assistance. He instructed a fish to be caught from the River Clyde, and there, rather conveniently, in the mouth of a salmon, was the missing ring.

A remarkable piece of divine intervention, although one suspects the salmon might have had a slightly different interpretation of events.

These stories survive largely through medieval religious biographies, most notably one written by Jocelin of Furness in the twelfth century, some 500 years after Mungo’s lifetime. They’re wonderful examples of Scotland’s early Christian folklore rather than events we can confidently establish as historical fact.

What is far more tangible is the magnificent cathedral itself.

Mungo is traditionally believed to have been buried here around AD 612, and his shrine became an important destination for medieval pilgrims. The great Gothic building we see today was developed largely during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, with Bishop Jocelin initiating major expansion work in 1181.

Remarkably, Glasgow Cathedral is the only medieval cathedral on the Scottish mainland to have survived the Reformation with its principal structure intact, although its Catholic furnishings were subsequently removed.

So here I was, standing in a building whose origins stretched back to a sixth-century saint, whose supposed miracles still decorate the city’s official coat of arms, and whose final resting place helped give birth to Glasgow itself.

Not bad for a man whose career apparently began with resurrecting a robin.

And what a building it is.

Stepping inside, your eyes are immediately drawn upwards. Great stone columns rise into pointed arches, intricate details emerge from the shadows and the sheer scale of the place makes you wonder quite how medieval craftsmen achieved such extraordinary results without the benefit of modern machinery.

What makes Glasgow Cathedral particularly remarkable is its survival. The Scottish Reformation of 1560 transformed the country’s religious landscape, bringing an end to papal authority and fundamentally changing the way people worshipped. Many medieval churches and cathedrals subsequently lost their furnishings, religious imagery and, in some cases, their very existence.

Glasgow, however, was fortunate. The cathedral survived substantially intact, although its Catholic furnishings and decoration did not escape the changes. Its continued use as a place of Protestant worship helped preserve one of Scotland’s finest examples of medieval Gothic architecture.

A rather impressive survivor, considering Scotland’s occasional enthusiasm for dismantling anything associated with the previous administration.

A Little Colour Amongst the Ancient Stones

One of the things that particularly caught my attention was the stained glass. Set against centuries-old dark stonework, the extraordinary intensity of the colours creates an almost theatrical effect, especially when the light catches them.

Perhaps the most striking was a magnificent arrangement of brilliant blue windows, their modern design contrasting beautifully with the medieval architecture surrounding them.

Interestingly, much of the stained glass we see in Glasgow Cathedral today is relatively modern. The Reformation had swept away the medieval glazing, and although Victorian stained glass was introduced during the nineteenth century, much of this was subsequently replaced during the twentieth century.

The result is a fascinating combination of medieval craftsmanship and contemporary artistic expression, centuries apart but somehow entirely at home together.

I particularly liked the contrast. The building itself speaks of an age when faith was central to almost every aspect of daily life, while the windows demonstrate that even a cathedral approaching 900 years of age can accommodate something new.

Faith, Folklore and a Rather Dangerous Time to Be Different

My interest in Glasgow Cathedral wasn’t entirely architectural, however.

During the months leading up to this trip, I’d spent considerable time exploring Scotland’s darker religious history, particularly the relationship between Christianity, traditional folk beliefs and the persecution of those accused of witchcraft.

For centuries, Scotland’s communities had lived with a fascinating mixture of Christian teachings and much older beliefs. Fairies, healing charms, sacred wells, supernatural encounters and folk remedies were woven into everyday life, especially in rural communities. These weren’t necessarily regarded as contradictory beliefs by the people practising them. A person might attend church on Sunday and still seek assistance from a local healer, carry a protective charm or avoid a particular hillside after dark for fear of disturbing its otherworldly inhabitants.

Following the Reformation, however, religious authorities increasingly sought to regulate such practices, and the passing of Scotland’s Witchcraft Act in 1563 made witchcraft a capital offence.

The consequences could be devastating.

Scotland experienced several major periods of witch-hunting during the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Accusations were frequently driven by local disputes, illness, misfortune, suspicion and fear, with women disproportionately represented among those prosecuted. Even King James VI developed something of an obsession with the subject, publishing his treatise Daemonologie in 1597, in which he argued for the reality of witchcraft and the need to suppress it.

An unfortunate time to fall out with the neighbours, particularly if your herbal remedies were more successful than the local physician’s.

Standing inside the cathedral, I found myself thinking about the extraordinary changes in belief that had taken place within these walls. The same building had witnessed medieval Catholic worship, the upheavals of the Reformation and the emergence of a very different religious Scotland.

And just outside, amongst the weathered gravestones, was a reminder that not everyone in sixteenth-century Glasgow was preoccupied with witches and the supernatural.

Some were attempting to drag medicine into the modern world.

Doctor Peter Low – A Man Ahead of His Time

Among the monuments near the cathedral is an impressive memorial to Doctor Peter Low, a rather remarkable Scottish surgeon whose contribution to medicine deserves considerably wider recognition.

Born around the middle of the sixteenth century, Low spent time studying and practising surgery in France before eventually settling in Glasgow. In 1597 he published The Whole Course of Chirurgerie, an important surgical textbook that helped bring together contemporary medical and surgical knowledge in the English language.

Two years later, in 1599, he secured a royal charter from James VI establishing what would eventually become the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons of Glasgow.

His ambition was to improve medical standards and ensure that those practising surgery and medicine were properly examined and qualified.

This was no small undertaking in an age when medical treatment could be something of a lottery, and the distinction between a trained practitioner, an enthusiastic barber and someone armed with a collection of questionable remedies wasn’t always reassuringly clear.

Low’s original organisation also had responsibility for examining and regulating practitioners, including surgeons and apothecaries, and its foundation represented an important step towards the professional medical institutions we recognise today.

His memorial is an intriguing survivor, tucked away amongst the older stones, and a reminder that Glasgow was developing a serious intellectual and scientific identity long before the Industrial Revolution transformed it into one of Britain’s great commercial cities.

What I particularly enjoyed was the historical contrast.

Here was a city in which religious authorities were grappling with witchcraft and supernatural beliefs while pioneering individuals such as Peter Low were simultaneously attempting to establish more rigorous standards in medicine.

Faith, fear, folklore and emerging science, all occupying much the same period of history.

Scotland in the sixteenth century was certainly never dull.

But fascinating as Glasgow had been, the clock was ticking. I still had an ambitious itinerary ahead of me, and after yesterday’s aviation-related disruption, I was determined to recover at least a little of my carefully prepared schedule.

It was time to leave the city behind.

Next stop, Dumbarton Rock, where the history was considerably older, the defences rather more imposing and the Vikings had once made themselves spectacularly unwelcome.

Leaving Glasgow – The Road to Dumbarton

With my exploration of Glasgow Cathedral complete, it was time to leave the city behind and begin the journey west.

The drive towards Dumbarton provided a fascinating transition. Glasgow’s imposing Victorian buildings, busy streets and industrial heritage gradually gave way to a more open landscape, with the River Clyde becoming an increasingly prominent feature.

For centuries, the Clyde was the lifeblood of Glasgow’s prosperity. Its banks were once lined with shipyards, engineering works and heavy industry, producing some of the finest ships in the world. At its peak, the river was synonymous with Scottish industrial ambition, its shipbuilders helping Glasgow earn its reputation as the Second City of the Empire.

But heading west, the industrial landscape begins to soften. The river broadens, the surrounding hills become increasingly prominent and the sense of approaching a rather different Scotland begins to take hold.

And then, rising dramatically from the landscape, comes Dumbarton Rock.

It’s difficult to miss.

An enormous volcanic outcrop towering above the surrounding countryside, with the remains of one of Scotland’s most historically significant fortifications perched upon it.

Dumbarton Castle – Before Scotland Was Scotland

Dumbarton Rock is a remarkable place, and one I’d been particularly looking forward to photographing.

Long before the medieval castle was established, this great volcanic stronghold was known as Alt Clut, meaning ‘Rock of the Clyde’, and served as the principal fortified centre of the ancient Brittonic kingdom of Strathclyde.

Its position is extraordinary. Rising steeply above the confluence of the Rivers Clyde and Leven, the rock provided an almost naturally impregnable defensive position, commanding the surrounding landscape and an important route into Scotland’s interior.

In AD 870, however, even these formidable natural defences proved insufficient.

Viking forces led by Olaf and Ivar laid siege to Dumbarton Rock in an assault that reportedly lasted four months. Eventually the fortress fell, and according to contemporary Irish annals, the invaders returned to Dublin with an enormous quantity of treasure and captives, carried aboard a fleet said to number some 200 ships.

One can only imagine the reception committee.

The site subsequently became an important royal stronghold, with Alexander II developing the medieval castle during the thirteenth century as Scottish and Norwegian interests competed for influence along the western seaboard.

Its later history reads like a condensed account of Scotland’s political turbulence.

William Wallace was brought here following his capture in 1305 before being handed over to the English. In 1548, the five-year-old Mary, Queen of Scots, was sheltered within its defences before sailing to France. Then, in 1571, during the civil wars surrounding Mary’s reign, the castle was captured in an extraordinary night assault by Thomas Crawford of Jordanhill, whose men scaled the supposedly impregnable rock.

A Viking siege, medieval kings, William Wallace, Mary, Queen of Scots and an audacious military assault.

Not bad for one rather substantial lump of volcanic rock.

A Photographer’s Patience – Somewhat Tested

I was particularly keen to get a decent photograph of the castle, ideally capturing the great rock and its fortifications without too much modern-day interference.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t alone.

A group of people appeared to be conducting a dog-training session in precisely the area I had earmarked for my photographs.

Now, I have absolutely nothing against dogs. Or, for that matter, people training them. But I do have a particular dislike of people appearing in photographs of historic buildings, especially when I’m attempting to capture something that has stood for hundreds of years.

There’s something faintly irritating about composing a photograph of a magnificent medieval fortress, imagining Viking longships approaching along the Clyde, only to have someone in a fluorescent jacket wander into the foreground clutching a bag of dog treats.

Not quite the historical atmosphere I had in mind.

I spent a little time moving around, adjusting the composition and waiting patiently for suitable gaps in the canine activities.

Eventually, I managed to capture the views I wanted, although it did require rather more patience than I’d anticipated.

I suspect the Vikings had an easier time organising their invasion.

With Dumbarton duly photographed, it was time to continue the journey, there was, however, a small problem, I was getting hungry.

The Great Lunchtime Expedition – Or How Not to Find Lunch

I’d already identified a couple of potentially interesting places to stop for something to eat, so finding lunch shouldn’t have presented much of a challenge, famous last words!

The first was a Vietnamese establishment that had caught my attention during my research. I had visions of wonderfully fragrant broths, fresh herbs, perhaps a bánh mì with crisp pickled vegetables and a little chilli. Something light, interesting and full of flavour. Unfortunately, what I discovered bore rather little resemblance to the Vietnamese experience I’d been anticipating.

Burgers and baps appeared to be the order of the day.

Now, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a decent burger, but when you’ve mentally prepared yourself for the flavours of Vietnam, a bap comes as something of an anticlimax, never mind, time for plan B.

The second establishment looked promising, and I approached with renewed optimism, only to discover that it was closed on Tuesdays, naturally, today was Tuesday.

Two attempts, no lunch!

For someone who’d spent months researching medieval castles, prehistoric monuments, Scottish folklore and the finer points of Highland clan warfare, my inability to locate a decent sandwich was becoming mildly embarrassing, clearly, the 55-page guide had overlooked something important.

Out came the phone for a little emergency culinary research, and before long I’d found something that looked considerably more promising. There was just one slight complication, it meant heading back towards Glasgow. Not exactly the most efficient use of a carefully constructed itinerary, but there are times when culinary considerations must take precedence over geographical common sense. Besides, I’d already lost Stirling Castle to yesterday’s fog. I wasn’t about to lose Tuesday’s lunch to a burger and a locked door.

And that was how I discovered “Mootz”.

Mootz – Now That’s a Sandwich!

Mootz specialises in freshly prepared Italian “schiacciata” sandwiches, and one look at the menu suggested my little detour might prove rather worthwhile.

Schiacciata, originating in Tuscany, is a wonderful olive-oil-enriched flatbread, with a beautifully golden exterior and a light, airy interior. When made properly, it provides the perfect foundation for a generously filled Italian sandwich, and generous appeared to be something of a speciality here.

The menu was full of tempting combinations featuring mortadella, prosciutto, stracciatella, mozzarella, pistachio pesto and assorted other delicious ingredients.

The signature Mootz caught my attention: mortadella, stracciatella, pistachio pesto and crushed pistachios.

A beautifully simple combination, allowing the individual ingredients to shine. The richness of mortadella, the wonderfully creamy stracciatella and the distinctive nutty flavour of pistachio all wrapped in that magnificent bread.

