A Final Post

Its taken a while for the results to come through. They arrived by email yesterday (which happened to be my birthday) after I'd nudged Gill, because I'd heard they were available at the school. Apparently there is a postal strike in Scotland, so they hadn't wanted to put them in the post because they might have gone off after 3 days, or something.

Photo right: Poppy has grown a bit while I've been away!

Anyway, you'll be pleased to know I got a Merit. That's the one between a Pass and a Distinction. My overall score was 76%, not that that means anything to you, except if you ever go on the course yourself (which I hope you will at least consider!). I was let down only by the marks on the business course, on which I thought I had something of an advantage over the others, but I strongly suspect these were marked pretty low all round.

So I'm settling back into "normal" life. Back to the family, back to going out with the "boys" on a Tuesday night, catching up with old friends, trying to keep in touch with new friends. I have a few possibilities open to me, and if you would like to keep in touch then please find my pages on Facebook. I have a personal page, and a Wild In The Pantry page for promoting my new business, should that take off. Apparently social networks like this are the future of internet marketing, so I'd better stop moaning and JUST GET ON WITH IT.

Thanks for reading, be happy.

How Rick Stein Saved My Life

It's all over bar the shouting, two more diploma lunches, and Hervé and Chris cooking lunch for us all on Friday.

Yesterday Was Liviy's diploma lunch, and I was one of her two helpers. Liviy (yes that's how she spells it I have discovered) was the one who disappeared for two weeks under the strain, only returning just over a week ago. It wasn't just the course though, she told me. She is a lovely girl, very quiet (a big bonus in my opinion!), so I'm really pleased for her. Mummy and Daddy flew over from Hong Kong for the occasion. This was clearly a trip they didn't have to think twice about, such is their obvious wealth. Being on front of house duty I got to talk quite a bit to both of them, particularly Mummy, who am I now madly in love with, but I'm guessing its not going to go anywhere.

Photo above: the path round the cliffs to the harbour at Dunbar. I went to Dunbar because one of the few family holidays I had a a child was a few days in a hotel in the town. The purpose of the holiday (as far as I was concerned) was to go to the Commonwealth Games which were in Edinburgh that year (1970 it would be), but having got there my Dad decided he didn't want to go to them after all. I'm still recovering from that blow. Oh yes, and I didn't manage to find the hotel.

At least I have crossed one career option off my list. Front of house. I must have lost about 3 stones yesterday trekking in and around the dining room, up and down the stairs, serving and clearing, pouring drinks, as well as helping prepare some of the food. 8 til 5.30 without a break. I will never again criticise a waiter. It would have been slightly easier had my (only worn once before) black trousers not been quite so tight, and my all black outfit not been quite so keen to absorb all the heat of the kitchen, but I guess that's just an occupational hazzard.

It was a beautiful day yesterday, bright sunshine all day, so I strolled into town to meet Ian, the school owner, for a beer wearing just a shirt. As we came out of the pub an ice-cold chainmail curtain was being dragged across the city - the haar which, my taxi driver informed me, often compensates for a few days of warm weather in these parts. Its still sitting on top of the city this morning as I write.

Photos above and below: Dunbar. Whe I was telling Stef about my day out in the pub on Sunday night, the bloke at the bar in front of us turned round, stared at me, and said "You're pronouncing it wrong - its f&%%ing Dunbar", then turned back again. Seemed like quite a nice place to me.

So, portfolio done, business presentation done, business plan handed in, that's about it. It will be a few weeks before I get my overall grade. I think most people will have passed - probably Kate and maybe Alex being the exceptions, so the distinguishing feature will be whether we each get a Pass, Merit or Distinction. I will let you know.

Photo left: Pain Perdu with caramelised apples and cinnamon sugar, courtesy of Mr Stein, photographed in the kitchen at Blackford Road

Where does Rick Stein come into it? I had bought, or been given his book Fruits of the Sea quite a few years ago, but cooked almost nothing from it because all the dishes seemed far too difficult. Over the last few weeks I've gone back to the book, and the recipes now seen quite straightforward, as well as being very tasty and beautifully presented. I cooked two dishes from the book for my fish assessment, and have just completed my portfolio by cooking two desserts from the same book. And no, they don't feature fish. It has made me realise what a long way I've come, at least in a culinary sense.

What else have I learned over the last 6 months? A lot of things. Have I achieved what I set out to? Yes. You're not going to bore us with all the details are you? No, hopefully you've picked them up along the way. However I do have a new life motto, which will replace my previous "Be True To Yourself", and it's this:

Just Get On With It.

Diploma Lunch Update...

We are now well into the second week of diploma lunches, with every one to date going well. For those people still to go this may be seen as reassuring, or if it were me, putting extra pressure on! Today is Stepan's turn. We was fairly relaxed about it on Monday when we met up for our Monday night pint, but having helped out Butcher yesterday (behind a little on time, but a sensational looking lunch) I think he's now starting to get a little bit concerned. The major triumphs were Alex, on Tuesday, who apparently delivered the full monty, and Kate the day before, who managed to keep reasonably calm and even made her big brother the airline pilot cry: "I'm so proud of my little sister". And yes, as is traditional, he brought his very attractive stewardess partner with him.

Today I have my 'creative fish' assessment. There is a bit of a row going on because when everyone else did it they were given at least 3 hours, so I planned my menu accordingly, only to be told yesterday we were to be given 2 hours. Mind you, it only took me 2 hours when I practiced it at home last week, so I should be fine. Watch this space...

Later The Same Day...

Well, it went pretty well. At least it did for me. Meanwhile Stepan was cooking his fantastic diploma lunch, and Boston Kate was having her third major crisis of the week. She was also doing her fish assessment, having missed it the same as I did (but very probably for different reasons). I have mentioned to her once or twice that she needs to prioritise better, but when I saw her slowly sharpening her knives 10 minutes after kick-off on our non-negotiable 2 hour time limit, I realised my advice had not been taken. Anyway, we both managed to produce dishes, and scored reasonably good marks (or, in my case, ahem, very good marks).

Photo above: cod on saffron mash, with an orange and chilli sauce, black olive tapenade and a tomato garnish

I also learned whilst giving Kate a much needed lift home that Alex's lunch, whilst going well, had an interesting dessert of toasted Morrison's Brioche topped with tinned Morrison's peaches. The only authentic element was a fresh blackberry on the top which he had deigned to cover with a little melted honey. When asked by one of the "food experts" who had been invited to Alex's lunch (he has no relatives in the country so reservists had to be drafted in) whether the brioche had been cooked in the Aga, Kate managed to keep a straight face whilst saying "No, actually it was cooked in a commercial oven". The scandal of it all.

