The Dear Leader and I spent a few days in Barra last week. Well, we arrived Monday and left Saturday. The people were lovely, those working in our hotel very helpful and friendly. But our culinary experiences were decidedly mixed.
This is an island that sends truckloads of fish and shellfish to the mainland, and to Spain and France, just about daily, weather permitting, yet not a crab, lobster, cockle or mussel was to be seen on the menu of four different establishments. Crab being absent maybe was down to seasonality, but not so lobster or the bivalves. Like the décor in our hotel (big on brown) and the offerings of the Craigard Hotel, the one next doorish to ours, that seems to reflect a 1970s mindset. The Craigard's menu included prawn cocktail, breaded mushrooms, Scotch broth and a few other dishes entirely lacking in inspiration, straight out of the Berni Inn cookbook 1973. Like the journalists of the little missed News of the World, we made our excuses and left, happy to eat again in The Castlebay.
The Castlebay was far better (with a good beer list, hurrah), but still needing some oomph. Hats off to them for our last dinner there, huge scallops simply cooked with pancetta and served with (our addition) chips and salad. Scallops also featured at the best, brightest and most imaginative place (by far) we tried, The Café Kisimul, which serves Punjabi cuisine, with simple pasta dishes as the alternative for those who shrink from spice. Scallop pakoras were fab, and the prawn bhuna a delight. Sadly out of season it only opens Fridays and Saturdays, or we would have returned. And they played Doobie Brothers, The Doors, The Beatles and similar relaxing and enjoyable stuff, instead of the bloody loop of There Was a Soldier, a Flamin' Scottish Soldier, to be heard elsewhere. And they acknowledged the existence of colour, with blue walls and bright artwork.
Barra is out of the way, no doubt, but that probably means those who travel for pleasure there will be better off and with better educated palates than average. People who would happily pay premium prices for fresh local lobster and crab, simply presented or done with cheffy cleverness. Even frozen local crab used in crab cakes or soup would have been welcome. Walkers (even on the rainy Tuesday we got our hike in) enjoy filler-uppers, so the steak and ale pie one night and haddock and chips another were pleasant enough, and well cooked, but not the sort of fare that would make real food lovers want to return. It doesn't have to be Michelin-starred stuff (in fact, I'd rather it were not), but make the most of great local resources for goodness' sake. As an example of that unadventurous attitude, what well-run Scottish hotel bar has just three or four single malts?
Showing posts with label whisky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label whisky. Show all posts
Tuesday, 16 October 2018
Friday, 27 September 2013
Health Food
I find health food shops depressing, their gaunt and dull-eyed staff often an anti-advertisement for what they are selling. Mood and mindset are so important in health, and a diet of grey lentils, brown rice and beige beans is not going to lift the spirits. But I was reminded this morning as I scraped the honey jar to make a dressing for Ruth's lunch how often I use food to try to combat illness.
That honey jar was depleted because one of my cold-cures - the whisky-all-in - has been used several times of late. SC who hates the taste of alcohol had such a dose of his cold that he consented to try one (it's a small measure of whisky, a big tsp of honey, the juice of a whole lemon, and boiling water to fill a cup). Generously he passed his germs to Ruth, who in keeping with her trouser-wearing status in this house acts like a man when she has a cold - a near death experience for her and anyone crossing her while she ails - so she had several of these bedtime panaceas.
The same epidemic (bit strong for the two of them I know) needed my other cure-all, hot soup. This is preferably chicken, but as I had a load of ham stock to use we had three soups based on that as well as a couple made from fresh chicken stock. Or to be more accurate as regards the ham versions we enjoyed one potage (veg cooked in the stock zapped to a gloopy thickness, then chunks of ham added), one simple soup, and one of the spicy Chinese noodle things that could be a soup or a stew.
It is probably the heat that makes you perk up with both of these, though the vitamin boost can't hurt and with the drink the sugar rush is another factor. But the sentimentalist in me likes to think that a demonstration of love, which is what taking the trouble to make these things surely is, doesn't hurt either. Say ahh, but not I hope to the doctor.
Tuesday, 20 November 2012
One Flame Flambeing - Flash in the Pan
The recent post about pancakes set me thinking about the flambe (how do you do accents on this thing?). I was tempted when cooking crepes the other night to get showy and squeeze some more flavour in by using rum or brandy on a couple of them. As the late great Kenneth Williams sang "Ah, ma Crepe Suzette."
It's a good skill to have in your locker, especially if you are cooking on one burner and you want to do something special. But this is one to practice with very great care - 20 years back I nearly fire-bombed our neighbours' newly decorated kitchen when cooking pud for them - a foolish combination of too much alcohol in me and too much in the ladle I was using to warm the spirit. Flames a good four feet up. Happily they were out of the room and when they came back everything was under control.
For bedsit sophistication it is worth learning, though. On a single pancake I'd only use a tbsp of cognac, my method being to pour it in a metal ladle, warm that over the hob or flame, then either tip it to use that flame to light it, or use one of those lighters you have to ignite gas flames, or a long match (take care! do it from the side not above!). You get a nice blue flame on the liquid, which when you tip it in the pan - I guess suddenly increasing the surface area thus the oxygen - whooshes rather alarmingly and burns itself out after sending flames a foot or so up. Alternatively, and generally less dramatically, pour the spirit on the food in the medium-hot pan and ignite it in there. The benefits in culinary terms are some caramelization of the food's surface, and a residue of the spirit's flavour.
