noodlepie

Freak fish

One of the odder jobs I have, considering I live at the opposite end of the Earth, is writing about Scottish wildlife. Actually most writing jobs I get seem pretty odd given where I live, but that's that internet thing for you... I digress.

The piece I've just finished writing is about the Orkney vole, a unique species of vole found only in the Orkney islands. All very interesting stuff. The last part of the feature required three or four accomodation tips. One of those I suggest is The Creel. I've visited the Creel's restaurant twice - the food is excellent, definitely the best in Orkney and probably some of the best in Scotland. The last time I was there I hit the monkfish.

However, a quick scan through their website tells me they're serving up some rather more intriguing fish these days; Wolf fish, Torsk, Sea witch and Megrim for starters. I love fish, but I've never snagged one of these on a line, savagely wrestled it from the sea, bludgeoned it to death, torn open its guts, applied batter and fried in oil the temperature of a small sun. Not even uber TV-fishmonger Rick Stein has these handsome specimens on his menu. Anyone tried any of these freak fish or similar? Pic nicked from 'ere.

Best Kebab House

Leith Walk in Edinburgh is famous for little, unless you count a bit part in Trainspotting, a mention in a Proclaimers song, a reputation for flying pub furniture, broken pub windows, boarded up shops and drug deaths. In among the colourful culture that is Leith are some very fine chippies and cafes, the 'legendary' Valvona & Crolla and the Best Kebab House. I'm assured - by two sources - that the Best Kebab House lives up to its name. I'm promised it serves one of Edinburgh's finest examples of BritTurk-hybrid nightfood.

Doner kebabs, like the £4.20 example pictured above, are as British as Chicken tikka massala. It's a vertical rottisserie style lamb amalgam served with fresh veggies inside a heated pitta bread with a splodge of chilli sauce. Kebabs are traditionally gobbled, smeared, squeezed and dripped along streets near pubs and are particularly popular from 11:30pm onwards. Kebabs are streetfood, or at least food that's eaten on streets. Telltale signs of 'doing a kebab' include a trail of chilli sauce, red cabbage, tomatoes, soggy napkins and discarded polystyrene boxes. Which is why I feel a total fake. This is my first ever daylight kebab. Sin of sins, I take it home. It's also (probably) the only kebab I've ever purchased without having stepped inside a pub beforehand. Don't believe the salad. This kebab - I ordered the small size, but it's way big - is total stodge.

A lack of alcohol doesn't help my enjoyment. I used to love these things. This is my first kebab encounter in maybe ten years and it's not going down well. "One too many noodle soups and you may turn" they said. I think they were right. I'm told the chicken kebab is *the one* to go for here and I'll give it a go next time I'm back. For now, this is my last early evening meal in the UK and it's not a good one. Back in Saigon soon. Noodles, fish sauce, snails, dogs, rats and pig's uterus... real food. At last. Can't wait. Meanwhile the BBC has a list of the World's best kebab shops. And the humble kebab is listed on one of 50 things you should eat before you die.

Technorati Tags: kebab, Leith, fastfood

Fag's out

Fancy a puff? Outside. Smoking has been banned in Scottish pubs since March. Every pub now has one or more of these unattractive wall mounted ashtrays fixed to the masonry outside. Can't help thinking it was a wise decision to introduce this law as the weather starts to warm up in Scotland. Not sure the more feisty, pissed up of Scots faghags will be quite so accomodating come winter. Fagcops: secure the perimeter.

Problems with Scottish cuisine part 1

Steak pie. Yum. Fine stuff. But, Bean & Potato Pie... ?

Scottish street snack round up

I'm a busy man and a busy man needs unbusy food. Storries Home Bakery on Leith Walk in Edinburgh delivers early morning stodge. It's unglamorous Scottish street snack food at its most unglamorous. Storries serves food that functions to fill. Food that forgets to wipe its boots, burps loudly and leaves the toilet seat up. It's the absolute antithesis of anything I find on the streets of my regular stomping ground, Saigon. Unhealthy, artery unfriendly and exactly what I need after an Asian health kick.