Sophie's sister turned up today, for the weekend. She looks about 12. You might think this is perfectly acceptable, but she is with her "partner", who also looks about 12, and they are all staying in Sophie's room (Kylie is still away on holiday). I'm too old for this...

Arthur Wets His Pants, and Other Stories

In a slight departure from my usual reports, and as I'm nearing the end of what has been a varied, interesting, stimulating, entertaining and eye-opening time in Edinburgh, I thought I'd just record any interesting incidents over the course of a weekend to prove to myself (and you) that stuff just happens in Edinburgh.

Photo: the pier at Kilgreggan, near Glasgow, looking across towards the Gouroch to Dunoon ferry

It happened to be the weekend that my good mate and former boss (so he thought) Pete was up to visit. I'll stick to my principle of not writing in detail about anyone who is likely to read the blog, but here are a few anecdotes from the weekend (and a chance to get in a few really bad puns).

Stretching Credulity

Walking across the Meadows into town to meet Pete off the train I was approached by a guy riding what looked like a tandem with just him on it. As it passed me I realised it was a normal single-seater bike, with an extended chassis. It took me a few moment to process this, but I then realised I'd just seen the first example of a stretch bicycle.

Sporran Peace

I stopped off for a quick snifter at Sandy Bell's on the way to the station. There was the usual collection of hairy folkies, suits and students in there, and a guy leaning against the bar wearing a kilt (which is quite a common sight in Edinburgh). A few minutes later there was an almightly clang, and everyone spun round to see the kilted gent apologetically picking his sporran off the floor. I have no idea what there is in a sporran that could make so much noise, and I guess I never will, but it must weigh heavily on him.

Turkish Delight

We had our evening meal at a Turkish restaurant off George Street. It was, to say the least, very average. Edible, but dull. The manageress came over to clear our starter plates and asked us whether we'd enjoyed the food. I answered honestly (should I say frankly), saying it was ok, but I'd expected more herbs and spice (aka flavour) in the meze. She was slightly taken aback, but thanked me for expressing my opinion. "The chefs are all Turkish," she said, slightly defensively. "Well," I said, also slightly defensively "You asked my opinion and I gave it, but I'm not complaining." "Thank you. I'll pass that onto my husband," she replied, slightly frostily. Gulp. Her husband, predictably, was the head chef, who appeared later in the evening, but fortunately seemed to take it all in good spirits, and we were even given directions to Jools Holland's club around the corner, which enabled us to listen to some live music into the early hours.

Well Stuffed Taxi Door Me

We made our way home from the club around 1.30. I wandered up to George Street and quickly hailed a cab, which pulled up beside me. However, when I opened the door the cabbie said he was already stopping for the two gents behind me. Fine. I'll wait for another. I held the door open for the first guy, who walked straight past me into the cab without so much as a word. "Thank you very much," I said, addressing myself quite loudly, "That's no problem, have a good night!" I continued. "F*** off, you f****** t***" replied the guy. His mate also piled past me muttering "F****** t***" in my direction as I held the door for him. Lovely. I smiled sweetly at them and walked off, my soul and conscience clean.

Arthur Wets His Pants

Saturday morning started off with brilliant sunshine falling on the city. I donned my Eric Morecambe reject shorts and set off to meet Pete at the Scottish Parliament building. Our mission was to climb to the top of Arthur's Seat. We took the path round Salisbury Crag, taking in the spectacular views of the city, and noticing as we did the rain clouds heading our way from beyond the airport to the west. It looked at one stage as though we were going to escape with a light sprinkling as they veered off to the south, but at the exact moment we reached the summit and touched the cairn, the heavens opened and we, along with the other 20 or so people there at the time, were utterly soaked to the skin. So much so that Pete had to go shopping to buy some dry clothes to wear in the evening. As he pointed out, there are two rules when shopping at H&M: 1) don't shop at H&M and 2) if you do, buy clothes 2 sizes larger than you think you need.

Egged On

For Saturday night's meal Pete chose a Japanese restaurant he'd passed in the taxi, and which I'd been past several times on the bus. We went for the Teppanyaki option, which means sitting round a large communal table with the chef performing theatrics in the middle, cooking the food on a large steel plate in front of the guests,and generally fooling around with 6 foot flames, frightening looking blades, and raw eggs. At one point during the meal he asked us if we wanted to play a game. The game involved putting on a plastic jacket and a chef's hat, then standing in the middle of the table and flipping an egg into the hat, preferably without it descending down the back of your neck in a slow trickle. Good fun, I'd highly recommend it. Oh, and the food was delicious as well.

What's the Point?

We were bombarded throughout the weekend with menus featuring vegetarian haggis. Pete couldn't get his head around this, and I can see his point. There is nothing less vegetarian than haggis, so why would a vegetarian want to eat something that looked, felt and tasted like it? There is no answer to this question.


So this was my last chance to sample the delights of the city for a while, and we made the most of it. I wish I'd discovered the Jools Holland club much earlier in my stay. I did finally get to visit the Jazz Bar, climb Arthur's Seat, and do the Mary King's Close tourist thing. I also, for good measure, cracked the back of my business plan, and found the rightful owner of the turquoise cardigan that had appeared in my washing basket, and which I had wrongly assumed belonged to Margaret, but when it came to it and I offered it back to her, didn't (a slightly awkward moment). It was Sophie's ("Oh My God!!! Frank!!!").

And for good measure, with Click being away following her diploma lunch on Thursday (no, I don't know yet how she or anyone else has done, but you will be informed once I do), I confirmed my suspicions that the missing glassware has once again magically and mysteriously migrated into the drawer in her bedroom, despite her being (when I asked her just the other day) completely unaware of it being there!

Onwards and upwards we go (I used to work with someone called Anne Upwards - seriously).

Diploma Lunch - Done!

I was up at 6.30 in the morning picking flowers from the garden. That's the sort of day it was. I did, however, feel moderately in control throughout. I'm not sure whether that was a good thing or just a complete inability to grasp reality.

Arriving at school at 7.35, I sat around until nearly 8 before Lizzie ("I'll be there at 7.30 Frank") turned up. James, my kitchen assistant, arrived at 8.20, by which time we were already behind schedule. Things continued to lag until by 11.00 we were about an hour behind where we should have been on the time plan. I wasn't too worried, as I had built in plenty of contingency, but we did have to shuffle round a few things to make sure the canapés were ready by 1, which was the time the guests arrived (on pain of death at being a second late).

I'm pleased to say we delivered every course on time, didn't miss out any vital ingredients, and the guests seemed very happy with what they ate. One or two minor complaints (by the time we'd got the main course plated up the plates had gone cold, and Simon didn't receive any parsnip and pear purée - not that he ever eats either parsnips or pears anyway, but I suppose that's beside the point), but generally everyone was very complimentary.

