Tag Archives: Scotland

The Ladies of Oban

We lived in Scotland a while and went to Oban one day hoping to get to an island offshore. We missed the boat by moments and toured this lovely town, had lunch and found a knittery where local ladies knit fisherman’s sweaters for their husbands and others. I was lucky to find a dark pink hand-knit cardigan.

I’ve been saving it for years for special occasions and keep it safe in my closet. I’m wearing it now instead of a blanket. It makes me warm and cozy, oh, and rain-resistant. My husband doesn’t come back by sea, although we look out on one. He comes back by air and car. The wind determines his flight trajectory. but he’s driving up from another airport.

Yes, I’ve even written the shop a poem about it and the Fishermans’ sweater my mother knitted me when I was a kid. No-one in the family knows where it is. I’m wearing my pink cardigan from the Oban ladies now and am toasty warm. Thank you, all the knitters in my life from Scotland, New York and PDX-land. Dee

Kottbullar

Yes, we had Swedish meatballs delivered yesterday, direct from Sweden. Our neighbor G also gave us dark chocolate-covered toffee called Dumle, and Bilar, tiny marshmallows shaped like cars. I’ll wait until my husband comes home to try those. The chocolates are great and the kottbullar are in the freezer.

Neighbor G made us the tenderest and most succulent meatballs a few weeks ago before leaving for Sweden with his dad. He promised to teach me how to make them and I think I’ll teach him true Texas chili in return.

As a host gift for dinner I ordered Lingonberry jam and brought flowers. I ordered a jar for us too, and have yet to open it. It is so exciting to learn of cuisines we are not familiar with, and the only place I can think of that serves Swedish food is a couple of hours drive and inside an IKEA.

Of course I’ve my American (?), Italian, French, Greek and Brit cuisines. Boeuf Bourguignon, Spaghetti alla Carbonara, Moussaka, Moules Mariniere (from Scotland’s shores). Also Mexican cuisine, of course, and Canadian. But we rarely go north or south of the usual suspects.

Every once in a while we get to travel overseas for work and are able to settle in for a month or three. Aside from missing our dog, this is my favorite kind of visit. Several days in Scotland and I was sought out by all the Japanese tourists as an expert – I was not and told them so but taught them to go to the local sporting goods store to buy postcard stamps thus saving a couple of hours at the post office. Sneaky, my husband calls me.

My idea of the worst vacation in the world is 22 countries in three days. I like to do my research in advance, purchase museum passes for the time we’ll be there, and see everything my husband hates (art, botanical gardens) while he’s at work. In Scotland I also had a girlfriend from home who moved there so we met and spent two days a week touring castles and museums. And eating mussels and salmon as my husband is deathly allergic to anything that swims. Having a friend there is definitely an added bonus.

It was unnecessary and very kind of G to bring us gifts from Sweden. He misses his dad already, and so do I. It was nice driving him around town to see, what else, art and botanical gardens!

When I’m in a particularly spectacular surrounding I like to keep a file of up-to-date brochures and calendars in the guest room so if they want to ski or see summer Olympic skiers land in oxygenated water, or learn about Greater Sandhill Cranes during nesting season, or take the Town Lift up to the top of the mountain and hike down, they have options.

Your town has its treasures. Go to your visitor center and pick up a few brochures for guests. If someone is coming in from another country, try to have a menu that showcases your part of the country: Buffalo wings; BBQ; planked salmon; or huevos rancheros. Happy cooking! Dee

Attention: Shoppers

Do not read this. I committed a grievous crime, more than one, actually, against the people of England and Scotland. Thank goodness my time there never induced me to commit similar infractions in Wales or Ireland (north or south).

OK, read it, it’ll up my numbers. But don’t send me hate mail!

My husband was sent overseas for six weeks, which means double that time as we’d been through this before, so I came along. The bulk of our time was spent in Scotland. I had a friend there and we traveled twice a week and visited many castles, museums and churches.

Time was getting short and we were in London for a week. I was tasked by a dear friend to get the smallest Harrods signature bag, it must be blue and have the logo. It was to be her Yorkshire Terrier’s “luggage” for clothing, hats, treats, clean-up bags et al. Don’t even talk to me about that dear dog’s wardrobe, Suffice it to say that she had more handmade couture than I ever did.

I wanted a large Harrods bag, and another friend was perfect for the medium sized bag as a gift. I didn’t want to make a day of Harrods so decided to visit Kensington Palace (an expensive mistake as it was run down and dingy) then got caught in a downpour without an umbrella but did have a lovely lunch on the grounds of the Palace.

Harrods did not beckon me that day. I went right by it en route back to our flat, got on my then-new laptop and ordered the three bags and had them sent separately to me and the other lucky recipients. A portion of the time I could have spent at Harrods was more wisely spent at the Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace where I finally got to see Artemesia Gentilleschi’s self-portrait, a masterpiece of Florentine Renaissance art.