The stylish shop front sign says it all. And I want it all. First up is an 80p sliced sausage roll.

Sliced sausage is a Scottish phenomenon, rarely seen south of the barbed wire, landmines and broken glass of Hadrian's Wall. It sits snug inside a Scottish roll, which are way better than English rolls, I don't know why, they just are. Add a wipe of butter and a messy sploge of brown sauce and you're set. It tastes like it looks; not great, but not bad. I've had this stuff running in my veins since I was a nipper. I have an inbuilt disposition for crap. I am a fan.

Next stop. A 60p Black pudding roll. Spicy, slightly crunchy and earthmungussly satisfying. Like the sliced sausage, we have the butter and sauce combo. Scottish black pudding is also better than English black pudding. That's not to say English blood is less tasty. But Scots has more guts, which is a good thing in the offal world.

Deviating from the shop front menu I hit on a 90p sausage roll on day three. Big mistake. I forget to stick it in the shop microwave for a minute and I'm left with cold cardboard and pigs innards to nibble on as the bus trundles up to Princes Street.

I make ammends with a 60p haggis roll. It's crunchy in a "I hope that's oats, not cow bones and a nasty dose of bovine spongiform encephalopathy I'm tucking into" kinda way. I love haggis. When you catch a good one, there's nothing better. But even an average, lowland haggis with little fight in it, is a decent find between bread and smear-of-sauce. Next week: something else unhealthy. Great to be back in the UK. Culture. At last.

Technorati Tags: Leith, Scottish food, haggis

Eurotour

Before I start sticking my snout back up the many attractive back passages of Saigon, I thought I'd quickly wrap up a few personal highlights from what was a hectic European tour. Click the links below for more snaps and more info. Firstly, in vegetarian unfriendly Andorra, brother-in-law and solid Toulousaine chef Jacques, conjured up the amazing rabbit barbecue pictured above. Twelve lovely, fluffy bunnies were cremated at this Pyrenean forest barbie. He also taught me how to cook paella. In the Place Saint Miguel, Barcelona I tried a paella negre (squid ink paella). I've been wanting to try this dish ever since I heard a Barcelonian (is that a word?) rave about it. However, it was bollocks. Any ink flavour there is gets lost by cooking it with the rice.

In the UK, I had a superb fish supper at the 'world famous' Anstruther Fish 'n' chip shop. It's reputation is well deserved. Not in the slightest bit greasy, bonkers fresh fish, chunky chipshop chips. For my money, which isn't saying much I suppose, this shack is up there with my perennial fave in Oban - the one that featured in last year's mammoth Scottish fish 'n' chip shop round up.

This is the best Scottish breakfast I've ever had (and I've had one or two) - Haggis, Orkney black pudding, organic Tamworth pig sausages and bacon, homegrown everything else including the eggs. East Lochhead B&B in Lochwinnoch, Scotland has that whole healthy, homegrown, Slowfood mashmix going on. Noodlegirl and me had two dinners and two breakfasts here. As the Americans say, "It freakin' rocked." More snaps here.

I did a lot of work interviews in Europe. One of the most interesting was with the manager of Cumbrae Oysters oyster farm off the Isle of Cumbrae in south-western Scotland. He has around a million oysters on his farm, which he tells me is quite small as far as oyster farms go. His oysters, particluarly his 'jumbo oysters', and hand dived razor clams, have a niche following in Hong Kong.

Regulars will know I love oysters and it was fascinating to learn more about how to farm them, how they grow, the taste, the importance of sea temperature, predators (did you know starfish, even small ones, eat oysters by drilling a hole into them and sucking the oyster out over a period of days? No?, well you do now. This blog is a bleedin' education, I'm tellin' ya) I'm pondering whether or not to podcast the interview with him. I record most interviews on a K750i phone which works just like a regular audio recorder, but the quality is not really good enough for broadcast. So, bollocks, maybe I won't podcast after all. I'll just annoy you with the fact that I could, if I wanted, but I won't, or maybe I will, then again... More pics from the oyster farm here.