After the meal there was a guided tour of the kitchens (including saying hello to those people who were still around, mainly Sam, and Kate (who had of course just arrived), a stroll round the grounds, and eventually everyone dispersed whence they came. I am incredibly grateful to everyone who came up - your support means the world to me - and to everyone else who couldn't make it but who has supported me through the last 6 months. Also to James and Graham, who both did a fantastic job on the day. I'm think I'm about to do a Kate Winslet...

So here's the menu:

Menu

Refreshing Southern States Mint Lemonade

Canapés

Courgette Candles
Courgette Strips Filled with a smooth artichoke and tomato purée

Shrimp Pastry
with a cannelini bean, pepper and chive spread

Lamb Kofta
with a mint, coriander and yoghurt dip

Starter

Twice-baked Goat's Cheese Soufflé
with blue cheese and cream topping, served with roasted baby tomatoes, salad leaves and caraway seed rolls

Main Course

Duo of Duck Breast and Confit of Duck, with a Cherry and Pomegranate Sauce

or

Chargrilled Marinated Vegetables, with Romanesco Sauce
(a rich tomato, chilli, garlic and almond sauce)

both dishes served on a bed of shredded cabbage, with marinated sweet potato chips, and a parsnip and pear purée

Dessert

Sticky Toffee Pudding
with Creme Anglaise

Tea or Coffee, with Chocolate Ganache Petit Fours

And a few photos of the day (courtesy of Butcher Graham and Margaret):

Chef at work

Chef's assistant, James

The goat's cheese soufflé could have made a bit more of an effort to get it's act together

Plating up the main course

Guests enjoying the meal in the Bell Tower Room

It was Barbara's birthday the following day, her present was a little chocolate box holding a tasteful bagpipe pincushion

Ian tells me how I should have done it

Judgement Day

It is the eve of my diploma lunch. An impressive line-up of family members are coming up from all parts of England for the event. Kick off is at 1300. Like they alway say before a big match, I'll be fine once the whistle goes. I've made extensive (some would say anal) preparations), and have the two best helpers I could possibly have got hold of in James and Hunter (Graham), who I know will do me proud.

Yesterday I went into school and prepared the duck for the main course. It took me 2 hours! One of the elements we have to demonstrate as part of the lunch is butchery skills, so I bought in 6 ducks, and because my recipe calls for marinating the legs overnight, I was allowed to fillet and section the ducks in advance. I had a sneaking suspicion it would take me some time to do this, so finding a recipe that required marinating aforehand was not as daft as it sounds.

Lizzie came in on Saturday morning as well, and we went through my ingredients list. nearly all there, apart from a few things I've said I'll bring in myself, and the tomatoes which she had forgotten. Things could have been quite different: on Friday morning we had our WSET wine and spirits exam (which I have passed, top of the class!), but before it started Kate took it upon herself to use my ingredients out of the fridge to make exactly the same thing I was going to make with them. As you can imagine I was not best pleased, and let her know it. It's just as well Lizzie had spotted what was going on. After a suitable time period to let Kate stew a bit, we kissed and made up (metaphorically speaking).

The other Exocet on Friday was that despite us being very specific about ordering 1 kilo ducks, and the supplier assuring us that would be no problem, when they arrived they weighed in at a hefty 2 kilos each. This blew my budget right out of the water, but fortunately I was able to negotiate with Jacqui, whose lunch is on Tuesday, and who is also cooking duck, to offload 6 duck breasts onto her. Phew.

Temper, Temper

We have just had the two best days ever on the course! Chris, our resident chocolatier, has been passing on his secrets to us, and we have been in constant amazement, not just at his skills, ideas and proficiency, but at the fact that we can actually reproduce some of these stunning objects ourselves. We have tempered chocolate, made marbled sheets, bows, boxes, hand-made chocolates, you name it. It's a fascinating area, and right now the majority of us want to do nothing but play with chocolate mainly because we know we can impress everyone we meet for ever more. The secret to all this is the word "tempered". This means treating the chocolate in a certain way so that beta crystals form, which when the chocolate sets, guarantee it is smooth and brittle, and not soft and dull.

Photo above: this is a stage in the production of marbled chocolate bows. The white chocolate has been dribbled onto an overhead transparency closely followed by a coat of dark chocolate which is spread over the transparency using a palette knife to create the marbled effect. Once semi-dried, the chocolate is cut in strips, then the transparency folded over as shown, and the two "ends" stuck together. Once fully dry the chocolate separates itself and the bows can be easily parted.

You will have noticed the wordplay in the title. One or two people are losing theirs, including - you've guessed it - Boston Kate, and to match that, the rest of us, and the staff, with her. Now that we are rapidly approaching the start of the diploma lunch marathon (with yours truly heading up the pack - and I have to say I am very grateful to be going first)), we can't afford disruption, and there are currently ripples aplenty (she should have been a James Bond heroine). So much so that Ian, the school owner, has had to get personally involved, which should never be the case. I can't say too much, but I think things are getting out of hand on some fronts.

Stepan and I seem to head out for a drink most Mondays these days. Now Monday is not my favourite night for a drink or two, being the first day of the week n'all, but it is one of only two nights Stef doesn't work (the other being Sunday). This week we met at the Café Royal, then headed off to the Oxford Bar (some of you will undoubtedly realise without me telling you that these are both nominated by the editor of the Good Beer Guide as 2 of the best 25 pubs in the UK), and finished up at the Thistle Street Bar, just a few yards along, which didn't have any real ales, but did have a great atmosphere, and Leffe to soften that particular blow. Having solved most of the problems of the world, we got onto the subject of how the course is changing rapidly from what it was, mainly due to the school being sold to Ian at the end of last year, and this therefore being his first year in full charge in which he can start to ring the changes, or as Stef succinctly put it "We are like some sort of bloody testing rabbits".

The Final Furlong

Now that we are approaching the final furlong of our six month course it is interesting both to look back at what has happened so far, and how people are reacting to the current pressure we are being put under.

Photo above: today's efforts were my diploma lunch canapés. Courgette candles, filled with roasted artichoke, roasted tomato and cream cheese

Personally, I now feel quite calm and confident about the rest of the course, including the "diploma lunch" which is the spotlight event, and which for me is in a week and a half's time (Monday 8th June). I've now cooked all the elements of the lunch, although not all at the same time. There's a few adjustments to make, but basically I have no qualms about my ability to cook it, just the odd concern about timings, presentation and decorations (no, I'm not doing a flower arrangement, just nipping down to Tesco's for a bunch of carnations). Looking at the wider picture, I'm not sure when I gained the "kitchen confidence" but I really do feel like I could try to cook anything now, whereas thinking back to the poached egg and hollandaise débacle I wonder just how my confidence levels managed to drop so low. I'm also on top of all the other work: wine course, business plan, journalism element, portfolio of work and so on.