It looked substantial, to say the least.

But, after considerable deliberation, I settled on the Huckleberry, a rather magnificent creation consisting of pistachio mortadella, apricot-glazed ham, porchetta, tomato carpaccio, mozzarella, chimichurri and chilli oil, all generously packed between two substantial slices of freshly baked schiacciata.

This wasn’t so much a sandwich as a carefully engineered construction project.

With my precious cargo safely aboard, it was time to leave Glasgow behind for the second time that day.

I had a particular destination in mind for lunch. Somewhere considerably more scenic than a city-centre pavement, and somewhere I could finally test another of my recent acquisitions.

My little portable espresso machine was about to earn its place in the luggage.

Loch Lomond – An Island with a History of Its Own

Heading north along the A82, the urban landscape gradually disappeared, replaced by wooded hillsides, distant mountains and increasingly impressive views across Loch Lomond.

The loch is the largest freshwater lake in Great Britain by surface area, extending for approximately 36 kilometres from its southern reaches towards the Highland mountains. Its character changes dramatically along its length. To the south, the water is broad and comparatively gentle, scattered with numerous islands, while farther north the mountains close in and the landscape takes on a much wilder appearance.

One island in particular had caught my attention during the pre-trip research.

Inchmurrin.

At approximately 120 hectares, Inchmurrin is the largest freshwater island in the British Isles, and, naturally, it has a rather interesting history.

Named after St Mirin, the early Christian saint associated with Paisley, the island was once an important possession of the Earls of Lennox. During the fourteenth century, a castle was established near its southern end, providing the powerful Lennox family with a secluded island stronghold. Its history became entangled with the political turbulence surrounding Scotland’s medieval aristocracy and the Stewart dynasty. The castle eventually fell into ruin, but its remains survive as another reminder that Scotland’s beautiful landscapes frequently conceal a more complicated past.

I rather liked the idea of an island within a loch, with its own castle, history and centuries of intrigue. And, of course, there was something particularly appropriate about encountering it while travelling towards another island altogether, Eilean Shona, where the culinary part of this adventure was still waiting for me.

But that was a few days away.

For now, I had lunch to consider, and the landscape was becoming increasingly spectacular.

Rest and Be Thankful – A Rather Appropriate Place for Lunch

Continuing along Loch Lomond towards Tarbet, I turned left onto the A83, heading west into the magnificent landscape of the Arrochar Alps. Here the road begins to climb through Glen Croe, winding between imposing mountain slopes towards one of Scotland’s most wonderfully named locations: the Rest and Be Thankful.

The name originates from the eighteenth-century military road constructed through the glen as part of a wider network intended to improve military access through the Highlands.

The old route involved a considerable climb, and travellers reaching the summit were encouraged to stop and appreciate their achievement. An inscription commemorating repairs undertaken by the 93rd Regiment in 1768 helped preserve the wonderfully simple sentiment.

Rest and Be Thankful

Considering the view, it seemed only polite to comply. This was where I finally stopped for my rather delayed lunch.

Surrounded by towering mountains, with the dramatic sweep of Glen Croe stretching away below, I unwrapped my magnificent Mootz sandwich.

And what a setting I’d chosen.

The landscape was spectacular, with great banks of cloud drifting across the mountains, occasional bursts of sunlight illuminating the slopes and the ever-present possibility of the weather deciding to provide a little additional entertainment.

After two failed attempts to find lunch, an unscheduled return towards Glasgow and rather more driving than anticipated, the sandwich tasted all the better for the effort.

The combination of ingredients was inspired. Delicate, silky mortadella provided a lovely richness, complemented by the sweetness of the apricot-glazed ham and the deeper, savoury character of the porchetta. Fresh mozzarella brought a welcome creaminess, while the finely sliced tomato added moisture and a little acidity to balance the cured and roasted meats.

Then came the chimichurri, that wonderfully vibrant herb-based sauce, cutting through the richness with its fresh, garlicky sharpness, while the chilli oil delivered a gentle background warmth.

And holding this magnificent collection together was the schiacciata itself. Golden and lightly crisp on the outside, wonderfully soft and airy within, with that distinctive olive oil character that makes good Italian flatbread such a pleasure to eat.

It was an absolute triumph of contrasting flavours and textures: rich, sweet, savoury, creamy, fresh and just a little spicy, with each ingredient contributing something rather than simply competing for attention.

Sometimes the simplest things are the most enjoyable.

Although I wasn’t quite finished.

Espresso in the Wild – The Inaugural Field Test

Now came another important moment in the adventure.

The first proper outdoor test of my new Outin portable espresso machine.

I’d bought this clever little rechargeable device specifically for the trip, imagining freshly made espresso in some wonderfully remote Scottish setting. Now here I was, surrounded by Highland mountains, armed with my GRIND coffee capsules and absolutely no need to locate a coffee shop.

For those unfamiliar with it, the Outin is a compact battery-operated espresso maker capable of heating water and extracting coffee without requiring mains electricity. It accepts compatible capsules or ground coffee, making it particularly appealing for travelling, camping or finding yourself miles from the nearest decent café.

A little water, a capsule, a press of the button and the machine set about producing a proper espresso.

There’s something immensely satisfying about enjoying good coffee somewhere like this.

No queue, no barista asking for your name and, perhaps most importantly, no paper cup informing you that you’re having an inspirational day.

Just an Italian sandwich, freshly extracted espresso and one of the finest views Scotland could offer.

Civilisation, I decided, is more a state of mind than a geographical location, the name of the viewpoint seemed particularly appropriate.

After my slightly ridiculous lunchtime expedition, I was indeed resting, and extremely thankful.

The Road to Kilmartin – Lochs, Puffers and Five Thousand Years of History

With lunch finally enjoyed and the coffee experiment declared a success, it was time to pack away my little mobile coffee shop and continue west.

The road carried me deeper into Argyll, where the landscape seemed determined to become more spectacular around every corner. The towering mountains gradually softened into wooded hillsides, great stretches of water appeared between the trees, and the late afternoon sunshine was beginning to cast that wonderful golden light across the countryside.

I was also becoming increasingly aware that my camera was rather interfering with my carefully planned timetable. Every bend seemed to reveal another scene demanding attention.

Not that I was complaining.

A Brief Encounter with Loch Fyne

One particularly lovely stop was beside Loch Fyne, where I pulled in near the famous Loch Fyne Oyster Bar.

With the sun beginning to sink behind the surrounding hills, the view was magnificent. The loch stretched away into the distance, its waters reflecting the warm evening light, while great sweeps of cloud filled the sky overhead.

Loch Fyne is Scotland’s longest sea loch, extending for around 40 miles inland from the Sound of Bute. Its sheltered waters have long supported fishing and shellfish production, and its oysters are particularly celebrated.

The Loch Fyne Oyster Bar itself grew out of a small roadside business established in the late 1970s, helping bring the region’s exceptional seafood to a much wider audience.

Under different circumstances, this would have warranted a considerably longer investigation. Possibly involving oysters. Almost certainly involving something else from the menu.

Unfortunately, time was marching on, and having already travelled rather further than originally intended in pursuit of a sandwich, I thought it prudent not to embark on another culinary expedition.

A few photographs, a moment to enjoy the view, and I was on my way.

The Vital Spark – A Little Maritime Nostalgia

Continuing towards Inveraray, another unexpected photographic opportunity presented itself in the form of a wonderful old vessel named Vital Spark, her distinctive red-and-black hull standing out beautifully against the waters of Loch Fyne.

The name immediately evokes Scotland’s famous Clyde puffers, those sturdy little steam-powered cargo vessels that once carried essential supplies from the Clyde to the remote communities of the western Highlands and islands.

Coal, food, building materials, whisky barrels and almost anything else required by isolated settlements travelled aboard these remarkably versatile boats. Their shallow draught and flat bottoms allowed them to reach small harbours and even beach themselves where proper docking facilities were unavailable.

The puffers also became immortalised through Neil Munro’s fictional character Para Handy, the gloriously self-important skipper of the Vital Spark, whose adventures and frequent misunderstandings became a much-loved part of Scottish literature and television.

A captain whose confidence in his own abilities was, shall we say, not always entirely justified.

And this particular Vital Spark has quite a history of her own.

Built in 1944 as VIC 72, a wartime naval victualling vessel, she subsequently spent decades working as a cargo boat around Scotland’s western islands under several different names. Eventually brought to Inveraray in 2001, she was renamed Vital Spark in 2006 in honour of Neil Munro’s much-loved fictional puffer.

Although originally steam-powered, she was later converted to diesel, so she’s not quite the traditional steam puffer her appearance might suggest. Nevertheless, her working-boat character and distinctive profile make her a wonderful surviving reminder of the vessels that once provided a lifeline to Scotland’s remote coastal communities.

Not bad for a lady approaching her 82nd birthday.

There was something wonderfully atmospheric about her sitting quietly against the pier, with the wooded hills and calm waters of Loch Fyne providing a magnificent backdrop.

Quite how Para Handy would have coped with my increasingly revised itinerary is anyone’s guess, although I suspect he’d have found a perfectly reasonable explanation for every delay, preferably one that involved blaming somebody else.

And speaking of waterways, my next photographic diversion was waiting a little farther along the road.

Crinan – A Shortcut Through Scotland

As the afternoon slipped towards evening, I made my way to Crinan, a beautiful little settlement overlooking the Sound of Jura and the western entrance to the Crinan Canal.

By now, the light was changing rapidly. The sky had taken on soft shades of gold and blue, the rocky shoreline was beautifully silhouetted against the water, and distant islands appeared almost suspended beneath the clouds.

It was the sort of scene that makes you forget you’ve been driving for most of the day.

The canal itself has a fascinating history. Designed by the great civil engineer John Rennie and opened in 1801, it provides a nine-mile navigable shortcut between Ardrishaig on Loch Fyne and Crinan on the Sound of Jura.

Before its construction, vessels travelling between the Clyde and the western islands faced the considerably longer and potentially hazardous journey around the Mull of Kintyre.

The canal, with its 15 locks, transformed that journey, becoming an important commercial route for fishing vessels, cargo boats and, later, the Clyde puffers.

Not surprisingly, it acquired the rather splendid description of Britain’s most beautiful shortcut.

Standing beside the quiet harbour, looking at the boats, old stonework and canal locks, it wasn’t particularly difficult to understand why.

There was a lovely stillness about the place. Boats rested in the sheltered basin, their masts rising against the wooded hills, while the old lock gates and surrounding buildings provided a glimpse of the canal’s working past.

After the bustle of Glasgow, the dog-training activities at Dumbarton and the unexpected lunchtime expedition, Crinan felt wonderfully peaceful.

I could easily have spent considerably longer here, exploring the shoreline and photographing the changing light, but there was one small problem.

I still hadn’t reached my hotel.

Kilmartin – At Last!

A short drive later, I finally arrived in Kilmartin.

And, almost on cue, the weather decided that I’d enjoyed quite enough sunshine for one day.

The sky had turned decidedly grey, the roads were wet, and there stood the wonderfully traditional white frontage of the Kilmartin Hotel, looking rather inviting after a long day’s travelling.

I’d made it.

The hotel sits in the heart of a landscape I’d spent months researching, surrounded by one of Britain’s most remarkable collections of prehistoric monuments. Within just a few miles are ancient burial cairns, standing stones, stone circles and mysterious cup-and-ring carvings, many dating back thousands of years.

There is also Dunadd, once an important royal centre of the Gaelic kingdom of Dál Riata, where a footprint carved into the rock is traditionally associated with the inauguration of early Scottish kings. From prehistoric ceremonial landscapes to the emergence of early Scottish kingship, an astonishing amount of history is concentrated in this relatively small corner of Argyll.

And here I was, finally in the middle of it.

After months of research, countless maps, historical investigations and enough printed material to suggest I was preparing a doctoral thesis rather than a holiday, the real exploration was about to begin.

There was, however, something rather satisfying about simply arriving.

Looking back over the day, I’d managed to squeeze in a Bombay-inspired breakfast, an extraordinary medieval cathedral, a pioneering surgeon, Viking invasions, a rather unsuccessful search for lunch, one magnificent Italian sandwich, an espresso overlooking the Highlands, Loch Fyne, a characterful old puffer and a beautiful evening beside the Crinan Canal.

Not bad for a Tuesday.

But the ancient stones, mysterious burial chambers and several thousand years of Scottish history would have to wait until morning. For now, I had a hotel to check into, a camera to put away and, quite possibly, a well-earned glass of something Scottish to contemplate.

Five thousand years of history weren’t going anywhere overnight.

At least, I sincerely hoped not.

………………… Until Next Time ………………. L8ers ………………………

Wild Scotland: Witches, Whisky, Ancient Stones & Michelin Stars (Part 1)

Posted on October 13, 2026 by julianrolfe

It all started in March 2025 with an email landing in my inbox. The subject line? Kitchen in the Wild. Now, that got my attention.