So that was Europe and those are snails. Now, where was I... Oh yeah, Saigon. One (final) year of blogging from the streets of Saigon ahead of me. I'm looking forward to it, hope you are too.

Noss and no noodles

It's that time of year of year where I start getting nostalgic for fierce biting wind, days of drizzle and a cold North sea. I was supposed to do some work in Sweden recently, but it all went tits up at the last and I suppose the pangs for a northern hemisphere chill set in from there. The snap above shows the ferry to the island of Noss in Shetland. It's the only island wildlife reserve in Britain accessible by a motorised dinghy and nothing else. You have to wave to the warden on Noss from the neighbouring island of Bressay. If he sees you, he'll come and fetch you. If he doesn't, well... take a good book.

Noss is heaving with sea birds, lined with seals, the odd otter and dolphin. It'll take you four hours or so to walk the coastline. Apart from the seasonal warden, it's uninhabited. After 9 months back in Saigon this is the kinda place I'd like to be for a couple of days. And sod the noodles, I'll have what's inside that perfect bundle above thank you very much.

To Tiree... in sound & vision

More folk live on my street in Saigon than live on the island of Tiree. If you look really hard you'll find 750 people on this 11 mile x 6 mile flat, green speck, waist deep in Atlantic chill off the west coast of Scotland. The island is surrounded by empty white sandy beaches and the sea is stacked with flippin' fresh seafood, although little lands in Scottish larders. Much of it is bound for foreign markets. Velvet crabs, brown crabs and lobster wind up on the swanky set menus of Madrid, Rome and Lisbon. It's a 4 hour ferry trip from Oban, on the mainland via Coll. Much like my recent visit to Shetland, Tiree is staggeringly beautiful and calm. After one traffic tantrum too many in Saigon, I'd seriously consider dismembering a distant relative for the opportunity to live in a place like this - just kidding, I wouldn't really. Well, not unless my victim looked good in a honey glaze...

What Saigon lacks in beauty, it makes up for in food. Tiree has its work cut out if my stomach is ever to follow my head for a long stretch in the Inner Hebrides. The Tiree Scarinish Hotel overlooks a petite arc of alabaster in front of the old pier and sources food for its menu locally. The hotel's version of Scotch Broth is stuffed with barley, cabbage, coriander, leeks and carrot. If this and the hotel's breakfast doesn't keep you regular, nothing will. A simple, hearty, no frills soup designed for the foullest of Scottish weather - which fortunately for us didn't show up during our entire stay. Blue skies and sunshine. T-shirt weather all the way. There again, every islander I talked to told me, "Tiree holds the UK sunshine record, don't you know". It probably holds the wind and rain records too, but they tend to keep quiet about those...

The Tiree Scarinish Hotel is blessed with bar patrons who fish. Lobster, crabs, line caught fish and scallops are delivered to the hotel's kitchen daily. The hotel is beginning to market the theme of 'A Taste of Tiree' to visitors. The food isn't sophisticated, but it's fresh. This whopper of a seafood platter (£15.95) came with prawns, crab claws, lobster, smoked salmon, mackerel, salad, lemon wedges, mayonnaise and cocktail dressings. The lack of fancy cooking means this dish relies totally on seafresh flavour. And although the lobster crooned to our tastebuds, we didn't swoon in response. Although, it was certainly a scrummy seafest.

The dish above intrigued me, 'Freshly caught Lithe in beer batter' (£9.95). What the hell's a Lithe? The waitress told me it was a relative of the cod, lived in kelp beds and had big, bulbous eyes. None the wiser, I ordered it anyway. It's a big fish... this chap fell a good couple of inches off either side of the plate. You won't find fish this size down your local chippie. It's more delicate than more traditonal British fish - cod and haddock. Mid-mastication the waitress, very helpfully, returned with a print out from a google image search she'd just done for me (Ain't technology great?). It turns out Lithe is the Tiree (Gaelic) name for a Pollack. Never mind the Pollacks, what about the beer batter? Well, as ever with beer battered fish, I couldn't trace a sniff of ale in the otherwise excellent crispy batter. And I hardly touched the chips and potatoes. I had my work cut out ploughing through the monster from the deep. The steamed cabbage was excellent. It tasted of seaweed. The islanders use seaweed as a fertiliser. And combined with the plentiful salt sea spray, the island's greens are a taste sensation.