Photo below: mini lamb koftas, with a mint and yoghurt raita ( I just had to get the Indian element in somewhere!). If you twirl them round between your fingers you can almost imagine they are as good as a doner kebab after 6 pints.

However, very few people feel the way I do! Most of the students are feeling under a lot of strain, are way behind with everything, have developed a sudden inability to plan, organise and probably even dress themselves. Yesterday we did presentations on a foodstuff of our choice ( I did salt), and Sam got so worked up she was unable to deliver hers. Livvy has been ill (stressed) on and off for a few weeks, and has today flown back to Hong Kong for a week with her parents. Kate, as you know by now, is doo-lally anyway, but despite arriving early this morning to work on her diploma lunch dishes following a heart to heart with yours truly last night, spent the first hour and a half making poached eggs (how is that possible?). Various people are walking round with a permanently glazed look in their eyes. Ian had to come in and give us all a pep talk to us all yesterday, and Lizzie must have been told to boost us up because she was nice as pie to everyone today, which I found slightly worrying.

Photo below: smoked salmon and prawn pastries, with a cannellini bean and yellow pepper filling

So basically those people who thought they were coming on a nice relaxing 6 month break have had a nasty shock. The school is deadly serious about the worthiness of the diploma they hand out at the end: it is not just a piece of paper that everyone gets - it needs to be earned.

Scotland, with a cucumber and nettle velouté

As far as I can remember I've always been quite fond of Scotland, or Scottieland as I always refer to it when there's a slight chance of offending someone. We've had many happy family holidays on the West coast, central heating on full blast, carbon footprint increased significantly trying to track down the only fresh vegetable in the region, midgie spray in full body mode.

My particular favourite juxtaposition is the Scottish Tourist board advert from a few years back featuring a pastoral photo of a beautiful little white cottage in front of a nicely shaped hill, which I happen to know (because I've driven past it several times) is at the top of Glen Coe. However, if you drive past the cottage towards Tyndrum for approximately three miles, there is a large cliff face off to the right on which is written, in letters about 30 feet tall, "F*ck off English".

Aside from that though, there's very little about Scotland that I dislike: Diet Irn Bru, perhaps (talking of juxtapositions); deep fried Mars bars for sure; salt and sauce (on fish and chips). But there's far more positives: motorway signs that give you a quick moral fix; calming accents; specialist shops on every corner; considerate drivers; wonderful scenery; golf - actually, add that to the previous list; whisky!; Ian Rankin; Iain Banks; anyone else whose name is Ian; people who look you in the eye when you pass them in the street; very very good beer; dodgy goalkeepers; Raith Rovers; a sense of national identity. I feel like that Norwegian football commentator from way back:- Winston Churchill, your boys took one hell of a beating...

But the thing which stands out most to me has been brought home by two things: the main news event this week, which is the M.P.'s expenses scandal in Westminster; and Margaret and my tour round the Scottish parliament building last weekend. What a contrast!

I'd always had a fairly bad impression of the Scottish Parliament Building. In fact, in my previous existence I used to use it on my risk management workshop as a bad example of how costs on a project can overrun due to bad management, and I guess that is still true (I can go into a lot of detail at this point if you really want). But what I hadn't appreciated is what a fantastic building it is, and how the sense of place, and time, and purpose merge together so well. To be fair, it's not a building you can stand outside and appreciate. It's just not designed to look good externally, except if you happen to be standing 200 feet up on Salisbury Crags. But once inside, with the enthusiastic guide filling in the detail, you get a strong impression of what the building is all about, and at the same time what Scotland is all about. The contrast between what the parliament is trying to achieve, in terms of democracy, fairness, compromise, communication, and public involvement, could not be more stark when compared to the hypocritical shambles which Westminster is currently exposing itself as being. If you visit Edinburgh, I'd strongly recommend a visit - it's only a fiver.

Meanwhile, yesterday was all about sauces, foams, and veloutés. Foams were quickly dismissed when Lizzie established that none of us were in the slightest bit interested in them, and she personally thought they were "a complete waste of time" anyway. Foams, for your information, are highly flavoured squirty bits that very posh chefs serve out of a canister with their dishes to add flavour, without, presumably, substance.

In a most unlikely turn of events Lizzie persuaded Butcher Graham to make a roasted barley foam. When I enquired later how he had got on he replied "Aye, it was quite tasty, I suppose". Judge from that what you will. I never actually got to see it.

I made a couple of sauces. A Romanesco, which was just bizarre: passata, almonds, garlic, olive oil, chilli, and a few other bits and bobs. Tasted great, but I'm not sure what you'd serve it with. My other offering was Cucumber and Nettle Velouté. This was made up on the spot from whatever was left in the fridge, but, I kid you not, was just lovely. Nettles are optional. If you do use, them, you need the sort that grow alongside the Union Canal out of Edinburgh, along which I cycled for 20 miles last Sunday afternoon. Hervé wore rubber gloves when he handled them, which I think was just a teeny bit over the top. As far as I could tell they had no sting to them, never mind being re-processed at Windscale which seemed to be along his lines of thinking.

A velouté is a sauce made with stock rather than milk, and usually with a bit of alcohol thrown in. In this particular case, there is no roux or alcohol, just a reduction of stock, then cream, and if its not thick enough, sort that out at the end with some cornflour.

Photo below: the velouté served with pan-fried seas bass, on a bed of stir-fried carrots and courgettes

CUCUMBER AND NETTLE VELOUTÉ

1 cucumber
sliver of ginger, finely chopped
3 spring onions, chopped
handful of nettle leaves, chopped
flat parsley, chopped
fresh oregano, chopped
1/4 green chilli, chopped
1/2 pint chicken stock
1 glass white wine
butter
4 tbl cream
salt and pepper

1. Grate the cucumber coarsely, then press through colander to remove as much water as possible.
2. Gently sweat onions and garlic for 5 minutes in butter. Add cucumber, nettle, parsley, oregano, chilli, and sweat for 5 more minutes. Do not brown!
3. Add wine and stock. Cook down to half volume of liquid.
4. Strain through sieve, put liquid back in pan and add cream.
5. Bring to boil and reduce by half again.
6. If not thickened, mix a little cornflour with cold water and stir through.

The sauce is light and full of flavour; the slight hints of ginger and chilli don't need to be overwhelming.

Serve with pan-fried seabass fillet (or similar), on a bed of stir-fried vegetables (courgette, carrot, spring onion with mustard seeds), as a light starter or with potatoes or rice for a main course.

I bet nobody has ever cooked this sauce before!