I’d been on one of their adventures to Norway back in 2023 and had an absolute blast, so naturally, I was intrigued. But this one promised something rather special. An island off the west coast of Scotland, with none other than Nathan Outlaw, a chef with two Michelin stars, joining us as a special guest. Well, things were looking interesting already!

Apparently, it had taken the organisers 15 months to track down the perfect location, and from the description, it sounded as though they’d struck gold. Remote enough to escape the modern world, with no light pollution, meaning skies bursting with stars. Wildlife in abundance, a forager’s paradise and a fisherman’s heaven. Scallops, crabs, oysters and lobsters, all practically queuing up to be ‘thermidored’.

A remote Scottish island, spectacular scenery, incredible seafood and a two-Michelin-starred chef thrown into the mix. What could possibly go wrong?

Or, more to the point, where do I sign?

One year and seven months later, departure day had finally arrived. Of course, I’d hardly been sitting around twiddling my thumbs in the meantime. What started as a simple idea to add a few days of exploration before the main event had developed into something of a historical obsession, culminating in a professionally printed, full-colour guide running to more than 55 pages. Some people buy a guidebook. Apparently, I have to write my own.

Scotland, as I was discovering, has rather more to offer than spectacular scenery, whisky and the occasional deep-fried Mars bar. Beneath those beautiful Highland landscapes lies a history that is as fascinating as it is frequently bloody. Ancient kingdoms, warring clans, ruined castles, witchcraft, superstition and enough murder and betrayal to keep a television scriptwriter employed for life. I was hooked.

My research had taken me down several rather unexpected rabbit holes. There were the great Highland clans, particularly the Campbells, MacDonalds and Stewarts, whose centuries of feuding, shifting allegiances and occasional enthusiasm for slaughter had helped shape the Scotland we know today. Then came the darker world of witchcraft and folklore: accusations of sorcery, fairy beliefs, folk healers and the persecution of supposed witches. Following Scotland’s Witchcraft Act of 1563, such accusations could carry the death penalty. An unfortunate time to be a little eccentric, particularly if your neighbours didn’t like you.

But perhaps the most intriguing discovery was Kilmartin Glen in Argyll, an extraordinary landscape where the story of human settlement stretches back thousands of years. Here, long before the Highland clans were fighting over castles and territory, prehistoric communities were constructing elaborate burial cairns, carving mysterious cup-and-ring symbols into rock and raising enormous standing stones. Some of these monuments are around 5,000 years old, older even than Stonehenge’s famous stone circle. Their precise purpose, and whether particular alignments held ceremonial or astronomical significance, continues to fascinate archaeologists. Whatever the answers, our ancestors were clearly up to something rather more ambitious than simply finding somewhere to park a large rock.

The more I read, the longer my list of places to visit became. Castles appeared on the itinerary, followed by ancient burial grounds, standing stones and sites associated with Scotland’s darker folklore. Before long, my modest little detour had developed into a full-blown historical expedition. I had maps, routes, background notes and enough printed material to suggest I might be planning an archaeological dig rather than a culinary holiday.

And so, with the research complete, the guides printed and a hire car waiting in Glasgow, the first few days were all mapped out. I would be heading west, into Argyll, following a trail through centuries of Scottish history before eventually making my way towards the remote island and the culinary adventure that had started this whole thing.

First, though, there were a few castles to investigate, some ancient stones to ponder and several thousand years of history to catch up on.

Nathan Outlaw and the lobsters would have to wait.

Monday Morning – Best-Laid Plans

It was five o’clock on Monday morning. My intended 3:30 start had somehow passed me by, and I stirred to check the time. Today was the day. A 10:10 flight to Glasgow and the culmination of months of planning, research and anticipation. I was excited, although perhaps not quite as organised as my meticulously prepared itinerary might suggest!

Fortunately, the taxi arrived on time, and I was soon heading towards Heathrow, looking forward to a few days of independent exploration before joining a group of like-minded people whose common passion was food.

The journey, however, had other ideas.

Unusual fog conditions had apparently scattered aircraft and their respective crews far and wide, resulting in our eventual arrival at Glasgow Airport more than two hours behind schedule.

Not a major disaster, you might think. But I’d put together a rather ambitious timetable of places to visit, with Stirling Castle first on the list. By the time I’d collected the hire car, it was obvious that Stirling would have to wait. I had a dinner reservation that evening, and there are some things in life that simply cannot be compromised.

A change of plan was required. Fortunately, Glasgow was somewhere I’d wanted to explore anyway, and with a little rearranging, I could still make something of the afternoon.

Chocolate, Coffee and Other Essentials

First on the revised itinerary was Bare Bones Chocolate, a small artisan chocolate maker in the heart of Glasgow that I’d first discovered watching Rick Stein on television. He’d visited their operation, been suitably impressed and subsequently cooked using their chocolate. Naturally, this warranted further investigation.

I’d already sampled some through mail order and was rather taken with it, so the opportunity to visit in person was too good to miss.

Founded by Cameron and Lara, Bare Bones is a fascinating little business built around a simple philosophy: exceptional chocolate begins with exceptional cacao, and the people who grow it deserve just as much consideration as those who eventually get to eat it.

Their approach is genuinely bean-to-bar, meaning they undertake the entire chocolate-making process themselves, starting with the raw cacao beans rather than buying in ready-made chocolate to melt down and repackage. Everything is produced in their Glasgow workshop in small batches of around 30kg, with an almost obsessive attention to detail.

Cameron, a mechanical engineer by background, has even modified and developed some of the equipment used in production, including a Giesen coffee roaster adapted specifically for cacao. There’s something wonderfully appealing about that level of dedication.

And then there’s the cacao itself.

Rather than blending beans from numerous unidentified sources to achieve a standardised chocolate flavour, Bare Bones celebrates single-origin cacao, allowing the distinctive characteristics of individual growing regions to shine through. Much like wine or speciality coffee, the variety of cacao, where it’s grown, the surrounding environment and how it’s fermented and dried all influence the finished flavour.

Take their Madagascan chocolate, for example. The beans originate in the Sambirano region in the northwest of Madagascar, where cacao grows beneath the shade of tropical fruit trees. The resulting 70% dark chocolate has distinctive fruity characteristics, with notes of raspberries, cherries and maple syrup.

Their Honduran milk chocolate, meanwhile, offers something quite different, with flavours reminiscent of raisins, fudge and double cream. Then there’s cacao from the Dominican Republic, where Bare Bones works with beans supplied through ÖKO Caribe, an organisation supporting farmers through agricultural training, improved growing practices and more stable prices.

This is chocolate with provenance, character and a story behind it, rather than simply a percentage printed on a wrapper.

The production process is equally interesting. After roasting, the beans are cracked, their outer husks removed and the remaining cacao nibs slowly ground with a little cocoa butter and sugar in a traditional stone grinder known as a melanger.

This process can take up to 72 hours, gradually refining the texture and mellowing some of the sharper flavours. The chocolate is then allowed to age for two or three weeks before being tempered, giving the finished bar that lovely glossy appearance and distinctive snap when broken.

Rather more involved than opening a large bag of chocolate buttons!

Environmental responsibility is also clearly part of their thinking. Their cacao is sourced from farms and cooperatives, with an emphasis on organically grown produce and relationships that recognise the importance of the growers. In Madagascar, for instance, the cooperative supplying their cacao has been involved in initiatives encouraging shade-grown cultivation, protecting the surrounding rainforest habitat and reducing soil erosion.

Even the packaging has been carefully considered. The colourful outer boxes are produced from recycled paper, including recycled coffee cups, while the inner wrappers are plant-based and compostable. All their packaging is designed to be recyclable or compostable after use.

I rather like that. If you’re going to produce something special, why not consider the whole journey, from the farmer growing the cacao to the wrapper left behind after you’ve thoroughly enjoyed the contents?

Another attraction, particularly for a dark chocolate enthusiast like myself, is their refreshingly short ingredient lists. No soya lecithin, vegetable fats or unnecessary additives, just carefully selected ingredients and a great deal of patience.

Dark chocolate also has another interesting attribute. Cocoa contains naturally occurring plant compounds called flavanols, which have been studied for their effects on blood vessel function and circulation. Although the quantity retained varies considerably depending on how chocolate is processed, I feel this provides an entirely reasonable scientific justification for enjoying a square or two of particularly good dark chocolate.

Possibly three. Best not to leave the research half-finished. There was, however, another reason for my interest.

For this adventure I’d acquired an Outin rechargeable portable espresso machine, a rather clever little battery-operated device capable of producing a very respectable espresso without the need for a kitchen, mains electricity or a barista. Perfect for a trip involving remote Scottish landscapes.

My plan was to pair some excellent single-origin chocolate with a freshly extracted espresso, preferably somewhere overlooking a magnificent Highland loch. I’d also packed some home-compostable Nespresso-compatible pods from GRIND, having enjoyed their coffee in the Heathrow business lounge earlier that morning.

Wilderness is all very well, but there’s absolutely no reason to lower one’s standards.

Glasgow – A City with a Rather Colourful Past

Chocolate interests satisfied, I continued exploring.

One of the things that had become apparent during my pre-trip research was just how much history lies beneath the surface of Glasgow. The city is perhaps better known for its industrial heritage, magnificent Victorian architecture and mercantile wealth, but dig a little deeper and there’s a considerably darker, and occasionally rather amusing, story waiting to be discovered.

Glasgow Cross was a particularly interesting place to start.

Dominating the junction stands the magnificent seven-storey Tolbooth Steeple, dating from the 1620s and now standing somewhat forlornly on its own. Originally, it formed part of a much larger building housing the Town Clerk’s office, council chambers, courts and city prison.

It was, in effect, the administrative and judicial heart of Glasgow, where civic decisions were made and justice dispensed. Sometimes rather enthusiastically.

Witches, thieves and murderers all passed through the Tolbooth’s judicial machinery, with public executions forming a particularly grim chapter in the city’s history.

Not everyone incarcerated there had an entirely miserable time, however.

The debtors apparently developed something resembling an exclusive gentlemen’s club, electing their own ‘provost’ and establishing rules governing their little community. They even attempted to prevent the jailer from admitting anyone they considered unsuitable.

One regulation from 1789 required prisoners fortunate enough to regain their freedom to treat their fellow inmates to a shilling’s worth of liquor.

Imagine being released from prison only to discover you still had to buy everyone a round before you could leave!

Outside the Tolbooth, the paved area known as the ‘plainstanes’ became a fashionable gathering place for Glasgow’s wealthy merchants, particularly the Tobacco Lords. These gentlemen, enriched by Glasgow’s transatlantic tobacco trade and its connections to the economy of slavery, were apparently rather fond of displaying their prosperity, parading around in scarlet cloaks, powdered wigs and carrying gold-topped canes.

Subtlety clearly wasn’t fashionable.

Glasgow Cross was also a major communications and transport hub, with stagecoaches arriving from Edinburgh and London, bringing travellers, newspapers and news from the wider world.

As Glasgow expanded westwards, the old Tolbooth gradually lost its importance. The remaining main building was finally demolished in 1921, leaving its extraordinary steeple standing alone, a reminder of the days when Glasgow Cross was the beating heart of the city.

A City That Wears Its Art on Its Walls

Wandering through the surrounding streets, something else caught my attention: Glasgow’s remarkable collection of street art.

Now, I appreciate that graffiti can be a divisive subject, but some of what I encountered was on an entirely different level. Huge, colourful murals occupied entire sides of buildings, transforming otherwise unremarkable streets and forgotten corners into an enormous open-air gallery.

What began as a Glasgow City Council initiative in 2008 to brighten neglected spaces developed into something considerably more ambitious, with the official City Centre Mural Trail launching in 2014.

Artists including Smug, Rogue One and Ejek have helped establish Glasgow as a city where art isn’t necessarily confined to galleries, museums or somewhere requiring an admission ticket.

One of the most striking examples is Smug’s extraordinary depiction of St Mungo, Glasgow’s patron saint, on High Street. The saint is portrayed as a modern-day figure holding a robin, a reference to one of the miracles traditionally associated with him.

Elsewhere, an enormous girl peers through a magnifying glass on Mitchell Street, while a magnificent collection of Scottish wildlife occupies a building on Ingram Street.

There’s humour here, but also history and some powerful social commentary.

The Strathclyde University Wonderwall, covering more than 1,000 square metres, celebrates the university’s achievements, while another mural pays tribute to Charles Rennie Mackintosh, one of Glasgow’s most celebrated creative talents.

Other works carry a more contemporary message. Bow Down, Honour the Roots, created by the Fearless Collective during the COP26 climate conference in 2021, depicts Indigenous people from the Amazon alongside imagery celebrating cultural identity and environmental protection.