Further east along the island is Gott Bay and the Tiree Lodge Hotel where I ordered a sad Cullen Skink. This Scottish 'soup' should be stuffed with the tastiest smoked haddock, some onions and potatoes, but this was bland and forgettable. A good skink is a match for any pho anytime, anywhere. But not this one.

Well, that's all for this edition of 'foreign muck' from Tiree. It's also the end of the series. There was more... a 'penetrating' airline food expose, Andorran escargot and boudin noir from the south of France, to name a few - but, maybe another day. For the peaceful noodlepie audio visual experience of Tiree click here. To listen & watch a noodlepie exclusive - the spiritual swing of Angus Macphail, of Skipinnish records, on the pipes inside spooky Fingal's Cave on the nearby island of Staffa, click here. Lastly, that tiddly cottage at the beginning of this post is available for rent (£185 - £205 per week). Highly recommended. Back on the streets of Saigon in a jiffy. Thanks for your patience.

Market watch

I just posted a reply to Toru's comments about fish 'n' chips and the maddening inability to find decent nosh in Britain. I think it's worth repeating what I commented here as this 'foreign muck' series gradually comes to a close - maybe three more posts and that's yer lot. I've interspersed the post with shots taken from Toulouse central covered market, Saint-Aubin Sunday market (Toulouse), Saint-Gaudens weekly market (45 mins from Toulouse) and Tesco Supermarket (UK). "Fish 'n' chips is not for everyone. And there's far more bad fish 'n' chips than good. However, I've only met a couple of Asian born Asians who liked it (not that you are of Asian descent) - the rest found it repulsive. It is a 'difficult' taste to get into. Much like the way I first found Kimchi in S. Korea. However, you're quite right about the availability of decent fresh fish in Britain. For an island nation it's shocking, but also indicative of what has happened to Britain's food supply in general since the 1970's.

Supermarkets have taken the simple freedom to taste away from the British consumer. Most Brits do not know what veggies, meat, fish and fruit should taste like anymore. What they are being sold looks fab, but tastes of sod all.

As I always say to folk who go to Britain. There is great food in Britain, but unless you know where to go (and also when - food is seasonal after all. Although how many Brits still realise that I do not know) you will not find it. Whereas in France, Vietnam, Japan... you don't have to hunt for a decent meal or ingredients.

The 'disappearance of taste' from British food is a fascinating topic. This extract from Joanna Blythman's scarily accurate book, Shopped: The Shocking Power of British Supermarkets says it far better than I can.

On a more positive note. The mini-boom in organic delivery services and slow growing interest in organisations like Slowfood is helping redress the trend towards crap. I have my reservations about the growth in Farmer's markets in the UK - sterile and dull was my recent experience, but the fact that they are happening is also a step in the right direction.

Don't mean to harp on, but it's a topic I am keenly interested in. TBH, if I hadn't spent so much time out of the UK - and experienced many different tastes - I probably wouldn't question what I was buying either. The Brits 'musn't grumble' attitude explains a lot - we'll put up with any old shit :))"

Brit sea scoff

I've mentioned my admiration for British nosh before and, after a hefty stint in SE Asia, nothing rises the noodlepie sap higher than the scent of cod-infused deep fried fat wafting down a chilly British street of an afternoon. However, on my recent blast through the Shetland Islands I was on the trail of something a bit special - Britain's most northerly chippie. I'd emailed the tourism board a couple of times from Saigon to see if they knew where this great British landmark might be. I was surprised to hear that they weren't sure. I'd kind of assumed 'Britain's most northerly chippie' would be well-known. Arriving in Shetland, a helpful Czech girl at the tourist board offices by the name of Misa - yes - Czech, not Shetlandic and extremely knowledgeable about the islands - suggested three joints all in Lerwick; Fort Cafe Takeaway, the Happy Haddock and Ian's Chip shop. I was suspicious. If you look at the map here, Lerwick is pretty far south and Unst, Fetlar and Yell look like sizeable chunks of Britain further north. Surely, they'd have a chippie a hop, skip and a ferry away up the road?