Veggie Week

Yes, as you know its been vegetarian and special diets all this week, culminating with an assessment on Friday. Now in our household we've kind of got used to catering for veggies, and discovered it's actually quite enlightening not only to go without a great lump of meat occasionally, but also to explore new tastes and textures, combinations, new worlds and civilisations, to boldly go... I digress. I think in our family we're all in agreement that veggie food can be pretty damn good.

Picture above: the lemon garnish I left under the table on Wednesday

The good folk of Scotland, however, don't necessarily share this view. Butcher Graham, for example, raised on a diet of raw meat, voted with his feet on Wednesday when we were asked to prepare a vegetarian dish, and presented Lizzie with a baked potato and cheese. She was too gobsmacked (or possibly frightened) to tell him off. While the rest of us slaved away with 4 different types of gluten-free flour trying to produce something that vaguely resembled a light sponge, he stolidly baked a cake using ordinary flour, shrugging and saying "What's the point?".

Friday's assessment was a little bit different to what we'd expected, so I had to change my plans a little. We were drawn out of a hat into 3 groups, or "corners", each being asked to produce 6 portions of 3 different dishes. One corner on starters, one on mains, and one on desserts. Our little gang, consisting of Stepan, Hunter Graham, Livvie, Kate and myself, were on mains. Thank God we didn't draw the short straw of desserts, which had to include at least one dairy free and one gluten free.

We produced an impressive set of dishes, featuring home made gnocchi with a rich tomato sauce; A taiwanese bean curd stir fry; and my Atlas Mountain Pie. All very very tasty, and we scored high marks from the judges, which was of particular relief to Kate, who had barely shown up all week, but who made it in (late, naturally) to the assessment to bask in our shared glory.

I'd like to focus on the pie for a minute. It was a dish I found on the internet, then modified to suit our purpose. More importantly though, I wanted to christen it Kristin Scott Thomas pie, in humble tribute to the goddess herself, and her role as the world's sexiest skeleton in The English Patient, when she dies in the cave up in the mountains before old Ranulph can get back to her. However, Graham, our chef de partie, wouldn't allow this. I have given it it's proper title below.

If you are cooking for a veggie dinner party I'd highly recommend this dish. It was demolished by the staff and students on both occasions I cooked it - the practice run on Wednesday and the assessment on Friday - and a number* of people have asked me for the recipe.

KRISTIN SCOTT THOMAS PIE
serves 6

Quite complicated, but well worth it, and looks fantastic.

For the filling:
2 tsp each cumin and coriander seeds
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp smoked paprika
olive oil
1/2 butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1/4 inch cubes
12 small shallots
1 inch cube root ginger, finely chopped
3 tbl ground almonds
3 tbl pine nuts (or pistachios)
100g mixture of prunes, dried apricots, dates, finely chopped
6 tbl agave nectar (or clear honey)
200g baby spinach

For the hummus:
1 tin chickpeas
1 garlic clove
1 tsp ground cumin

juice of 1 lemon
fresh coriander, chopped

For the pastry:
9 sheets filo pastry
butter

For the yoghurt dip:
1 carton Greek or natural yoghurt
mint and coriander leaves, chopped
harissa paste
chilli oil

1. Heat oven to Gas 6, 200 degrees.
2. Dry roast the cumin and coriander seeds in a dry pan for a few minutes, until they give off a lovely aroma. Grind the seeds in a pestle and mortar, or coffee grinder, until fine. Sieve to remove coriander husks if necessary.
3. In a roasting tray mix together ground spices, cinnamon and paprika with enough oil to make it spreadable, mix with the cubed squash, and roast for 20-25 minutes.
4. At the same time, heat oil in a large frying pan and fry the shallots on high heat until they start to brown. Stir in the ginger, ground almonds, pistachios/pine nuts, and stir until they start to brown also. Remove the shallots, quarter them, then return to the pan (this keeps them chunky but not too chunky, without them disintegrating). Chuck in the dried fruit, agave nactar (or honey) and spinach. Cook for a couple of minutes then remove from heat once spinach has wilted.
5. Stir the roasted squash and shallot mixture all together.
6. Gently melt 50g butter in a small pan or microwave.
7. Take a sheet of filo, and cut into 6 strips. Take a second sheet and cut into 6, reserving 3 strips so you are about to use 9 strips for the first individual portion. Brush one side of each strip with butter (easiest to do this before you cut it!).
8. Take a small ovenproof saucer, and lay the 9 strips so they overlap in the centre of the dish, spreading outwards like the spokes of a wheel. Make sure the bottom of the saucer is completely covered. Put a good dollop of the squash/shallot mixture in the middle of the saucer, then fold up each strip one at a time into a set of crinkly folds, making sure the mixture is completely sealed inside the filo. You will end up with a crinkly round mountain on the saucer, with Kristin safely hidden inside. Brush butter over the folds, then frizz them up a bit like Nick Heyward from Haircut 100.
9. Repeat steps 7. and 8. five more times.
[you can stop at this point, cover them with clingfilm, refrigerate, and keep them for up to 24 hours before cooking - very handy]
10. Melt more butter in a pan, fry more pine nuts or pistachios until browning, remove from heat and stur in the remaining agave nectar or honey.
11. Put drained chickpeas, garlic, lemon, ground cumin in a blender and whizz to bits. Season with salt and pepper. Drizzle in a little oil to get the consistency you want (I was serving the hummus in a ring mould and so needed it fairly firm).
12. Place all the saucers on a baking tray and bake at Gas 5 for around 25 minutes (longer if chilled). Keep an eye on the filo - it should brown nicely but not burn. Remove from the saucer before serving (that's the trickiest bit!). Drizzle some hot butter, nut and nectar mix over the top once on the plate.
13. Meanwhile mix the chopped mint and coriander leaves into the yoghurt. Mix harissa with a little chilli oil to loosen it. Creatively swirl the harissa into individual or shared portions of yoghurt.
14. You could serve with little flatbreads - I did, but there again I had Livvie to make them for me.

Picture right: the elements of the filling ready to be mixed together

* two

"Brilliant!"

And so back into the kitchen. Last week we only had one day in there, mainly being occupied with food writing, and the start of the second (intermediate) module of wines and spirits on Friday. This week its vegetarin and special diets, culminating in an assessment on Friday, which I have already got sussed (it will be Allegra McEvery's veggie curry).

Today's exercise was to choose a few ingredients from a big pile of vegetables, and make something nice out of it. I produced a dish described by Lizzie as "brilliant" (I kid you not), and a disaster.

Lets get the disaster - or experiment as I prefer to think of it - out of the way first. Shredded jerusalem artichoke, wilted spinach, fried onions and chillis, topped with breadcrumbs and cheese. No amount of flavourings could give the dish any taste whatsoever, and it was destined for the bin from the off.