What I particularly enjoyed was the element of surprise. Turn a corner, wander down an unfamiliar street, and you might suddenly find yourself confronted by an enormous work of art.

Unlike the great Victorian buildings that have stood for generations, street art is constantly evolving. Murals appear, others disappear, buildings change and the city continues to reinvent itself.

There’s something rather wonderful about that.

From Ancient Glasgow to Modern Glasgow – and Dinner

Time was passing rather quickly, and I was discovering that Glasgow deserved considerably more attention than my hastily rearranged afternoon could possibly provide. It was definitely somewhere I wanted to return to. My research had already uncovered countless places beyond the usual visitor attractions, and I’d barely scratched the surface.

But enough sightseeing. It was time to eat.

I’d booked a table at the highly recommended Ardnamurchan, a restaurant specialising in Scottish produce, and one whose menu I’d been examining with considerable enthusiasm for months. The walk there was pleasant, if slightly damp, and revealed yet another side of the city.

The weathered stone and historic architecture gradually gave way to a more contemporary Glasgow. Neon signs, unfamiliar brands and fast-food outlets competed for attention, sometimes with remarkably similar establishments positioned right next door to one another.

An interesting contrast to the world of powdered wigs, gold-topped canes and debtors demanding a farewell drink.

Ardnamurchan – A Taste of Scotland

Ardnamurchan celebrates traditional Scottish ingredients, showcasing the country’s exceptional natural larder, both animal and vegetable, with a particular emphasis on quality and provenance.

Having studied the menu for months, I was rather looking forward to this.

Stepping through the door, I was immediately encouraged by how busy it was. A Monday evening, and the restaurant was already buzzing. Always a promising sign.

The welcome was wonderfully warm, and the delicious aromas drifting from the kitchen immediately set me trying to identify what was being cooked.

I have a habit of mentally dissecting dishes before I’ve even seen them. A waft of something roasting, a hint of seafood, perhaps a reduction bubbling away somewhere. It’s rather like trying to read the menu through your nose.

Decisions made I settled down and started to think about the week ahead, the day had been delayed, Heathrow business lounge had been a godsend, filtering the masses waiting to escape was a respite and the facilities, food and drink had been exemplary, ‘GRIND’ coffee being of particular interest, I had some off their home-compostable Nespresso^® compatible pods with my Outin expresso machine in my case.

Being a fond favourite of mine, Scallops was the obvious 1st choice, I did look at the other options

Settling down with the menu, I finally had a moment to reflect on the day.

It certainly hadn’t gone entirely to plan. Stirling Castle had been sacrificed to the aviation gods, and my carefully constructed itinerary had required some fairly rapid surgery. On the positive side, I’d discovered rather more of Glasgow than originally intended, acquired some excellent chocolate and made it to dinner in one piece.

Even Heathrow’s business lounge had played its part, providing a welcome refuge from the delayed departure, with excellent facilities, food and drink. The GRIND coffee had been a particular highlight, and I still had those pods tucked away ready for my portable espresso machine. But now there were more important decisions to make.

Being a particular favourite of mine, scallops were the obvious first choice. I did study the other starters, naturally, but sometimes the heart knows what it wants.

And mine was firmly set on the scallops.

Dinner, a Little Indulgence and Plans for Tomorrow

The menu was a wonderful celebration of Scotland’s natural larder, and choosing wasn’t entirely straightforward. The hand-dived Hebridean scallops were particularly tempting, paired on the menu with crisp pork belly, burnt apple chutney, fresh apple, pickled shallots and an Inch’s cider cream. A combination that seemed designed specifically to test my ability to resist ordering them.

For the main course, however, there was considerably less deliberation. Ardnamurchan Estate Wild Venison Pavé, served with redcurrant jus, buttered fondant potato, braised chicory, sweet mustard gel and carrot and apricot purée. Now that sounded rather special.

And when it arrived, it certainly looked the part.

The venison was beautifully presented, generously portioned and cooked a magnificent pink, with a lovely caramelised exterior. The rich, glossy redcurrant jus brought everything together, while the sweetness of the carrot and apricot purée provided a welcome contrast to the game. The braised chicory offered a slightly bitter counterpoint, and that golden fondant potato, crisp on the outside and wonderfully soft within, was a little triumph in its own right.

A glass of red wine completed proceedings rather nicely.

What a delightful way to end a day that had started rather earlier than intended and hadn’t exactly followed the carefully prepared script. The food was excellent, the atmosphere warm and welcoming, and Ardnamurchan had delivered precisely what I’d hoped for: wonderful Scottish ingredients treated with care, confidence and just enough imagination to make the experience memorable.

I left feeling very content indeed. Although, looking back at the dessert menu, I did notice something called Tablet Choc Ice, featuring homemade Scottish tablet, chocolate ice cream, popping candy and white chocolate. Perhaps a compelling reason for a return visit!

A Damp Walk and Tomorrow’s Adventure

The walk back to the AC Hotel by Marriott was pleasant, if a little damp. Glasgow’s streets glistened under the evening lights, and the city had taken on a rather different character from the bustling place I’d explored earlier in the day.

I was reflecting on just how much I’d enjoyed Glasgow. What had initially felt like a frustrating disruption to the itinerary had turned into a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon and evening. Sometimes the unexpected diversions are every bit as rewarding as the carefully planned destinations.

Tomorrow, however, was another matter.

The historical expedition I’d spent so many months researching was finally about to begin in earnest. There were ancient landscapes to explore, castles to discover and several thousand years of Scottish history waiting for my attention. With the hire car collected, my ridiculously comprehensive printed guides ready and the camera batteries charged, I was determined to make the most of the days ahead. But first, breakfast.

Hopefully, tomorrow’s itinerary would prove slightly more resilient than today’s.

And if not, at least I’d be starting it properly fed.

………………… Until next time ………………. L8ers …………………………..

نهار زين طيبنا مع عايلة تونسية في سوسة A Beautiful Day Cooking With a Tunisian Family in Sousse

Posted on September 21, 2025 by julianrolfe

I rose before dawn, the gentle promise of a Tuesday awakening, the fourth day of my fifth journey to Tunisia – a country whose sun-drenched memories began for me on my twenty-first birthday. While others celebrated with fleeting parties and the haze of hangovers, I chose a week wrapped in the golden warmth of 27 to 30 degrees, wandering timeless corridors beneath El Jem’s ancient arches and tracing cinematic dreams at the Star Wars set at Matmata. There’s a quiet magic here; each return only deepens my fascination for this mystical country.

Our hotel was north of Port El Kantaoui, the port had just been completed the 1st time I travelled here nearly 40 years ago, we were staying in Sousse, but visited the port on one of our days out.

Port El Kantaoui, just north of Sousse, stands as one of Tunisia’s most ambitious tourism projects—a meticulously planned resort born from a vision to transform the nation’s appeal for international visitors. Inspired by the allure of Western Mediterranean marinas, its creation in the late 1970s drew on chic Moorish design and an artificial harbour as the centrepiece, instantly setting it apart from the more traditional hospitality found in Sousse’s city centre.

Before Port El Kantaoui, Sousse’s hotels primarily catered to classic beachgoers and travellers eager to soak up local sights, but this integrated resort marked a turning point—ushering in an era of luxury, modern amenities, and a distinctively European flavour in Tunisian tourism. The impact on the region has been profound: not only did it redefine the local hotel scene and create thousands of new tourism jobs, but it also established Sousse as a year-round destination for package holidays and marina lifestyles.

Today, Port El Kantaoui’s elegant streets and bustling quays continue to attract visitors seeking a fusion of North African warmth and Mediterranean sophistication.

I was welcomed by the delightful Nabil at 09:30, with booking and communication made effortless thanks to Tunisian Flavour – a true pleasure from start to finish. My culinary day was private, just for me, although there’s always the option to join a group if that suits your style. As someone whose enthusiasm sometimes overflows, I cherish the chance to immerse myself in tours or classes alone, allowing me to absorb every moment.

After parking, and before we entered the storied lanes of the Medina, I was invited to select the day’s menu from a dazzling list of thirty Tunisian dishes. The decision set the tone for our adventure. Among the offerings was Tajine Malsouka – a much-loved treasure of Tunisian cuisine, reminiscent of a quiche but wrapped in delicate malsouka pastry, crisped to golden perfection and filled with a savoury mixture of chicken, lamb, eggs, cheese, and fresh herbs. Another tempting choice was Nwasser, a cherished Tunisian pasta delicately cut into tiny squares, steamed until perfectly tender, and often served beneath a blanket of succulent chicken in rich tomato sauce, with chickpeas and vibrant vegetables woven through. That lingering moment of selecting my dishes before entering the Medina set a gentle rhythm for the day – one shaped by flavour, tradition, and the warmth of shared experience.

My menu reflected my longing for authenticity. Ojja was to be the star: beloved in Tunisia, this dish features eggs gently poached in a fiery tomato sauce, with green peppers, onions, and plenty of harissa. Most famously paired with merguez sausages, ojja brings together the hearty notes of cumin, paprika, and garlic, bubbling away until perfect for scooping up with crusty bread – a true celebration of Tunisian home cooking.

And because I couldn’t resist, I shared my fondness for brik, the iconic crispy treat I once saw Keith Floyd cook on TV at the El Jem amphitheatre – Nabil kindly offered to show me how to make it a special extra.

For my second choice, I selected Kafteji: a classic Tunisian street food where fried potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, pumpkin, and sometimes zucchini are chopped together, mixed with eggs, and seasoned with cumin, coriander, and a touch of harissa. Served with warm bread, Kafteji is both rustic and comforting – a staple of Tunisian kitchens and snack bars, enjoyed any time of day and loved for its bold, colourful flavours.

The shopping trip into the heart of the Medina was nothing short of epic. Stepping into a world alive with colour and scent, I found myself surrounded by piles of freshest herbs – dill, mint, coriander, parsley – each leaf and sprig bursting with promise and flavour. Much like my adventures through the hidden corners of Morocco, I purposefully wandered beyond the tourist trail with Nabil to where real life unfolded: bustling market stalls, vendors calling with pride, the air thick with the fragrance of earth and spice.

Shopping where locals shop, I revelled in the ritual of tasting, smelling, and with Nabil, carefully selecting ingredients, seeking only the most vibrant and perfect for the dishes ahead. There is an undeniable thrill to browsing food markets – each stall a feast for the senses, every display telling a story. Familiar greens mingled with new discoveries, the market’s energy and abundance filling me with delight. It was just brilliant, the kind of experience that cooks up lifelong memories alongside the day’s recipes.

If there is one ingredient that always seems more vibrant and irresistible when travelling, it’s the tomato. Abroad, their sun-ripened sweetness and fragrance surpass anything I’ve tasted at home – I simply cannot get enough. During my stay at the hotel, juicy, crimson tomatoes found their way onto my plate at least twice a day, an essential centrepiece in salads bursting with authentic flavour – so unlike the pale, bland offerings I’ve grown used to back in the U.K.

The market was overflowing with them: plump and glistening, heaped in glorious abundance, the scent hanging thick in the air. Each tomato promised the taste of sunshine and earth, a simple perfection that felt almost impossible to capture outside these travels.

We continued our journey through the winding alleys of the Medina, stopping at vibrant market stalls to gather the day’s essential ingredients. Each pause brought another burst of colour and aroma – bright herbs, fresh vegetables, spices so fragrant they lingered in the air. The rhythm of local life pulsed around us, every purchase infused with intention and excitement for the cooking to come.

After the market, we retraced our steps to the car, our bags now heavy with promise. Yet the adventure wasn’t done: on the way to Nabil’s home, we visited a delightful series of specialist shops, each one a treasure trove in its own right. There, we picked up freshly made harissa, fiery and aromatic, plump merguez sausages, and glistening olives. These final, carefully chosen ingredients would tie the meal together, their flavours echoing the spirit of Tunisia – generous, bold, and unforgettable.

After a short drive, we arrived at Nabil’s family home where I was introduced to his wife and professional chef Nisaf, my guide for the cooking lessons to follow – the home was a tranquil oasis enveloped in greenery and the gentle shade of leafy trees. The house exuded a cool serenity, with its inviting patio and comfortable chairs set out to savour the softness of the Tunisian breeze. The sheltered garden offered a quiet escape, promising a sense of peace and familial warmth.

Stepping inside, I was welcomed not as a guest, but as a long-awaited member of the household – greeted by genuine smiles and a hospitality that felt deeply rooted in Tunisian tradition. A table was thoughtfully being prepared with refreshments, an offering that was both generous and heart warming. In this private sanctuary, I felt a true sense of privilege, as if I were rediscovering distant family after many seasons apart.