It turns out my Czech mate was spot on. The islanders further north have to steam south for their fish 'n' chips fix. OK - so we were down to the three locations all in Lerwick. Ian's Chip Shop looked like it had fried its last, or it was going through rather messy renonvation work. Whatever - it was closed - which left us two options; Happy Haddock and the Fort Cafe. Unfortunately, I have the mapsense of a short-sighted homing pigeon with Alzheimer's, and wasn't carrying a GPS phone. So, I needed a second opinion. Ever helpful Gordon Williamson, from the Herrislea House Hotel, put me on the right track, "There's nothing north of Lerwick. Your most northerly chippie? That'll be the Happy Haddock." But, did the staff at the Happy Haddock on Commercial Road know they were presiding over a potential marketing goldmine as 'Britain's most northerly chippie'?? Nah, never even crossed their minds.

This 'Fish supper', as it's known in Scotland, will set you back £3.80. Actually, a 'proper' fish supper should come with a fish and a half, but I was missing the half here. There's a small eat-in area at the Happy Haddock, which is located (handily) next to a fishmonger and The Douglas Arms boozer. The scoff is decent. The chips were fresh and hot. Can't stand knackered old chips, refried or whatever and these were fresh out of the pan. The haddock was fresh enough, although it wasn't exactly flipping out of the chip paper. The all important batter was slightly soft on the inside, the way it should be, and firmed to a golden crisp on the outside. All in all, a satisfying chippie chowdown at 'Britain's most northerly chippie'. You heard it here first (I think).

Back in town, at the foot of the old fort and a screwed up chip paper's throwaway from the harbour front is the Fort Cafe Takeaway. Perhaps because of its more central location, and its larger and separate sit-in area, this spot was far busier than the Happy Haddock. Although this was a pieman lunch stop, the Happy Haddock was an early evening affair which could have made a difference. OK - looks wise - it's all a bit sad, but how's the scoff?

One of the great things about British fish 'n' chips is the sense of anticipation before unwrapping the salty, vinegary, fishy fried delights inside. Like Christmas, but better. (Although I'll admit, if you got a Terry's Chocolate Orange last year - you could argue a good case for Christmas.)

Inside we have a £3.50 haddock fish supper (with added half of fish) in a polystyrene box. Fish quality was good, if a little 'spongey' in the middle. The batter veered towards soggy on the inside which was troubling. It's such a delicate art to get the crispiness on the outside and the right amount of softness on the inside. Too soggy and much of it will be inedible glop, as was the case on this visit. The chips weren't entirely fresh, although that didn't seem to bother the seagull who happily squarwked his satisfaction at my cast offs as I watched the ferry depart on its 7 minute scoot over the pond to Bressay. Fort cafe might be cheaper, but you'll be a lot happier at the Happy Haddock.

I've mentioned this place in Oban on the west coast of Scotland before. Refurbished since pieman and noodlegirl last hogged down here, it still serves a sucker sea punch to other fish fryers in Britain. I nattered with the owner, while our haddock fried, to gleen a few facts about their trade. During the high season they'll serve 500 customers per day and the fish is delivered twice a week from Oban based fishermen who freeze their catch at sea. This is the only chippie I have found thus far that I would (and did) travel 6,000 miles to eat at.

The revamp means fancy new boxes like those above, aswell as a framed picture on the chippie wall taken when ace chef Rick Stein popped in for a fill and a menu replete with noncey new dishes. Oh, and don't try that web address on the box. Sadly, it doesn't work. Shaky opening times and a late train meant we very nearly missed eating here. Talk about being anxious. We just squeezed this in straight off the train late one Sunday night.