A pork steak lends itself to this method, and whisky, cognac or ideally Calvados all do nicely. Gin is great with seafood, but so more surprisingly is whisky. Steak Diane was a Seventies classic, beef fillet that was finished at the table by flambeing it in brandy. The waiter always had a moustache, and knew that to keep it the head needed to be well away from the flames.
If you want to try this, my suggestion is get someone who has it off pat to teach you in person, or at the very least study a few YouTube videos on how to do it. And on your own head be it by the way.
A few rules: you need a steady hand; never try it if you would not be fit to drive in blood-alcohol terms; you need less alcohol than you think; for goodness' sake never try to be clever and contain the flames in a covered pan - think about it; and don't use spirits that don't suit the food. Fun though the technique is, you need to be serious when doing this, otherwise you are literally playing with fire.
It's a good skill to have in your locker, especially if you are cooking on one burner and you want to do something special. But this is one to practice with very great care - 20 years back I nearly fire-bombed our neighbours' newly decorated kitchen when cooking pud for them - a foolish combination of too much alcohol in me and too much in the ladle I was using to warm the spirit. Flames a good four feet up. Happily they were out of the room and when they came back everything was under control.
For bedsit sophistication it is worth learning, though. On a single pancake I'd only use a tbsp of cognac, my method being to pour it in a metal ladle, warm that over the hob or flame, then either tip it to use that flame to light it, or use one of those lighters you have to ignite gas flames, or a long match (take care! do it from the side not above!). You get a nice blue flame on the liquid, which when you tip it in the pan - I guess suddenly increasing the surface area thus the oxygen - whooshes rather alarmingly and burns itself out after sending flames a foot or so up. Alternatively, and generally less dramatically, pour the spirit on the food in the medium-hot pan and ignite it in there. The benefits in culinary terms are some caramelization of the food's surface, and a residue of the spirit's flavour.
A pork steak lends itself to this method, and whisky, cognac or ideally Calvados all do nicely. Gin is great with seafood, but so more surprisingly is whisky. Steak Diane was a Seventies classic, beef fillet that was finished at the table by flambeing it in brandy. The waiter always had a moustache, and knew that to keep it the head needed to be well away from the flames.
A few rules: you need a steady hand; never try it if you would not be fit to drive in blood-alcohol terms; you need less alcohol than you think; for goodness' sake never try to be clever and contain the flames in a covered pan - think about it; and don't use spirits that don't suit the food. Fun though the technique is, you need to be serious when doing this, otherwise you are literally playing with fire.
Thursday, 15 November 2012
The Juice on Jus - Maxing One Flame Flavour
An aspect of the post yesterday about cooking a steak or a lamb chop set me to thinking about how much flavour can be won or lost after the meat has been lifted from the pan. Unless you have cooked it too long you are likely to have some of the juices glistening in the skillet in front of you, and maybe some scraps adhering to the surface where the flesh caught briefly. The austerity cook, or any decent cook really, wants to make the most of these, and with just a tiny effort you can capture them in a simple sauce to accompany the meat. My apologies to anyone for whom this is second nature.
The first method is deglazing: add a good dash of alcohol to the hot pan, scrape the bits up and stir in the juices, then reduce for a second and pour over the chop. Wine is ideal, white or red, if you have some on the go, or the dregs of a bottle saved with a Vacuvin. Cider is good, and suits say thin pork escalopes done this way. From reviewing I have loads of brandies and rums that I find useful for this, though only a small amount is needed, the flavour being powerful - and take care you don't inadvertently flambe yourself. Best of all is dry vermouth with the bonus of herby notes. The resulting liquid can be thickened with butter, a dab of French mustard, a slurp of ketchup - tomato or mushroom - or a slurp of cream (not creme fraiche for me). If no suitable alcohol is to hand water's ok, but you gain no taste.
Alternatively a pat of butter or some cream will mix with the juices, but be conservative as otherwise you'll not taste anything else, and here the pan must not be too hot or you'll waste juice and all.
It doesn't have to be just meat. During a press trip on Islay chef Francois Bernier seered locally dived scallops in a dry pan, then used Bunnahabhain whisky to stretch the juices, and in that case to flambe the scallops, with if memory serves a spoon of butter to bind the results together. This was one of the best things I have ever eaten, and with all due respect to Francois, so simple. He, by the way, was using a single Calor Gas burner to cook at the distillery.
The first method is deglazing: add a good dash of alcohol to the hot pan, scrape the bits up and stir in the juices, then reduce for a second and pour over the chop. Wine is ideal, white or red, if you have some on the go, or the dregs of a bottle saved with a Vacuvin. Cider is good, and suits say thin pork escalopes done this way. From reviewing I have loads of brandies and rums that I find useful for this, though only a small amount is needed, the flavour being powerful - and take care you don't inadvertently flambe yourself. Best of all is dry vermouth with the bonus of herby notes. The resulting liquid can be thickened with butter, a dab of French mustard, a slurp of ketchup - tomato or mushroom - or a slurp of cream (not creme fraiche for me). If no suitable alcohol is to hand water's ok, but you gain no taste.
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| Bunnahabhain Distillery |
It doesn't have to be just meat. During a press trip on Islay chef Francois Bernier seered locally dived scallops in a dry pan, then used Bunnahabhain whisky to stretch the juices, and in that case to flambe the scallops, with if memory serves a spoon of butter to bind the results together. This was one of the best things I have ever eaten, and with all due respect to Francois, so simple. He, by the way, was using a single Calor Gas burner to cook at the distillery.
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