Bread and deep green extra virgin olive oil graced the table – did you know Tunisia’s olive groves span nearly a third of the country and place it among the world’s top five producers. Renowned for organic, flavourful oils like Chemlali and Chetoui, Tunisia’s harvest is largely exported and garners global acclaim, its reputation now standing proudly beside Spain, Italy, and Turkey.

Alongside were figs and bssisa – a beloved Tunisian staple made from roasted grains and legumes, ground and blended with spices, then enriched with olive oil or milk into a nourishing paste or drink. Steeped in tradition and family ritual, bssisa embodies the essence of Tunisian hospitality, uniting generations through its wholesome flavours and generous spirit. Harissa was there too, the ever-present, fiery chilli paste crafted from sun-dried peppers, garlic, olive oil, and aromatic spices – a condiment that captures the vibrant soul of Tunisian cuisine. Completing the spread, coffee gently scented with rose petal essence offered fragrant, delicious comfort.

The spacious family kitchen was ready for an afternoon of discovery. Here, I was welcomed into the secrets of time-honoured Tunisian cooking, sharing those cherished moments that make one feel utterly at home, if only for a sweet, fleeting afternoon—the anticipation humming with the promise of unforgettable memories.

So, back to my menu, Ojja, Kafteji and Brik, a selection of dishes unknown to me (with the exception of Brik. Nisaf was going to show me how to create this traditional Tunisian dishes and I was excited to learn some new techniques.

Ojja

Ojja is a deeply traditional Tunisian dish with humble roots in home kitchens, reflecting the fusion of Berber, Arab, and Mediterranean culinary influences over centuries. Its signature mix of eggs, tomato, peppers, harissa, and spicy merguez sausage embodies the bold flavours of Tunisia, while adaptations vary regionally and by family. The dish is regarded as a cornerstone of authentic Tunisian comfort food, celebrated for its ability to adapt and unite diverse tastes and ingredients.

Kafteji

Kafteji, now a Tunisian staple found in street stalls and home kitchens, began as a creative way to use available vegetables – potatoes, peppers, tomatoes, pumpkin—chopped and fried, mixed with eggs, and spiced generously. Its preparation style, where all ingredients are diced and mixed, is reflected in its name, derived from the Arabic for “chopped”. While some elements may echo Mediterranean and even Turkish traditions, kafteji’s evolution and widespread popularity are distinctly Tunisian, symbolizing hospitality, creativity, and the communal pleasures of everyday meals.

Brik

Brik’s origins are a tapestry of influences: its ultra-thin pastry (warqa or malsouka) and fried fillings likely evolved from Turkish börek – introduced via the Ottoman Empire – while the classic runny egg filling may owe its presence to Andalusian Jews who arrived in Tunisia after the 15th-century expulsion from Spain. Over centuries, brik became a uniquely Tunisian delicacy, made with potato, egg, seafood, or meat, and featured at holidays, Ramadan, and festive gatherings. Its enduring appeal lies in Tunisia’s layering of culinary traditions, each bite echoing the country’s role as a crossroads of Mediterranean culture.

The artistry of Tunisian cooking reveals itself dish by dish, beginning with the bold flavors of ojja. The process starts by pricking merguez sausages with a fork and cooking them separately with some chopped dried chilli, allowing their spicy oils to seep out and deepen their flavour as they brown. Once done, the sausages are set aside, their aromatic fat reserved.

In the same pan, onions and garlic gently sauté in olive oil, joined by chopped green peppers that brighten and sweeten as they cook. Tomatoes and harissa follow, mingling with cumin and coriander until a rich, fiery sauce develops. The browned merguez rounds, glistening with their own juices, are folded back in, and finally eggs are cracked into the bubbling sauce, their whites barely set, yolks golden and just runny. Scooped up with fresh bread, ojja embodies the heart of a Tunisian gathering.

Moving across the kitchen, the creation of kafteji is a celebration of color and texture. Potatoes and squash are sliced thin and fried separately, each piece taking on a golden, crisped edge. Peppers and chilies are fried in turn, then all the vegetables come together in a medley on a broad platter. Fried eggs are then laid across the surface and everything is cut into enticing strips, mingling vegetable and egg in a fragrant jumble. This dish, which is always served for sharing – is wholesome, rustic, full of sunshine and very tasty.

Brik provides the theatrical finale. Each delicate sheet of pastry (malsouka, which we purchased freshly made at the Medina) is filled with a little seasoned tuna placed at its centre, some Tuna. chopped Parsley and a little chopped Onion along with the freshest egg available. The pastry is folded to envelop its filling, with quick, sure hands, and lowered carefully into shimmering hot oil. In just moments, the brik crisps and blisters to a golden finish, the egg inside barely set with a runny yolk. Served immediately, with a wedge of lemon ( and for me Harissa, I love the stuff), brik is crisp yet delicate, a Tunisian delight both sumptuous and fleeting – capturing the very soul of the country’s spirited home cooking.

We drank from traditional white and blue Tunisian terracotta mugs – slightly porous and beautifully handcrafted. The clay kept our drinks deliciously cool, even in the midday warmth, each sip a simple pleasure that echoed centuries of Tunisian craftsmanship and refreshment.

Nisaf was nothing short of magical – a chef imbued with talent and generosity, guiding each step with a graceful confidence that made every new technique feel within reach. With Nabil’s able hands and his effortless translation between languages, learning was transformed into pure delight; culinary secrets became stories, and the kitchen itself pulsed with laughter and the easy rhythm of shared discovery. As we finally sat down to savour the feast we’d created, each bite shimmered with the flavours of Tunisia, rich with memory and promise. I left the table not only filled with the most delicious food, but also with a new treasury of knowledge and inspiration – thirty genuine recipes tucked eagerly into my bag, ready to carry the vibrance of Tunisian cuisine into my own kitchen, time and time again.

After I arrived back to the U.K. I was invited to join a Sicilian Cookery Session at Richard Bertinets Cookery School in Bath which I will be writing about soon.

………………………………. Until Next Time…………………….. L8ers

From Farm to Table and Gallery to Gift—A Moroccan Day of Indulgence and Inspiration (Day 5)

Posted on June 27, 2025 by julianrolfe

I awoke and blinked into the golden Moroccan light, hardly believing it was already Wednesday, the last full day in Essaouira. Since stepping off the plane the previous Saturday, the world I’d left behind had melted away: work, customers, endless problem-solving, even the distant rumblings of the world economy, all had faded into irrelevance. This journey had done its magic, untangling the knots of daily life and filling the space with colour, flavour, and discovery.

Each sunrise brought new marvels, and I found myself immersed in the rhythms of Morocco, its vibrant markets, ancient traditions, and the intoxicating pulse of its cuisine. Guiding me through it all was Amanda: not just my personal guide and masterful chef, but a kindred spirit whose passion for Morocco’s culture and food opened doors I never knew existed. With every shared meal and story, I felt a sense of wonder grow, a reminder that travel, at its best, is a gentle awakening to beauty, friendship, and the joy of being fully present in the world.

Making a rich saffron hollandaise is one of life’s true pleasures, luxurious, golden, and deeply satisfying. I’ve had the delight of whisking it to silkiness a few times before, most memorably at Rick Stein’s Cookery School in Padstow, where it crowned a beautiful ‘tronçon’ of turbot. This morning in Essaouira, the sauce would take centre stage once again. Earlier in the week, we had cured some trout in a vivid blend of beetroot, salt, and sugar, and now it was ready for its moment: breakfast as an event. Slices of the jewel-toned trout were paired with creamy avocado and a perfectly poached egg, all generously draped in that opulent saffron hollandaise and finished with a satisfying crack of fresh black pepper. Each bite was a celebration—of technique, of flavour, and of the sheer joy of starting the day with something extraordinary.

Way back in 2013, I found myself in Puglia, at Masseria Montenapoleone, an organic farm nestled in the sun-drenched heart of southern Italy. It was my very first cooking vacation and the spark that ignited countless culinary adventures to come. There, I learned the subtle art of using flowers not just for beauty, but to create a vibrant, bio-diverse environment: drawing the so-called “unwanted” plant eaters away from crops, while inviting in the pollinators and beneficial insects that keep nature in balance. Akal, here in Morocco, is very much a kindred spirit—an eco-farm that weaves flowers into every aspect of its philosophy. At Akal, the blooms aren’t just guardians of the fields; they’re also an integral part of the tasting experience, gracing the table and infusing the most imaginative, flavourful menus with colour and fragrance. Dining here is more than a meal—it’s a celebration of nature’s harmony, and a reminder of how the smallest details can transform the way we taste the world.

Our lunchtime destination was no more than 15 minutes drive, Domaine Du Val D’Argan. Domaine du Val d’Argan is a remarkable testament to vision, perseverance, and the unique character of Moroccan terroir. Founded by Charles Melia, a seasoned winemaker with deep roots in both France and Morocco, the vineyard sits just outside Essaouira, where the Atlantic winds sweep over limestone and clay soils, echoing the Rhône valley’s own mistral. What began as a retirement dream became a pioneering adventure: Melia cleared stony ground by hand, planted the first Rhône varietals, and patiently learned to coax vines to thrive on the edge of the desert, sheltering them from fierce sun and wind with natural methods and organic care.

Today, Val d’Argan is a landscape of lush vine rows bordered by sorghum and eucalyptus, where dromedaries still help tend the land and the cellar holds the promise of Morocco’s finest vintages. The wines—ranging from bright, aromatic whites to robust reds and elegant rosés—capture the sun, wind, and wild spirit of their setting. Visiting the domaine is more than a tasting; it’s an immersion in a story of resilience and passion, where every glass reflects not only the land’s bounty but also the quiet determination of its founder. This is a vineyard where French tradition and Moroccan landscape meet, yielding wines—and memories—that are truly one of a kind.

I found myself ‘in the moment’ once again, shaded beneath the branches of an ancient olive tree at Domaine du Val d’Argan. Plates of freshly prepared food appeared in a steady, generous procession, vivid salads bursting with local flavour, a fragrant tagine, and turkey roasted on kebab skewers, each dish a celebration of Moroccan abundance. Glasses of the estate’s wines flowed freely, each one a new discovery.

The “Gazelle de Mogador” in white, red, and rosé offered a taste of the Atlantic’s easy elegance, while the Val d’Argan range echoed the vineyard’s Rhône heritage, capturing the region’s sun and wind in every sip. Yet it was the Perle Grise that truly captured the spirit of the place for me, a wine as pale as morning light, delicately aromatic, with hints of citrus blossom and wild herbs, perfectly refreshing beneath the olive canopy. As the afternoon stretched on, a rich chocolate dessert arrived, rounding out a meal that was both relaxed and luxurious. At Domaine du Val d’Argan, the artistry of winemaking and the generosity of Moroccan hospitality come together in a setting as memorable as the wines themselves, a place where every glass tells a story, and every moment lingers long after the last sip. It was time to head back to Essaouira for some last minute exploration.

As we entered the medina, the air shimmered with the ethereal tones of a young man playing a handpan, his fingers coaxing otherworldly melodies from the spaceship-like drum that echoed off the ancient stone walls.

As the sun dips toward the Atlantic, the ancient medina of Essaouira began to pulse with an energy that is both timeless and electric, the unmistakable prelude to the Gnaoua World Music Festival. For a few magical days each year, the city’s labyrinthine alleys and windswept squares become a living stage, as hypnotic rhythms and haunting melodies spill from every doorway and rooftop. The air grows thick with the deep, trance-inducing thrum of the guembri, the metallic clatter of krakebs, and the soaring call-and-response of Gnaoua singers, their music weaving a spell that draws locals and travellers alike into its embrace.

Founded in 1998, the festival is a vibrant celebration of Gnaoua culture, descendants of West African slaves who brought with them a mystical musical tradition rooted in healing, spiritual trance, and communal memory. Over the years, the festival has blossomed into a global gathering, where Gnaoua masters share the stage with jazz virtuosos, blues legends, and musicians from every corner of the world. This fusion of sounds creates a heady, intoxicating atmosphere, where ancient African rhythms meet flamenco, reggae, rock, and Sufi chants, all under the open Moroccan sky.

The festival is more than a concert—it’s a living tapestry of history, spirituality, and artistic exchange. The music, once used in sacred rituals to heal and connect with the divine, now fills Essaouira’s medina with a sense of unity and celebration. For a few unforgettable nights, the city becomes a crossroads of cultures, a place where the boundaries between audience and performer, past and present, seem to dissolve in the intoxicating swirl of sound and spirit.

This stunning plate ( a present for my best friend and wife forever ), is a true testament to Moroccan artistry, its surface alive with intricate geometry and vibrant colour. Crafted in the traditional style of Fez, the design radiates from a central starburst, each petal meticulously hand-painted in shades of emerald green, saffron yellow, and soft rose. Delicate crosshatching and fine black lines create a mesmerizing lattice, while the outer border is woven with interlocking patterns that speak of centuries-old craftsmanship. The plate’s symmetry and precision are captivating, drawing the eye inward and inviting contemplation of the skill and patience required to create such a piece. More than just a vessel, it is a celebration of heritage, a beautiful reminder of Morocco’s rich ceramic traditions and the enduring allure of handmade work.