Inside the snazzy box is £4.20 haddock & chips - the most expensive chippie on this jaunt and 'Yes' - it is worth it. Less greasy than all the others I sampled, the fish flakes off in chunks and the batter is done to perfection. Some of the chips did stick to the greasepaper, but half the fun's peeling them off anyhow, and they weren't too thick as some tend to be. Oban Fish & Chip shop fry your fish to order, so there's none of those sad looking tepid chaps hanging around the hot plate area. It's generally a good sign if a chippie tells you, you'll have to wait 10 minutes for your supper. I will be back (again and again).

In Glasgow, it was a different story at the Blue Lagoon next to Central Station. An old haunt had disappeared and, pushed for time, we dropped in here. It looked kinda posh, but unlike Oban we were greeted by a few sad fried cod & haddock waiting for customers. We coughed up £3.95 for a fish supper each before finding a pew on Buchanan Street to get stuffed.

This unhappy looking haddock didn't look hot and didn't taste top, although the flesh flaked the way it should. After all, if you're running a chippie, the very least you can do is fry fresh and serve piping hot, surely? Not that it was awful, it was just a bit amateur and I doubt I'll be back.

Well, That about 'wraps up' this year's British fish 'n' chop shop review, hope you enjoyed it. There'll be more in 2005, if not before. I have already heard from multiple sources that the Anstruther Fry in Fife, Scotland is the new cod on the block. And when in London, I never fail to to make an appointment with the sublime Two Brothers at 297-303 Regent's Park Road. If you do have any recommendations for your favourite Brit chippie, please let me know. I'm half of mind to use the extra blog space Typepad gives to start a fish 'n' chip 'open' blog soon. Meanwhile, get your Home cooked fish 'n' chips just right with a little help from the BBC.

Would you like a heart attack with that, sir?

Britain’s B&B’s, guesthouses and hotels have been helping clog arteries for decades. The ‘full English’ has kept heart surgeons and Weightwatchers in business for over forty years. Yes indeed – the Great British breakfast has a lot to answer for. So, at great risk to myself, I recently undertook a brief review of breakfast tables across Scotland. The noodlepie journey to the operating table began at Herrislea House Hotel, in the village of Veensgarth in the Shetland Islands. But, please consult your doctor or dietician before trying this at home. Pictured above we have black pudding, local sausage, bacon, tomato and fried egg. The oatmeal stuffed black pudding was splendid, the sausage better than your usual hotel find with masses of meaty punch. The bacon did suffer from white scum - a big pieman put-off. All too commonly bacon producers add water to the bacon, hence the scum. If a fry-up doesn’t appeal first thing, you can order kippers, smoked haddock, choose from six cereals or snack on bannocks and oatcakes. There's also an excellent homemade rhubarb jam to accompany the toast.

At Alder Lodge Guest House in Lerwick, the ‘capital’ of Shetland, I opted for scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, black pudding, mushrooms and beans. Nice to see HP sauce on the table together with a selection of Robertson’s Marmalade. Whereas, Herrislea House Hotel was decorated with African and Asian paraphernalia picked up on by ex-merchant navy seaman turned hotelier Gordon Williamson, Alder Lodge goes for the wicker and lacy table cloth look. The breakfast was a bit of a disappointment. ‘Flan style’, watery scrambled eggs, flaky black pudding, white scum bacon and the biggest breakfast blunder of all, cheap baked beans. You can spot them a mile off, their light, wan expression gives them away every time. Stop scrimping and use Heinz.

Back at Burrastow House, also in the Shetland Islands, I wasn’t surprised to find scumless bacon on my plate in the morning after the night before's experience. I took a pew in the eight-seater wood paneled, plate lined breakfast room overlooking the voe outside and got stuck in. A bumper bowel loosening opener of homemade dried fruit compote, led into freshly squeezed grapefruit juice before moving on to the main event pictured above. I couldn’t find fault with the superb black pudding, back bacon, tomato and fried organic egg or the soft fruit packed muffins that followed. Interestingly breakfast at Burrastow must be ordered the night before – this is normally a good sign on the noodlepie quality checklist.