As to the Scots, the Queen’s Gallery at Holyrood in Edinborough was expensive and a lost day, but I was on a monthly state-issued museum pass so OK. My friend and I did visit a distillery in the area long-frequented by Robert Roy MacGregor and his clan. We tasted a ten-year and twenty-year old scotch whisky that was aged in Spanish sherry casks.

A gentleman from work was taking care of my husband’s team and projects during his absence and I wanted to reward him with a bottle of Glengoyne.

We flew for 12 weeks to Glasgow and London with two suitcases, two laptops and my purse and were determined to come back with nothing more except a few gifts for friends, colleagues and family. I emailed my local specialty wine and spirits store while overseas and, lo and behold, they held a bottle of Glengoyne whisky for me. I picked it up upon return, boxed it and my husband brought it to work. No duty, no Customs hassle.

It probably makes sense that my husband uses Amazon for practically everything, including toilet paper and paper towels. Why spend time in the car and in stores when that time could be better spent?

If I had slim, dainty feet I might shop all the time and have a closet full of Jimmy Choo’s, Unfortunately my mother was correct, if cruel, when she said that instead of buying my sister and I each a pair of shoes for the school year, she should get two pair for my little sister and let me wear the boxes. I still think that genetics have more to do with the shape of my feet than running around outside in the country barefoot for four months of each year.

Ah, shopping. I do love a good grocery store, butcher or fishmonger. Girlfriends know not to call me for fashion or shoes. Enjoy the day. Dee

ps How did I get to this? I found my Harrods bag up in the front closet and took it to get my husband lunch. When we first moved in my husband thought it was full of trash (it was not) and threw it in the dumpster. Yes, my dearest love went dumpster-diving to save my Harrods bag. I washed it and it was fine. D

Rabbie and John

“The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain…”

Robert Burns, “To a Mouse”

The Bard and John Steinbeck shared common themes, especially in Steinbeck’s “Of Mice and Men.”

We are the Mouse. We are Scotland. We are persecuted and may have to give up our territory, as did Scotland but they’re getting it back. Let’s see if the Stone of Scone comes with their renewed independence.

As for us, we are cats. We always land on our feet. Dee

R.I.P.

Last Friday Jim and his brother went fly fishing in the mountains (first time for both, no guide) and were gone over 13 hours. I wondered why they hadn’t called. Turns out even though I gave them quart-sized zipper bags for cell phone, wallet and fishing license, Jim drowned his iPhone.

Two years ago returning from Scotland, Jim’s Razr’s screen went blank and so the next day he went out and bought two new BlackJacks. I made sure our covers were different so he wouldn’t take my phone to work by mistake and lose his work contacts for a day. Hot pink was the choice. Prior to that I had a four year-old Nokia 3650, a hand-me down and the first smart camera phone that Jim purchased to write an app.

When the iPhone came out he ordered it right away. I stuck to the BlackJack and we used his Blackjack on trips for tethering in rural areas (WiFi via cell with large data plan).

Now the first generation iPhone is toast and today we received an iPhone 3G(s) for him in white, and a refurb 3G for me. While awaiting arrival of cases, he’s going to borrow one from a guy at work because he tends to drop, or drown, them. Right now we’re awaiting verification of activation, which according to AT&T “may take some time.” Hopefully our other phones will work until they’re switched over.

Now I have to go from known paradigms into the unknown. I’ve had a MacBook for over two years but the iPhone is daunting to me. So once I learn the basics I’m going to look for some cooking apps that make sense. Will let you know! Off to finish making homemade pizza for dinner. Hope you’re having a great weekend. Cheers, Dee

Practice

The police department has a facility nearby.  With the air conditions the way they are today, I’m hearing the trains come in and drums.  They’re practicing.

Hopefully it’s for a parade, not a funeral.  They practice the bagpipes there also, which always makes me think of a celebration of some sort, but hopefully not a funeral march.

At our flat in Scotland last year, we often heard the pipes, on the street.  Imagine that in Texas!  I miss the sounds.  Jim and I get one CD a year (normally downloaded but we were at Borders) and I got Loreena McKennitt’s “A Midwinter Night’s Dream” that I haven’t really listened to as yet.

I love the Celtic sounds, and this includes The Holly and the Ivy, and Un Flambeau, Jeannette, Isabelle (bring the torch, Jeannette, Isabella…) and since we don’t get a tree, having music in the house will bring joy in the holiday season.

Enya also has a holiday CD out.  I think I’ll put together a holiday iTunes selection for Jim to listen to en route to and from work.  No Celtic, no drums.  He prefers Marty Robbins.

Top Chef V

Sorry I’ve been away.  A setting got changed on my computer and somehow I had no internet access for nearly 48 hours.  Jim fixed it in about 20 seconds.  But I don’t even know what my settings are and it wasn’t something easily accessible.  Anyway, I’m back.

It’s too soon to know how Season Five is shaping up.  When seventeen start and fifteen finish the first episode one doesn’t have much clue into personalities.