In the heart of Essaouira’s medina, you’ll often come across what locals call the “magic box”, a beautifully crafted container made from the region’s prized thuya wood. Native to Morocco’s coastal forests and especially abundant around Essaouira, ‘thuya’ wood is renowned for its rich, swirling grain, warm hue, and natural, cedar-like fragrance

Artisans here have honed their craft for generations, turning thuya burl into intricate puzzle boxes, lidded spheres, and inlaid treasures, each one polished to a satiny sheen and finished with lemon oil to enhance its natural luster. These boxes are more than just souvenirs; they’re a testament to Essaouira’s heritage of marquetry and woodworking, a tradition dating back to the 19th century when sultans commissioned decorative objects and furniture from the city’s master craftsmen.

Whether used to store spices, trinkets, or secrets, a thuya wood “magic box” from Essaouira is a piece of living history, fragrant, tactile, and always a little mysterious, as if it holds a story all its own. Our son loves his…

………………………………..Until Next Time………………………….L8ers

Earthquakes, Amazigh and Souks – An Adventure in Morocco (Day 1)

Posted on June 14, 2025 by julianrolfe

It was the dawn of January 2025, and a restless energy stirred within me. Work had been exhilarating -truly rewarding – but the relentless pace of the past few months left my mind yearning for a change of scenery. I count myself incredibly fortunate to have a family who not only understands my passions but celebrates them. As a gesture of gratitude, they gift me an annual passport to adventure: a chance to slip away on my own and immerse myself in new cultures and flavours. This cherished tradition began in 2013 with a soul-stirring journey to Puglia, and each year since, it has become my way to recharge, reflect, and rediscover the world – and myself.

In the early hours of September 8, 2023, the tranquil mountain communities near Dar Tassa were shaken to their core by Morocco’s most powerful earthquake in over a century. Centered in Al-Haouz province, this magnitude 6.9 quake unleashed violent tremors that tore through the High Atlas, toppling centuries-old homes and flattening entire villages nestled along rugged slopes.

The devastation was profound: roads became impassable, isolating survivors and delaying the arrival of aid, while families – many of whom depended on livestock and small-scale tourism, were left to sift through rubble in search of loved ones and remnants of their lives. In these remote valleys, where poverty and resilience intertwine, the earthquake’s scars run deep, marking a tragedy that will shape the region’s future for generations. There were at least 30 deaths in the village of Tassaouirgane, my 1st stop on my next food and culture trip.

I usually take great pride in crafting my own journey – my last adventure to Venice was a labour of love that unfolded over more than a year of meticulous planning. This time, however, I didn’t have the luxury of endless months; I was determined to set out in May or June. After hours of scouring the internet, a handful of enticing options emerged. Morocco had already captured my imagination based on a previous trip, but finding someone I could trust to meet my exacting standards was another matter entirely. I pour not just money, but precious vacation time and anticipation into these escapes, so choosing the right partner was essential. In the end, my decision hinged on responsiveness and intuition – who replied swiftly, and who truly understood what I was seeking?

So Morocco are a small, independent UK registered ‘Moroccan’ Holiday company providing high-quality, private tours of Morocco. Looking through the itineraries I found the kind of ‘vibe’ I was looking for so I quickly fired off an email to see what could be done within my budget, the response was impressive both in speed and content.

By mid January the contract was sealed, a few emails, a couple of adjustments and the itinerary was set. I booked my flights to make sure that I could get to Morocco and back, and now had a 5 day two centre trip, with my own driver (actually two), and the continued services of one Amanda (Chef/Guide), and wow, was she something extra extra special as all will become clear. The trip aligned with the end of Eid al-Adha.

Eid al-Adha, the Festival of Sacrifice, is a radiant celebration of faith, compassion, and unity observed by Muslims worldwide. Marking the culmination of the Hajj pilgrimage, it honours Prophet Ibrahim’s devotion and willingness to sacrifice, reminding us of the virtues of selflessness and gratitude. Families gather in joy, sharing festive meals and acts of charity, weaving together tradition and togetherness in a spirit of peace and generosity.

Linda, the owner of So Morocco also has a couple of other Morocco focussed businesses, Walking with Nomads and My Nomadic Kitchen each of their experiences promises a truly unique “off-grid” adventure, either venturing into the Sahara, or new food learning opportunities, from comprehensive showcase meal lessons to quick spice mix demos and snack preparations for your next picnic lunch. Experience the authenticity of Moroccan cooking by preparing meals over hot coals, savouring the flavours in their most natural state. .

The range of options is wonderfully diverse—spanning different locations, budgets, durations, and activities – yet every journey is designed to be sustainable in nature and gentle in its impact. Whether you find yourself living alongside nomadic tribes, learning from rural craftspeople, connecting with remote cooperatives, or engaging with pioneering professionals, environmental conservation remains at the heart of every trip. The impact is multi-layered, nurturing Morocco’s delicate natural heritage with genuine respect and care.

I’d be honoured to introduce you to Haj Brahim our host for the 1st evening, owner of Dar Tassa. The title “Haj” (also spelled “Hajj” or “El-Haj”) in the name Haj Brahim is a mark of deep respect in many Muslim cultures, including Morocco, signifying that Brahim has completed the sacred pilgrimage to Mecca – one of the Five Pillars of Islam and a profound spiritual achievement. Adding “Haj” before a name honours both religious devotion and community esteem.

After the pilgrimage, men are called “Haj” and women “Hajja,” followed by their given name. The name “Brahim” is the Arabic form of Abraham, a revered prophet in Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, symbolizing faith and devotion. Thus, “Haj Brahim” means “Abraham, who has performed the Hajj,” reflecting both spiritual accomplishment and a name rich in tradition. He was a beautiful kind soul that had spent 30 years in the UK, and had a brilliant sense of humour.

Nestled in a tranquil corner of Toubkal National Park, just over an hour from Marrakech, Dar Tassa is an eco-friendly mountain retreat whose name – “The Home of Motherly Love” – captures the warmth and welcome that awaits every guest.

Framed by soaring Atlas peaks and wild, unspoiled nature, this charming guesthouse offers a haven from city life, blending modern comforts with the timeless hospitality of the Berber people. Floor-to-ceiling windows flood the interiors with light and breath-taking mountain views, while the soothing fountain at its heart invites quiet reflection. Whether you seek gentle strolls through the valley, exhilarating alpine adventures, or simply a peaceful terrace to savour traditional Moroccan cuisine, Dar Tassa is a doorway to both relaxation and discover – a place where “marhaba” is not just a greeting, but a way of life.

As we arrived, Haj Brahim greeted us with a warm smile and a gesture steeped in tradition “hleb b tmar” (حليب بالتمر) or “halib bil tmar”- a glass of cool, creamy milk accompanied by plump, sweet dates. This simple offering, cherished by the Amazigh as a symbol of welcome and blessing, was his way of sharing both hospitality and heritage. In that gentle moment, the spirit of the mountains and the generosity of their people were beautifully, deliciously revealed.

I was shown to my room – Studio Toukbal – the finest suite available, boasting a breath-taking view that swept down the valley, a panorama so stunning it felt almost otherworldly. After a delicious lunch – one so memorable I forgot to photograph it in my eagerness for the adventures ahead – I began my afternoon with a captivating demonstration: the art of crafting a unique, traditional bread.

In the High Atlas Mountains, the Amazigh – Morocco’s indigenous Berber people – bake their beloved ‘tanort’ bread in a clay wood-fired oven called a ‘takat’. This rustic flat round loaf, enriched with aromatic fennel seeds, is a hallmark of Amazigh hospitality. The name “Amazigh” means “free people,” and their bread, with its golden crust and fragrant, smoky flavour, beautifully embodies the warmth and enduring spirit of their mountain culture. It was delicious.

Amanda, the extremely gifted New Zealand chef who has called Morocco home for over twenty-three years, welcomed me into the Dar Tassa kitchen in Tassaouirgane with genuine warmth and expertise. Against the backdrop of the Atlas foothills, she showed me how to craft a goat tagine, using her own homemade, organic ras el hanout – a fragrant blend of rose petals and mountain spices.

As the tagine started to simmer, Amanda’s stories of embracing Amazigh traditions and sustainable living mingled with the rich aromas, making the experience a true celebration of Moroccan heritage and her remarkable culinary journey. It was 16:23 when we started the cooking process, placing the Tagine on its stand, known as a majmar (مِجْمَر) which in Moroccan Arabic literally means a brazier or charcoal burner.

As the Tagine simmered gently, filling the air with the promise of rich, layered flavours, Haj Brahim invited us to stroll through the village -a place marked by both the scars of the 2023 earthquake and the resilience of its people. Wandering the quiet paths, we witnessed not only the visible traces of destruction but also the heartfelt efforts to rebuild and restore the community’s spirit. On this poignant afternoon, at the close of the Muslim festival, I hesitated to take lots of photographs, sensing that no image could truly convey the emotional weight of what we experienced. Some moments, I realized, are best preserved in memory, where their true significance quietly endures. The image above vividly reveals the volcanic past, with the distinctive shapes of ancient molten rock visible near the centre at the top.

Bejloud, also known as Boujloud or Bilmawen, is a vibrant Amazigh (Berber) festival celebrated in Morocco after Eid al-Adha. Participants, often young men, dress in the pelts of sheep or goats sacrificed for Eid, don masks or paint their faces, and parade through the streets with music, dance, and playful antics. Sometimes called “Morocco’s Halloween,” Bejloud has roots in pre-Islamic rituals celebrating nature’s cycles and the balance of good and evil. The festival blends theatrical performance, social commentary, and communal blessing, as those in costume interact with the crowd, believed to ward off evil spirits and bring good fortune. Today, Bejloud remains a cherished tradition, uniting communities in joy and connecting them to Morocco’s rich cultural heritage.

As we wandered through Tassaourigane, we were greeted with warmth at every turn – villagers celebrating, children laughing and fleeing the playful ‘men with horns’, and joy filling the streets. Out of respect, I took just one photograph, with our host’s permission, capturing a home that had in some way, only just weathered the 2023 earthquake.

Soon, a local youth leader and his brothers, known to our host, beckoned us in for coffee. We followed them into a simple home with visible cracks, fixed with mortar, where we sat together on a large open terrace soaking in the setting sun behind us, and taking in the genuine hospitality of these humble, kind-hearted people, a memorable experience never to forget.

It was time to carry on the walk, our Tagine was cooking and we still had some places to see. I am going to leave the afternoon in the air, the village of Ouirgane is beautiful, and at the start of the Jebel Toukbal trail, I subsequently discovered a close friend, an artist had stayed there, in the same Dar Tassa in 2009.

Just as we were about to gather around the table and savour our Tagine, a sense of anticipation filled the air. The security cameras flickered to life, revealing lights weaving their way along the path. From the terrace, we glimpsed flashlights bobbing in the darkness, heard voices approaching, and caught the distant, hypnotic beat of a drum. Haj Brahim turned to us with a smile and asked if we would welcome visitors. With eager hearts, we agreed—and in that moment, we were graced with the magic of Bejloud. Before our eyes, the ancient celebration unfolded: vibrant costumes, rhythmic drumming, and spirited dancing transformed the night into a living tapestry of tradition. The hand-beaten drums echoed through the air, drawing us into the heart of Moroccan culture. It was a truly unforgettable experience, a rare and wonderful gift that connected us to the soul of the community.

As our newfound friends melted into the night, their laughter and the distant pulse of Bejloud drums lingering on the breeze, a gentle calm settled over us. It was time to gather and savour the Goat Tagine, which had been quietly simmering since 16:23, its rich aroma weaving through the air like a promise. After five and a half hours, the meat was impossibly tender, yielding at the slightest touch. By the soft glow of evening, the three of us shared the meal in the timeless tradition – no knives or forks, only the crisp, smoky tafernout bread to cradle each fragrant morsel. The food was exquisite, but it was the moment itself – bathed in warmth, tradition, and quiet wonder – that made it truly magical.

……………………………………Until next time…………………………..L8ers

Eating Venice, And Generally Avoiding Crowds 3.

Posted on June 23, 2024 by julianrolfe

I woke up at 04:30 on Monday morning, the excitement of the day was probably flying around my head, beckoning me to get up and start exploring, I took a brief look out the window and went back to bed!

The daily routine repeated itself until departure, Venice is just a wonderful place to explore so I was determined to get as much out of my few days as possible, after putting so much time into planning things. A knock at the door just after 08:00, ‘buongiorno’, breakfast had arrived, perfecto. Fresh Croissant, various bread and conserves, ham and cheese and a Latte, it did the job, I was not in Venice for a ‘fry-up’!