The other dish, however, I would happily do again, so I will write down the recipe before I forget it.

ROASTED SQUASH AND LEEK TARTE

The "E" is just to look a bit more flash.

Serves 6 as a starter, 3-4 as a main course.

1 leek
1/2 butternut squash
4 oz good soft blue cheese (I used Roquefort)
salt and pepper
oil and butter
2 cloves garlic
puff pastry

1. Put the squash (skin on) in a medium oven for 30-40 minutes to roast. It is best to do this face down on a baking tray, you can brush a lttle oil on it if you like. For the last 20 minutes, add the garlic cloves to the pan (skin on).
2. Meanwhile, shred the leeks finely, and soften in a little oil and butter for 10 minutes.
3. When the squash is soft, scoop out the flesh, mix with the leeks and half of the crumbled blue cheese, mash the insides of the garlic cloves in, and season to taste (you can add some herbs etc. at this point if you like.
4. Cut 6 rings about 4 inches across from the puff pastry (a slightly larger rectangle per person may be more suitable if serving as a main course), using a fancy edged cutter. Score diamonds across the surface of each ring and brush with a little milk.
5. Place a generous dollop of filling in the centre of each pastry ring. Top with the remaining blue cheese.
6. Bake at Gas 6 for 10-15 minutes, or until the pastry is well risen around the edges.
7. Serve with salad, and maybe some garlic mayonnaise.

A Bit of a Falafel

A Bit of a Falafel I

It had to happen at some point, and it happened big style yesterday during our Food Writing course. The chocolate really hit the extractor fan. Boston Kate had had what would be for most of us a traumatic but once in a lifetime weekend, but which for her seems to be traumatic but par for the course (it did involve flying to Ireland, treating an old lady who had had a stroke who then died, and accidentally poisoning her friend's dog). She turned up late as usual, clearly even more on edge than usual, but when Butcher Graham innocently remarked at tea break that "It can't be that bad" it all came out big time. She hates this effing place, hates the effing lot of us, and can't believe what an effing mess her life is in. When I suggested perhaps she shouldn't be in school while she felt like that I was asked what she was supposed to effing do just fail the effing course? Nicky, the food journalist who had come in specially to teach us for two days, must have wondered what sort of madhouse she had come in to.

Oh by the way, the food writing course, covering both restaurant reviews - we went out for lunch so we could write up our thoughts on Craigie's farm shop café - and how to write menus so they are understandable, is so far excellent!

A Bit of a Falafel II

Naturally I had to pop out last night to check up on the Champions League semi-final between Arsenal and Man United, and afterwards felt a bit peckish but in need of something not too unhealthy. Wandering round the corner from Doctors, my regular footie pub, I found what is probably the best takeaway I've ever been to. I ordered a falafel with chilli and avocado. The guy smiled at me and said "Sit down, I'll make a fresh one for you." Sorry, did I hear that right? I sat down, watching the aftermath of the football on the big plasma screen, then let my eyes wander round the room. Tastefully decorated, with leather backed benches, clean tables, nicely painted walls, and beautiful original cornices. My order appeared a few minutes later, and I complimented the chef and sole proprietor on the decor. "We've tried to keep it in character," he said. Surely the only takeaway in the world where this is considered a priority. We had a long chat about cookery courses while I helped myself to a few of the 15 or so salads available, then said our good nights.

Now I've never really got falafels in the past. Slightly boring and soggy vegetarian alternatives that come in plastic packets has been my experience. But as soon as I took my first bite the crunch of the crisp outside of the falafel merging with the warm and herby inside, mixed with the tang of chilli and jalopeno and clean fresh tzatziki, all wrapped in a fresh pitta, I realised this was something else. Not only that, but not a trace of fat anywhere. Definitely a serious alternative to the late night kebab, and worthy of my first fine dining restaurant review.

Jade

I had a bit of a shock on Monday morning when I opened the meat fridge and saw Jade staring back at me. She had been brought in to demonstrate how nothing should go to waste, and it is possible to use just about any part of an animal for food. Fortunately, Chris took it upon himself to do the demonstration, rather than handing us an ear here, a cheek there. I am gradually realising that Chris, although flitting in and out of the school like a will-o-the-wisp, knows more about food than everyone else put together, so we were lucky to have him in during Meat Week.

Photo above: Jade chills out

Photo left: Chris checks Jade has visited the dentist regularly.

Jade was cut in half down the middle, then had her brains scooped out and discarded (although Chris reliably informed us they are a delicacy in some parts of the world). She then had her ears cut off and the ear canal removed ("you can't eat the waxy bit" - although I do wonder if it would make a nice confit). Next she had her eyebrows and other facial hair singed off over the hob. Half of her then went in one large pan, and half in another, with a ham hock in each, a big bunch of chopped vegetables and herbs. She was then boiled for a couple of hours, and the meat then falls away from the bones. Chris made sure he'd got all the meat off, mixed it with very rich, gelatinous beef stock (which I had slaved over the previous day), more herbs and veg, and turned it into a terrine mould. Once pressed and set, it tasted fabulous.

Price of Jade, £3. Ham hocks, £3.30. This made at least 20 portions of terrine which would retail at £4 each. And that is how to make serious money in the restaurant business.

We had our "Creative Meat" assessment on Friday. I had played it very safe, and didn't expect very good marks for originality at all, so I was preasantly surprised to get a higher score than I'd anticipated, although my main course (the Greek thing, with lettuce, you remember?) was fairly rubbish, I have to agree with the judges (Chris and Gill). Apparently I would have got a higher score for my salmon patties had they been perfectly round, which personally I think would have detracted from the look of the dish, but who am I to argue. Gill did at least say that my starter was the nicest thing she tasted all afternoon. Given that they spent around 2 hours tasting 13 three course meals she did well to remember anything.

Photo above: salmon and dill fish patties, with yoghurt, wholegrain mustard and dill dressing

The Sticky Toffee Pudding King

This week is meat week. You may be thinking that we've had meat weeks before, which is true, but this week we have been focussing particularly on steaks of various kinds: beef steaks (fillet, rib-eye), a cut from beef skirt which Hervé favours, and which was particularly delicious (it's a French thing), ostrich, and on. Various game birds were also thrown in for good measure (partridge, pigeon) and then there was a special appearance this morning from Jade, of whom more later, when we've cooked her. She's in the fridge at the moment.

Hervé spent a good few hours hacking around with a bull's chest cavity on Monday, carving out various attachments for us to use. On Tuesday Lizzie kind of threw the remaining ribs and backbone at me and said "Frank, just make some stock out of that will you?"