There’s one thing that really bugged me.  Ariane lives a short hop from the culinary magic that is New York City (not just Manhattan, the Boroughs), yet she looked Tom Colicchio in the eye and flippantly said she didn’t need to taste these dishes, because she has books.

Now I have a number of cookbooks, but that’s no reason not to travel to France, Greece, even Scotland where we were sent for three months last year.  Just don’t have a burger in Scotland.  Mussels and salmon, go for it.

There is something about the culture and the people and surroundings that give a cook a familiarity to try the dishes and then do a riff on them.  Books, while I love them and started cooking because of them, cannot provide that intrinsic one-ness with the people and their regional dishes.

That said, I can only “shop” vicariously, and Florence, Italy is my favorite city and foodie destination so Fabio, metaphorically, I’m yours!  Cheers!  Dee

We Came, We Ate, We Conquered…

Last year in our UK posting for ten weeks, my dad happened to be visiting Italy. We looked up all the cheap fares and finally got one over a weekend where Jim only had to take 1/2 day off work.

This was his first-ever trip to the UK or Europe. There was so much I wanted to show him. A friend and I toured Scotland two days a week and Jim and I made day trips on weekends but this was special.

We arose 3:00 a.m. Saturday and took a taxi to the airport bus, going to the out-of-the-way airport to save a few pounds on EasyJet. Arrived Pisa and negotiated a train ticket to Florence. We arrived, travel-weary and sleep-deprived, about 1:30 p.m.

The rest of the trip was a whirlwind and we didn’t even see a museum. We met Dad and Jane in town and went immediately to lunch. Italians know how to have lunch. We walked a bit on our own, took a brief nap and it was time to get cleaned up for dinner. Italians know how to have dinner.

Sunday breakfast was cooked by my Dad, with minimal assistance from me. Jim and I headed out and met them for lunch, took a long walk and it was time for dinner. We arose at an ungodly hour Monday morning for the return trip.

The point is that I’d like to plan various educational and culinary vacations for us that last longer than 36 hours (plus eighteen hours in travel time). Aside from eating and walking, the only truly prophetic thing we did way buy gorgeous Italian soaps at the Farmacia at Santa Maria Novello. Now that’s an experience, but we were power shopping for gifts for family and business associates as we only had a couple of weeks left before returning to the States.

So, I’d hate for Jim to say to Italy, “been there, done that” because he truly hasn’t. He did enjoy the food and, as a cattleman’s son, especially the Bistecca alla Fiorentina (Florentine steak made from Chianina beef that is simply dressed with salt, pepper and fruity olive oil).

Ireland? France? Germany/Switzerland/Austria? Greece and Turkey? It’ll be fun to plan and perhaps when the flaky economy straightens out, to actually do. We do have a long weekend coming up and I need to use some airline miles or lose them, so we’ll let you know what we decide. No, that one won’t be Europe!!! Cheers, Dee

Melrose Abbey

I just found an unpublished post because I had trouble with the pictures that went along with the words. Got a postcard from Karen today, with whom I traversed at least the southern Scottish countryside in search of education and adventure at least twice per week.

Sometimes my Jim and Karen’s husband Jack were able to join us on weekends.

Melrose didn’t require any stinky cow pastures, but did take a train and two buses each way. It was worth every minute. The small bus we took directly to the Abbey was taken with husband/wife scholars and photographers. I believe we went in early April of last year so it was supposed to be cooler weather but was a glorious day and only four of us there at the Abbey and we rarely saw each other.

It has been open to the air for many years. After its use as a Cistercian monastery it was used as a community parish church. It is said that the heart of King Robert the Bruce, who helped free Scotland from England, has his heart buried there (see gravestone, new) after it was taken to the holy land for burial but its bearers wound up getting into the Crusades.

His heart made it back and was taken to Melrose, where it was recently unearthed and re-buried. You’ll have to do that research on your own. Hope I got my part right!

It was a glorious afternoon. We had lunch then spent several hours walking around and taking photos. I think we had soup and sandwiches that day.

The most interesting thing to me is the transition from traditional heavy, square or rectangular English architecture to the lighter-than-air French tracery windows. I don’t know that I gave you a sampling. Some of the largest window expanses, like behind the altar, are French and only in the last 150 years have they inserted iron bars to keep them in place.

Even thinking of that quiet time at such a spectacular place gives me peace.

The Scots

You won’t believe this, but I made it and have witnesses.

A half-side of salmon, skinned and boned. I covered it with scallop mousse and then zucchini half-rounds to look like fish scales. Cousin Steve manned the deep fryer pot and came up with fried parsley for garnish.

Oh, man, it’s so great to be out of French cooking-land! Ironically I got a catering job out of that cooking school dinner/brunch that paid a good portion of my tuition!

My Aunt Joan, godmother, loved the results and efforts, God rest her soul. I will remember it fondly for her. I thank the rest of the family for putting up with my pretenses. No, Kevin, that’s not prehensile. That’s my brother and I have to do this stuff so he’ll read my blog.