The 1st day was going to be a real test, had my planning process worked, the timings, route etc. Test one was getting a weeks Vaporetto ticket at the local water bus stop, again, there were so many recommendations and comments on social media, I ignored them all, went up to the ticket machine, selected English, 7 Days, inserted the credit card, PIN code, and boom, le ticket arrivé, simples, next stop The Penny Guggenheim Collection for some arty education.

As well as a host of well known names such as Salvador Dali, Henri Laurens, Max Ernst and Pablo Picasso, a special exhibition was being presented, dedicated to Jean Maurice Eugène Clément Cocteau a french poet, playwright, novelist, designer, film director, visual artist and critic. He was one of the foremost artists of the surrealist, avant-garde, and Dadaist movements and an influential figure in early 20th century art, and a drug addict! The largest picture in the above gallery is one of his, as is the ‘interesting’ one below, Violinist, Study for a Poster for the Menton Music Festival circa 1920.

There is a lovely view of the Venice Prefect building ‘canal side’, and a delightful cafe selling homemade delights and serving coffee and tea, oh well, when in Venice.

Much of his work ‘didn’t do it for me’, but there were a few that seemed to be a route into his mind, probably during a drug ‘high’ in some cases, nonetheless I thoroughly enjoyed Penny’s collection and Jean Cocteau was definitely interesting, it’s really worth a visit if you are in Venice, I got a copy of the 257 page guide with the complete collection with pictures, as many are not on display.

During my research I had read a little about the famous Venetian ‘rowing boat’, the Gondoler. These magnificent craft are built by hand, without plans, from memory in a A Squero, a factory dedicated to their production and I was trying to arrange a visit, unfortunately they were so busy, they did not have time to allow a tour but I still made for Squero Di San Trovaso, an iconic location, and cicchetti stop, I was peckish! There is another Squero to the north of the city where you can also arrange a visit, but I found out too late, it’s more of a museum and restoration project though.

Continuing to plan, a trip to one of two Leonardo de Vinci exhibitions, via the Ponte dei Pugni, the ‘Bridge of Fists’ where disputes were settled by a ‘punch up’, I noticed at least three towers in Venice that had varying degrees of lean, fingers crossed they will be sorted before they lean to far and collapse!

Banksy has been to Venice, and managed to paint ‘The Migrant Child’ dated 2019, it’s going to be restored thanks to Italy’s culture ministry, its certainly a tourist stop for those in the know, located at ‘shhhh”, explore and find it yourself, it’s really very poignant.

It was time for a quick pit stop before the next visit, Botegga del Caffé Dersut was right next to the Basilica Di Santa Maria Gloriosadei Frari and serves delicious cannoli and the most refreshing iced ‘shakerto’, chilled coffee in my case infused with cardamom, delicious.

The Basilica was amazing, and almost completely empty which had been the theme throughout the day, I don’t do crowds, my better half has suspected I might be slightly ADHD and possibly OCD for many years, in more recent times I just prefer space and try to avoid confined areas and places that are crowded, luckily, so far, the day had been almost dreamy. Another guide to add to the collection and descriptions of the magnificent paintings, carvings and architecture, a stunning place to visit.

The last stop of the day was just brilliant, and certainly a ‘must do’ if you have even the slightest interest in the history of cartoons, cinema and the wonderment of the huge numbers of characters that have been created over the years, from Popeye to Pinocchio, Laurel and Hardy to Mork and Mindy the Venice Vintage Toys Museum contains over 5000 pieces, so many extremely rare, curated by the passionate Fabrizio Fontanella, what a place to finish the days touring.

I spent ages looking through the various cabinets and displays, being taken back to my childhood, black and white memories morphing into colour as technology developed, a few particularly caught my eye but one grabbed my attention.

My first ever international blog post was way back in June 2013, I had just come back from Masseria Montenapoleone in Puglia, southern Italy on my first week long cookery school. I was taught to cook real Italian food by the most amazing ‘nona’, she was just brilliant. In the picture I am making the original Tiramisu with the ‘proper’ biscuits. Now try and find them in the pictures above, the Tiramisu was perfect!

The day had been brilliant, the planning worked, timings were good and the Toy Museum had been an unexpected surprise taking me back to my first trip to Italy, to an amazing cookery school. Thank-you Fabrizio for taking the time to talk me through the exhibits, and removing some foodie ones for a photograph or two.

As I made my way back to the hotel, I notice another 80 degree tower!, I was convinced it had a slight lean. After a relax, refresh and change of clothes I was off to dinner at an iconic restaurant, featured in the film starring Jonnie Depp and Angelina Jolie, ‘The Tourist’, The Hotel Danieli. Unfortunately, it was too windy to eat on the terrace, but the dining room was opulent and views very pleasant looking out to the lagoon.

Impeccable service was obvious from the moment I arrived to the time I left, it would have been rude not to try a Bellini before starting the tasting menu and wine flight, which proved to be a delicious experience from start to finish.

Freshly made bread was really good, the Baccalà Mantecato delicate but flavourful, the Rissoto I felt could have done with another minute in the pan, it had a slight chalkiness to the texture, but it still tasted damn good, the Saffron Cod was a delight, the Panna Cotta perfectly wobbly and not rubbery or firm.

Day one had been a complete success, yes I was a tad tired (being polite here), I felt overwhelmed by the days adventure and walking back towards the hotel I noticed ‘that’ leaning tower in the night sky, tell me it’s not leaning slightly, maybe even more than slightly.

……………………. Until Next Time ………………. L8ers …………………..

Eating Venice, And Generally Avoiding Crowds 2.

Posted on June 22, 2024 by julianrolfe

There are a number of resources available which give you some clues as to where to take pictures that are less ‘busy’, people wise. You can see the hordes of people in the distance above trying to snap the ‘Bridge of Sighs’, I was on the Ponte de San Provolo further along the canal, nicely quiet and with the added interest of a Servizio Gondole, where you can loose many euros for the privilege of a trip in Venices traditional ‘rowing’ boat.

My arrival was midday Sunday, the afternoon was chilled and relaxed, the evening was to be the 1st culinary adventure, so back to the hotel to get ready. The rooms at A Tribute To Music Residenza are subtly themed, mine being the Mozart Room, No.103. It was comfortable and functional, I did not want, or need 24hr room service, staff wearing suits etc. It was perfect for my intention, a spectacular view, and a base to explore.

I was off to ‘LOCAL’ a 1 Michelin star restaurant for my 1st evenings treat, and what a night it was to be.

I arrived a few minutes early and watched the staff briefing through the glass fronted building. The location, in Salizzada dei Greci was a 5 minute walk from the hotel, nice. I was ushered in and lead to a table overlooking the cooking, brilliant, I could see some of the action.

During my afternoon wander I had visited the restaurant and seen the mise en place in action, the kitchen team prepping for evening service, I was really looking forward to my first tasting menu.

Local is the masterpiece of siblings Benedetta and Luca Fullin, with Salvatore Sodano running back of house, creating culinary treasures, and Maitre Sommelier Manual Trevisan doing an awesome job front of house, assisting with service and pairing wines with considered expertise. The food was pushing the limits and the wine matching would need to do the same.

Having seen the reviews and comments on numerous social media sites, the food could be described as controversial, personally, I would say more like unbelievably inventive, something to really test your palate and definitely to embrace with open arms (well mouth), it was an experience I will positively remember, truly magical.

Prior to the trip, I hade been checking each month, making reservations in 11 restaurants took some considerable effort, what, 11, yep, this was a foodie extravaganza and I wanted to pack in as much as an experience as possible during my week in Venice.

So, I chose the 9 course tasting menu, pictured above with wine flight, why not, a chance to see the expertise of both the kitchen and the sommelier, I was not disappointed in the slightest it was all just brilliant!

The first course of cicchetti was a stunning ‘mystery’, each item had been eloquently explained but in my excitement, I had forgotten what I had eaten, I could certainly remember each element being sublime, brilliant, sometime unusual but definitely delicious. I beckoned Benedetta, and within minutes, she had kindly written the description of each cicchetti as can be seen above left.

Manual did an awesome job with the wine pairings, each perfectly matched Salvatores stunning food, especially surprising was my 1st taste of ‘raw’ prawns, they are so so fresh in Venice and perfectly safe to eat, I had them several times during the week. Also stunning was the Squid Ink dish, another surprise. The sweetbreads were standout, to be honest the meal was just brilliant, all of it.

Each course is described on a small card which was a lovely touch, a souvenir to take away, a card personally signed by the whole team was also something different, another personal touch.

One surprise was the cod, its tongue and pil pil, particularly the origin and connection to The Lofoten Islands in Norway, my foodie destination in 2023, a perfect link and totally unexpected. The descriptions on the cards provided a culinary story, some context and reasoning behind each of the dishes, a really great idea as this is often lost in a traditional ‘menu’. Some dishes had their process described, the curing of fish, why and the result, nice.

Would I recommend LOCAL, hell yes, it was an unexpected culinary journey through a valley of tastes, textures and flavours which was really testing, but in a positive way. The extremely clever use of salt and sweet in some of the dishes was perfectly balanced and a real joy.

Service was unfussy but attentive enough to feel special. At the end of the meal I was invited to meet chef Salvatore and Manual for a quick chat, we discussed the menu, the critiques and his passion for pushing the boundaries, it was a truly delightful evening, another I will never forget, thank-you to everyone at LOCAL for a perfect 1st evening in Venice, Graci Mille indeed.

……………………. Until next time ……………. L8ers ………………

Eating Venice, And Generally Avoiding Crowds 1.

Posted on June 22, 2024 by julianrolfe

August 2023 was an interesting month, I was extremely happy having found myself working for a company I had fallen in love with, a small team of outstanding people, with character, charm, humour in gallons and generally totally bonkers! My manager was just brilliant, I had been given enough empowerment to make my own impression on the local team in Europe, Middle East and Africa, and I had just returned from Berlin after an extremely successful customer trip, I felt great; but I needed my annual foodie break and nothing was in the diary!

I am a massive fan of the sadly departed Russell Norman; an author, restaurateur, writer, chef and generally nice bloke who had inspired me in the kitchen with a number of cookery books, the most influential being Polpo, and Venice: Four Seasons of Home Cooking, which sit proudly on my bookshelf alongside his other books Brutto: A Simple Florentine Cookbook and Spuntino: Comfort Food.

Fast forward to June 2024 and my dream had come true, over 9 months of quite, no very intensive planning and I was in my hotel room at A Tribute To Music Residenza, on Riva deli Shiavoni and overlooking the Lagoon In Venice!

I had been looking at a number of social media feeds since August the previous year, sounding out what and how people got to Venice, what they did, and the variation was immense. I am the sort of person that prefers an agenda, typically a jam packed itinerary, travelling to another country for me is an invitation to explore, excite the taste buds and cram as much in as possible, the financial investment needs to be justified, leaving family at home for a period of respite on both sides is not something I take lightly.

After some thought I adopted what I considered a methodical approach to planning a week in Venice, focussed on food and preferably avoiding crowds of people which I don’t enjoy in the slightest. The process ended up with 34 pages of colour coded routes, visits, restaurants all carefully calculated around food and exploring the least ‘apparently’ busy areas of Venice, the one exception being The Doges Palace, but more of that in a future post.

I spent hours studying restaurant reviews on a multitude of sites, and plotted each one on Google Maps which created the ‘framework’ for my visit. I then started to look at ‘what to see’, checked opening times and started to create a plan which was really fun to do, even though it did take up a lot of time. There are approximately 472 bridges linking areas of the city which added another interest, locating the unique ones and adding those.

Further material i studied intensely included YouTube videos which to be honest, were mostly disappointing as the same places kept on being shown, again and again. I purchased some more reference material, signposted by the likes of Rick Stein who had featured Venice on one of his TV series ‘Venice to Instanbul’ where he had lunch with a local gentry Francesco da Mosta, I had to get his books too; they were insigntful and a great read.

The day before I was due to leave I headed to the local library, they had a quality colour printer. My months of planning appeared on 34 colour coded sheets, each maliciously prepared and timed. The walking distance each day had been calculated to allow for itinerary changes on the fly, and the ability to swap days should the unexpected happen. I also included some notes of the sites, historical detail and architectural notes, creating a bespoke tour guide to enable time to be focussed on the do, not the how too.

I had a lovely flight, the pre-booked shared water-taxi was brilliant (get your guide) the title picture is the journey into Venice from Marco Polo Airport which dropped me 5 minutes from the hotel. After settling in, a quick orientation walk was taken to find the evenings restaurant, more of that in post no.2 and on the way a quick ‘pit stop’ at Osteria alla Bandiera to start the week of, a plate of delicious, simple seafood, a theme that would continue throughout the week, delicious.