A word of advice at this point: always make sure you have a pan big enough to take the bones before you start roasting them to make stock. I learned the hard way, roasting them in the oven and only then wondering how I was going to submerge them in water. I ended up losing half a stone hacking them around before they would fit in the pan, and burning myself in the process - even man-mountain Butcher Graham gave up on me half way through.

On Friday of this week we have our "creative meat" assessment, which is a 3 course dinner of which one course has to feature meat. Not particularly challenging, the sort of thing you do every Sunday at home no doubt. However, I spent Tuesday evening calculating all the homework I have to do over the next 10 weeks or so, and it is frightening! We have the various assessments to prep for, our portfolio of 5 starters and 5 mains to plan, prepare and photograph, a business plan to put together (20-25 pages of write-up, plus profit and loss and cash flow forecasts), a food writing course submission, revision for our wines & spirits intermediate exam, and planning and organisation for our diploma lunch (have you had the email, would you like to come?), among the major tasks. It's a good job the football season is drawing to a close.

Today we cooked various meats: all those mentioned above plus corn-fed chicken and beef skirt were to hand. Lizzie had been banging on about using lettuce in ways other than salads, so I thought I'd give it a try, given that I am planning to do a Greek dish using lettuce in a casserole for Friday's assessment, and this was a good chance to suss things out.

We also did a pudding. Now I'm not a pudding person, as most of you will know. However my sticky toffee pudding was, to quote my partner Sam, "A Real Crowd Pleaser". So much so that not only were the two portions put out for assessment devoured in an instant (Ian, the boss, ate most of both portions), but when I brought the rest of the (large) dish to the table that disappeared very quickly also. You've got to remember here the amount of food that ends up on our average lunch table, and that people are generally groaning under the weight of calories. Yesterday Butcher Graham's chair collapsed when he attempted a last mouthful of coconut cake. Anyway, it was all eaten, and I am now officially the Sticky Toffee Pudding King.

TARRAGON CHICKEN WITH FENNEL AND LETTUCE RISOTTO

This dish is nice and simple, but tastes fresh and delicious. Try it.

Serves 1 (or 2 for light lunch)


1 chicken breast
fresh tarragon
butter
2-3 oz risotto rice
2 shallots
1 clove garlic
small piece fennel
fennel seeds
1/2 glass white wine
chicken (or veg) stock (about 1/2 pint)
1/2 cos lettuce, finely shredded
1 tbl parmesan, grated
salt and pepper

1. mash the butter (and a little salt if required) with the tarragon to make - you guessed it - tarragon butter.
2. Make a split in the chicken breast and stuff with tarragon butter. Rub a little tarragon butter on the outside of the chicken, sprinkle with tarragon leaves, salt and pepper and leave to rest in the fridge for a hour or so
3. Gently fry the finely chopped shallots, garlic and fennel in a little oil and butter. Do not brown.
4. Add fennel seeds for a few seconds, then rice, and stir until opaque (2 mins)
5. Add white wine (it should sizzle a little). Turn heat to low.
6. Gradually add stock, allowing each ladle to be absorbed, covered. Takes 30-40 minutes.
At this point you can stop if you are not ready to serve - just reheat the rice when required
7. Put a few cocktail sticks through the chicken to hold it together. Pan fry the chicken in hot butter and oil, until browned. Put in baking tray in medium oven, covered, for 15 minutes to finish.
8. When rice is al dente, remove from heat, stir in parmesan, lettuce and knobs of butter. Season.
9. Remove cocktail sticks from chicken, slice diagonally into (ideally) 5 pieces
10. Serve risotto with chicken on top, and an extra knob of tarragon butter to guarantee a heart attack (that's two heart attacks in two blogs!).

Bread of Heaven

Feed me 'til I want no more, the song continues.

I think I've had enough now.

The first two days this week were on "specialist breads". This was however not bread as you know it, Jim, but croissant, bagels, danish pastry, pate feuillettée (puff pastry to you), brioche. Basically, things the French eat every day which contain a minimum of 90% butter. Why the French don't all look as if they are made from those party balloons magicians bring out out children's parties beats me. It must be balanced out by the red wine, or something.

Photo above: croissant
Photo left: brioche

I really enjoyed our specialist bread making. The one thing I'd always wanted, but failed to, cook at home was bread, and to now be able to do it consistently is very very satisfying. OK, so croissant doesn't really count as bread, but you know what I mean. Some of these delicacies, you may be interested to know, take an awful long time to produce. In the case of pate feuillettée, it took 2 days, because of the folding, chilling and refolding process. Basically, Jus Rol have the market in a bag.

I have to confess I made a slight error on the croissant front: we were working in pairs, and Boston Kate had done all the measuring out of ingredients. I was making up the mix for croissants and Danish, which was the same up until a certain point, then the mix was split in two and the individual recipes followed. At this point I incorporated the whole quantity of butter into half the mix I was using for croissants. Somehow I got it to blend in, and somehow, it cooked ok! The croissants, I have to say were delicious, but I could probably be held to book for the creation of a weapon of mass destruction in terms of an instant heart attack.

Photo right: bagels

Today we recommenced our business course at Edinburgh Napier. Having concentrated on the creativity and innovation side last time, we focussed in on the more practical aspects of starting a business today, and for the next two days. It really is an excellent course, and if the ongoing available facilities and support are as promised, it will be a superb source of advice and encouragement to all of us wanting to branch out and do our own thing. The range of ideas presented by people today was truly excellent, from a flavoured white spirit bar to a mobile pudding van to a [ready-cooked ha ha] seafood restaurant in a Northern Cumbrian port. Having signed a confidentiality agreement (yes I'm serious) I can't reveal any more details about these potential ventures. My own, however, will be called "Wild in the Pantry" as you may have guessed. I revealed the concept of the business, without mentioning the name, and it got a reasonably good reception. Over the next few weeks we will have a chance to produce a business plan, workshop it and present it to the group, and more importantly, the tutors. I got the impression nobody else has got as far as registering their domain name - yes, you can click on www.wildinthepantry.co.uk if you wish! At the moment it is a "parked domain", which means the adverts that appear are automatically generated as being related to the profile of the site - I don't really have an opinion on restaurants in Chichester (but I might get 10p if you click on the link).

It's All Kicking off!

So I'm away for a week and all hell is let loose on two fronts.

I've had a stream of texts from Boston Kate, who is suffering what sounds like a much worse physical (and come to that, mental) illness than I've had. Interestingly, Kate and I have shared a workstation for the last few weeks but I think that's probably coincidence given her symptoms. Kate by her own admission has become delusional, and has started to imagine the class is falling into two camps, at war with each other. She places me firmly on her side of the barricades, although admits I am something of a "dark horse" to most people. I think this all stems from her getting a certain amount of stick from one or two people, and also from her being permanently stressed up to her eyeballs doing the course whilst trying to hold down 3 jobs to pay the fees. Anyway, Uncle Frank will have a word in due course, once I've sussed out exactly what has been going on in my absence. As Kate quite rightly points out, there are quite a few people who need to grow up a bit.