Alpen, Bran flakes and Weetabix will get you started at Roseneath Guest House in Oban on the west coast of mainland Scotland, but yer regular best of British is one of two options to follow in the fourteen-seater antler adorned breakfast room. The other option, on this visit, being pancakes. This rendition was well presented and speedy. Also worth noting, the chef got up extra early to cook for pieman and noodle girl as we had an early ferry to catch. Nice to see tattie scones on my plate, but Roseneath is also guilty of white scum sin. Plus the sausage was of the supermarket frozen variety which is invariably crap - as noted by Maki at I was just really very hungry. However, the coffee was served in a large cafetiere and didn’t come from the arse end of the Nescafe range. Also worth pointing out, Room 3 has a four poster bed, great views and owner Colin will greet you with a whisky on arrival, which is nice.

Over at Pieman’s Scottish bothy you’ll find more meat than many a B&B. Working in a westerly direction from the fried organic egg we have fried potato scone, bacon, Hall’s black pudding, wild Perthshire haggis, Lorne sausage and a decent dollop of HP sauce. No beans today just a few fibrous veggies centrestage. Haggis is all too often left off the breakfast plate in Scottish B&B’s which is a shame as they’re difficult to catch in the wild, but well worth the effort. The naturally tender, spicy tinge to the meat of a haggis is sensational. No-one to my knowledge has successfully reared one in captivity although you can find fake fellas in supermarket fridges all over Scotland.

The Tiree Scarinish Hotel on the island of Tiree in the Inner Hebrides also serves a haggis-free ‘full Scottish’. Some of the older crofters I chatted to said they hadn’t seen a haggis in the wild for decades. It’s thought they’re now either locally extinct or have gone nocturnal. However, pigs are still found on Tiree and I can happily report white scum-free bacon here. Although the sausage, which I understand is made locally was disappointingly bland. The Tiree tomatoes were the juiciest of all the breakfasts sampled on this trip.

I hope you enjoyed this brief 'Supersize noodlepie British breakfast review'. Now does anyone have the number for Weightwatchers?

Bonkers about Burrastow

Burrastow House is just about the most northerly restaurant/hotel in Britain. You'll find it at the edge of the hamlet of Walls on the western edge of the Shetland Islands. It's hidden away at the end of a pensioners rollercoaster of a single-track road. The last 20 miles of which are divine driving through peat bog, heather moorland, skirting lochs and sea voes as you swoon through the gears. The house looks great, the location could not be better, however it's pretty much inaccessible to your average Brit. So, if you're gonna bother coming all this way, what's the nosh like?

Fussy eaters stay away as there's no menu at Burrastow - usually a very good sign as far as noodlepie is concerned. Mein Host, Henry Simmons, will offer you an aperitif in the creaky, leather chaired, 18th century aristocratic sitting room while he tells you what three course dinner wife and chef Bo is rustling up in the scullery. On this visit the starter had a fishy theme (sorry lost my notes and snaps for that) and the main event was farmed Shetland Salmon on a bed of tatties, pictured above. The supremely succulent salmon virtually vapourised upon eating. In fact there are four salmon farms in the sound that surrounds Burrastow on three sides.

The salad consisted of four leaves including garden-grown lettuce and rocket and topped with a tangy vinaigrette. Fresh homely food with a touch of class. The kind of salad Delia-gone-rough-around-the-edges might muster. Bo is no stranger to cookbook authorship herself having published her own 'A Taste of Burrastow' which includes over eighty recipes of no-nonsense honest food with a focus on "fine fresh ingredients, simply cooked with uncomplicated sauces that enhance or compliment the natural favours."

Burrastow was definitely the stomach stunna on this trip to Shetland. The food, the setting, the whole caboodle was as far removed from my regular scoffing ground as you could imagine. The silence, clean air and bleak beauty were super-top-brilliant. They're even licensed to perform marriages and they run residential cookery classes so you can spend your honeymoon there too. Have a look for yourself on a couple of 'panoramic' lo-fi, dial-up friendly videos. Crank up the volume and listen to the silence of Burrastow at 7pmish here and at 6:30am here. It's a long way from Saigon, but I will be back.