…………………….. Until Next Time …………… L8ers ……………………

Culinary Excellence – Not Me, but getting there! (Padstow Day 4)

Posted on October 27, 2023 by julianrolfe

‘Spoots’, commonly known as Razor Clams are delicious when prepared and cooked properly, I had my 1st taste of them many years ago At Tom Kitchins Michelin star restaurant in Edinburgh, they were delightful.

Our first dish, on the last day in the kitchen was a Jack Stein creation, from his book ‘Jack Steins World on a Plate’, Razor Clams served with Crab and Samphire. Cooking these gems of the sea is an art, too long and they are like rubber, too short, yuck, get the timing correct and you get tender delicious morsels that delight the palate.

Breakfast was served, the clams were cooked after steaming for 2-3 minutes and then finishing in a sauce of fish stock, cream and of course, butter. The Samphire added some texture and ‘saltiness’, like seasoning without adding salt from a shaker, very tasty indeed and quick to make.

As part of the last days menu we needed to prepare some more fish for stocks and reductions, we were given a Hake to deal with, it’s a soft fleshed fish so if you can cope with its delicate nature, everything else is easy, my attempt including removing the skin is above, well proud I was when I ‘got it done good’.

’Industrial’ kitchen equipment was used to prepare our next treat, a rich classic fish soup with rouille and croûtons, and a grating of parmesan. The rouille used a homemade harissa which was simply prepared in a blender before our very eyes, it was another tasty dish, packed full of flavour, with the crisp fiery croûton adding to the party, and extras available for those who wanted them, yes please!

The last day was not as busy as the previous three which was a relief, everyone was feeling the impact of hours on our feet, all the prep, cutting and checking our recipes in order to produce a decent plate of food, over and over.

It had been great fun at the cookery school but there was still work to be done, like preparing a top notch dish of Roast Tronçon of Turbot with Hollandaise Sauce! The various dishes we had been preparing during the week had given us the chance to learn new techniques, revise and practise those we had tried before which was a really good way to progress skills, and confidence.

The previous day, a large pot had been put on the hob with several blocks of butter to cook slowly, to make clarified butter, the smell was intoxicating.

Preparing Hollandaise takes some practise, this time was my best effort ever, and I think I may have finally cracked it. I mentioned consistency in my last post, being able to reproduce something the same, every time, that’s where my head was at, and continues to be, it makes cooking so much nicer, feeling confident in what you are preparing, knowing the end result will be excellent.

I was delighted, bright, glossy, a lovely consistency my Hollandaise was done. The Turbot, a fillet from a fish costing about £75, with only 5 – 6 fillets per fish was to be roasted, after some browning treatment on the hot plate. There are some techniques to understand when doing this, you can find out how by signing up for the course.

Once the fish was cooked we plated up, slathering the rich Hollandaise to our hearts content. We had also prepared a herb fines sauce, using Parsley, Tarragon, Chives and Chervil, this was placed around the plate and added an extra dimension to what was a delicious and extremely tasty plate of food.

Lets make sushi! Nick gave us a masterclass in making several types of Sushi. Before starting, the rice had been cooked, chilled and seasoned with a mixture of vinegar and sugar. Various styles were created, like Nigiri, a hand moulded ‘oblong’ of sticky rice, with typically, a layer of raw fish. Makisushi, a roll of rice and assorted fillings such as Cucumber and Salmon, or Tuna.

Next it was our turn, again in our pairs we produced plates of delectable tasty delights, using bamboo rolling mats to shape the MakiSushi, some even attempted the California Roll where the rice is on the outside rather than the inside. We were provided with Ginger, and some GENUINE wasabi, not the horseradish based product you typically get in the UK, this was the proper stuff from Japan, in root form, boy it was completely different to what you are normally served on the high street.

The course was complete, 4 days of intensive cooking, and eating, with Nick and his brilliant team making sure everything ran smoothly it had been fantastic. My knowledge and more important, confidence has been raised (again), and dealing with fish will become a more frequent activity, we are lucky to have some local suppliers where we can get fresh line caught fish whole, perfect.

I wandered back to he hotel after receiving my attendance certificate and saying goodbye, there was still one more thing I had booked but I had some time to relax and ended up watching some cookery programs in my hotel room!

I arranged this trip 6 months ago, a lot of planning was involved and now my last night was to be at probably, no yes, my favourite restaurant in the U.K.*, Paul Ainsworth at No.6, my second visit I had high hopes indeed. It was raining again (a lot), and I arrived at the front door at least 40 minutes too early.

*I am challenged as to favourite restaurant overall, No.6 is up there at the very top, but, there is one other restaurant where I have had an amazing meal that physically made me cry with delight, and the fish was the dish that did it for me. Read about it HERE

Right, back to the brilliant No.6.

Sitting above the restaurant is a cosy bar called Ci Ci’s, selling Cocktails and Pintxos it usually has to be booked in advance due to its cosy nature, there was room for me so I was welcomed up the stairs and invited to sit at a bar stool.

There is an interesting and extensive cocktail list, something for everyone, I decided on a ‘Three Of A Kind’, based on a quality Calvados it was delicious. Tom who was sorting my drink out was friendly and a perfect host, we chatted in-between his cocktail preparation, I was gearing up for a fab night downstairs in the restaurant. After I was served there appeared to be a ‘run’ of ‘Three Of A Kind’s’, either people were listening or they knew a thing or two.

Despite the amount of food that I had consumed already during the week, and on the last day of the cookery course, I was hungry and had some time to spare before my booking, so I decided to grab some Pinxtos, in my case Cave Aged Manchego, Rosemary Crackers and Chestnut Honey, delightful.

I ‘get’ savoury and sweet, this was a perfect marriage and got my taste buds tingling.

It was soon time for dinner and as we were going downstairs I was told of the refurb upstairs, and the creation of a pastry kitchen and was invited to take a quick look. Yes Please!

As I looked around I recognised the distinctive shape of Barkham Blue Cheese from Two Hoots Artisan Cheese makers, based near where I live! Middle Picture left shelf, the UFO shaped objects, it’s a cracker if you can get it!

I then recognised Alice who walked in behind me, an extremely competent Pastry Chef, now Restaurant Director, ‘welcome back’ she said, that’s the first sign of great service considering it was two years since my last visit.

I was prepared for a good night, but epic is a more appropriate description of the evenings events, truly memorable.

A tasting menu with matching wine flight was ordered, a special occasion, being my last night in Padstow after another culinary adventure it was the only choice I could make. The menu has land and sea options, and follows a story, a different style from other restaurants and great fun.

I was seated at the same table as last time, a perfect view into the kitchen, my favourite spot to watch all the going’s on.

Some nibbles to start things off, ‘Quavers”, with Vinegar and Seaweed seasoning, in a moreish Aubergine Dip was really surprising, so so tasty, and this was just a ‘snack’!

I won’t describe all the dishes this time, suffice to say the 1st course was a belter, I recognised the Cheese Scone, a delicious speciality of No.6 and featuring on the menu twice in different guises, the accompanying Blanc de Noirs from Alfriston in East Sussex, a pleasant treat being a UK sparkling wine, it was perfect.

Rathfinny Estate is a relatively young vineyard, established in 2010 it utilises a south facing slop, chalk soil and low intervention techniques to produce some amazing bubbles.

Chris McClurg, Chef Patron popped out of the kitchen and said hello, also welcoming me back and we chatted briefly before he was back in the ‘engine room’, preparing food ready for serving, a true gent.

Soon, Chris was back, personally serving my next course, the Smoked Eel with Crapaudine Beetroot another belter of a dish, the previous version I had two years ago was with a Pomme Anna. This was very tasty, I do love Eel, but don’t eat it often. The balance of all the textures and flavours was spot on, especially the earthiness of the Beetroot.

There was a very healthy serving of Kaluga Reserve N25 caviar which worked well.

An exquisite species, second largest of the sturgeon family reaching up to 1000kg. It is also known as the “river beluga” as it is the only other sturgeon from the Huso family; the other being the Huso Huso (Beluga). This extraordinary variety of sturgeon also produces the most amazing and large grains of caviar. Due to the old age of the fish and over a decade of waiting needed to produce caviar, the roe is one of the most prestigious and sought-after. It was very tasty indeed.

The wine match, a Trebbiano 2022, from an estate in Tuscany that dates back to the 20’s is heaped in history, and has been cared for by the Contini Bonacossi family, it was delicious, another belter of a paring.

Next course, hello Chris, I was getting star service tonight, Wild Turbot, booooooom, delicious. I loved the Scarpetta which appeared as I was about to finnish, Perché non fai la scarpetta? Scarpetta is the practise of mopping up your plate with bread. This bread, freshly made, warm and doused in a delicious olive oil. Yummmm! Apologies for the picture, I had dived in before taking a snap, it looked so good!

Another brilliant wine paring, this time from the Languedoc region of France, Boulevard Napoleon ‘Le Pal’ comes from the village of Livinière, 70 year old + vines produce a very special wine, only a few hundred cases are made each year the grapes are hand harvested, fermented and aged using French Oak Barriques.

In making wine there are many different sizes of barrels used. Barrique barrels are relatively small barrels, but not just any small barrels. Barriques are also known as Bordeaux barrels, because it was in Bordeaux that their shape and size was designed and developed. Barriques are relatively tall and have a capacity of 225 liters (59 gallons).

This winery is a partnership, part of the well known St. John chain based in London, Fergus Henderson is renowned for his hardcore nose to tail food, his restaurants are on my ‘must do’ list.

I adore this dish, ‘All Of The Pigeon’, it’s outstanding, moreish and makes me want to weep it’s that good. Using as much of the Pigeon as physically possible it hits all the taste buds, bouncing around the palate, teasing every flavour receptacle. I especially like the whipped Pigeon liver parfait piped into a crisp serrated shell, perfect.

The sumptuous red wine from the Veneto region of Italy was another perfect choice. La Grola, 90% Corvina Veronese and 10% Oseleta is manually harvested (hand picked) in the second half of September, fermented in steel tanks, then aged in ‘2nd use’ French Oak Barrels for 16 months and in large Slavonian barrels for another 2 months followed by bottle ageing for 10 months, its worth the wait! Delicious.

Throughout the evening, Loren, the assistant sommelier had been explaining why each wine was paired with a particular dish, not just a quick ‘it’s dry’ or it’s ‘rich’ or it’s ‘red’, the explanations were beautiful, eloquent and accurate for my palate, very impressive indeed I suggested creating some extra ‘tasting notes’ as part of the dining experience, maybe on the back of the wine card that you get presented with to remind you of the wine flight contents.

The next dish was a pre-dessert, an extremely clever play on a previous course, I am not spilling the beans suffice to say it was brilliant! The winery, from Tokaj in Hungary called Dobogó means clippity clop and produces ‘Mylitta’ desert wine, your can find out more about this small family run company by clicking the link above.

Almost done! I had arrived at just after 19:15 and it was now after 10:30, the evening had slowly drifted as each plate arrived at the table, described in detail followed by the accompanying wine, brilliant service, un-rushed and delightful.

The ‘main’ dessert was a combination of hot, cold, texture, balanced flavours and comprised of 3 main elements, each with ‘sub’ elements, complex, but seriously tasty. I am not really a desert person but this was packed with flavour, but at the same time light and a good finish to the main event.

The wine again was perfect, A Macvin du Jura Blanc, a blend dating back to the 14th century. It was sweet, complex and a mixture of Jura grape varieties and Marc du Jura, a strong distillate of grape skins, pulp and seeds. It’s strong!

My guilty pleasure is cheese, I am a serious cheese addict and will often have cheese as an evening meal, with an assortment of biscuits, grapes, apple and all sorts. I am amazed at how milk can be capable of producing so many different flavours and textures, and when you apply heat to the right cheese, its miraculous transformation into something extra special.

On my last visit to No.6 I don’t recall a cheese course, this time there was. The Barkham Blue I mentioned earlier is a favourite, especially a Christmas. I recall a year or two ago not being able to get any as the farm where the cheese is made had had a fire, luckily they are back to normal now and I can get it locally at a couple of specialist outlets. The cheeses were served with warm Apple Pie, I love the mix of sweet and savoury, and salty with the blue cheese, it works for me, a delicious end to a stunning meal.

We were done, the end of an evening of taste, imagination and wonderment, an adventure to test the palate and taste buds in the best possible way. The staff were the best, polite, generous and warm, the whole experience from entering the front door 40 minutes early, to the final dish had been just brilliant.

A big thanks to Paul Ainsworth and all the team front and back of house for the most enjoyable evening, and to Tom the Cocktail Shaker, Alice, Chris and Loren for their friendship and kindness during my evening at No.6.

That was it, my 2nd ‘Eating Padstow’ trip was complete, off to bed, sleep and rest before setting off for the 4 hour drive back home!

…………………………….Until Next Time………………..L8ers……………………….