Arriving back in in Edinburgh this evening, I went upstairs in search of Gill, my landlady, who is back in England briefly, because a large white van had appeared in the driveway where I normally park. I just wanted to know whether I could squeeze my car in, given I will be away narrow boating for a few days and didn't want to incur the wrath of the demon traffic wardens. We had a long chat about life, the universe, and doing up chateaux in France, which is Gill's role in life at the moment. Somehow Gill then got onto the subject of "Her!" (frowning and pointing downstairs furiously). I gathered she was talking about Click.
"I've never seen anything like it," she growled, "The state of that room! I emptied 10 buckets full of rubbish from the floor into a pile on her bed. I stuck 12 post it notes round the room. Some of the things I found you would not believe. I'm just not having it!"
I politely enquired whether it had been confirmed that the missing glassware had been in Click's room.
"All of it. Unwashed. Hidden in a drawer." I thought she was going to throw up at this point, such was her expression. "I've told Mrs Syrup to check her room regularly, and I've told her that if Her room needs cleaning again Mrs Stirrup will do it and I'll charge Her for it. I'm not having it. Rats and mice and everything. Disgusting."
Her finger swung round and pointed at me. I cowered. "And I'm not having Her up here. I know about thing with the keys. I know how often she forgets to take her own. If she comes up here she'll leave the front door wide open."
I assured Gill that I was a trustworthy keeper of the spare set of house keys in her absence and made to leave.
"Oh Frank, one other thing." I stood, transfixed. She smiled. "If you'd like to move the van round to the side road you can park your car in the yard." A clever move this I now know, as it turned out that the van, or pantechnicon in disguise as I now know it to be, needed to execute a clearance of the gate posts to such a fine margin that our old friend Werner Heisenberg would have been proud of me. Uncertainty Principle - you bet.

Heisenberg and Me

Whilst sitting at home in Sheffield, recuperating from a rathern nasty bilateral nasal infection (not to be confused with a mere man cold) I have decided to tackle the knotty issue of Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, and its relationship to life in general and blogging in particular.

Werner Heisenberg was a theoretical physicist, born in Germany in 1901, the year Barrow AFC was founded, no coincidence surely. The Uncertainty Principle for which he is best known states that, when attempting to measure the properties of a sub-atomic particle, it is impossible to know all of them accurately at the same time. So if you manage to measure the mass of the particle, you cannot simultaneously accurately know its momentum. To put it another way, at that level the clumsy macroscopic act of measuring, itself affects what is being measured (aka the Observer Effect).

So how does this apply to the humble blog? When I decided to write a blog, I didn't know anything about blogging, and so decided on two basic principles: a) write about one topic at a time (ok, so sometimes I write about two which are in some way connected); and b) don't write in detail about anyone who is likely to read the blog. The question is, are the "properties" of the blog affected, either consciously or sub-consciously, by the readership, the "measurers"? The answer is a resounding yes on both levels.

There are people who I know read the blog, people who I know who I suspect read the blog, and people who I don't know who I know read the blog. Its the old "known, unknowns, unknown knowns" thing (courtesy of Donald Rumsfeld). I write to try to entertain everyone who I think might read it, which is interesting in itself, because when I started I didn't have any concept of entertaining anyone, just writing whatever came into my head, so that is the first sub-conscious way in which the blog has been affected by the "measurers".

People often give me feedback, and I either think "That's good, I'll write some more of what they like, or "Hmm, maybe I'll steer clear of that in future." That's the conscious side of it.

And I'm often asked whether anyone who appears in the blog knows about it. The answer is as far as I know "No", and if they did, I couldn't write it as I do. I don't feel guilty about anything I've written, but I know it would be different, or more probably I would stop writing it, if the characters I'm writing about were to know about it. Thinking about it, this situation would not only affect the blog, but would almost certainly also affect the behaviour of the people concerned - towards me at least! A kind of reverse Uncertainty Principle. Of course it is possible that they do already know about it, and are acting out some sort of play which I am reporting on, and the real joke is on me. This brings us onto the nature of reality, which I'm not going to go into at this point, although I am tempted to throw in Schrodinger's Cat for good measure.

It must have been difficult being a theoretical physicist in the early years of the 20th century, and I imagine Heisenberg was made only too aware of the difficulties of measuring the useful properties of an object (namely himself) when tackled by his wife:
"What are you doing today?" I imagine her demanding of him, arms folded.
"Erm... thinking about tiny little particles that nobody knows if they exist or not, and if they do, whether you can actually know very much about them anyway, dear."
"Well, that's not getting the bloody ironing done, is it?"

Heisenberg died in 1976, at home, suffocated when a large pile of slightly damp laundry fell on top of him.

The Beautiful Game

This post will only appeal to a small percentage of my readership, aka men, but here goes anyway. It is prompted by a complaint from a loyal reader (Phil Mac) that I don't put enough in about our beloved Barrow. The fact that this blog is about my experiences in Edinburgh doesn't seem to wash with Phil.

I've just returned from the pub where I watched a deflated Liverpool capitulate to that bunch of Southern softies known as Chelsea in the first leg of the Champions League semi-final. Good atmosphere in the pub, at least until Chelsea scored their third.

Football is a wonderful game, or to qualify that it is if you didn't lose your last match. Fortunately, having lost at home to relegation rivals Woking last Saturday, Barrow partially redeemed themselves with an away point at Kettering yesterday so, for now, football is wonderful game.

Champions League is all very well, but "grass roots" football is the real thing. I was reminded of this by the daily newsletter email I received today from a guy called Ralph, who lives in New Zealand, such is our fan base and widespread appeal. It contained (as it always does) a look back at a match from Barrow's long and inglorious history, which I faithfully reproduce below along with rough translation:

December 3 1988, Bacup Borough 0 Barrow 0, Lancashire Cup* First Round

Bacup Borough: No team details.$

Barrow: McDonnell, Higgins, Hulse, Harrison, Gordon, Reach, Doherty, Gilmour, G. Gill£, Lowe, Burgess (Chilton). Sub: Skivington%.

Ref: n/a. ** Att: 77. $$ Harrison sent-off. %% Match abandoned after 90 minutes, no floodlights. ***

* even less important than our usual matches
$ we can't even be bothered to produce a team sheet
£ we may or may not have another player called Gill, if we do he's not playing tonight but we want to be very clear which one we are talking about because that's the sort of anoraky people we are
% the poor sod had to sit out the whole match and didn't even get a kick
** ref "not applicable" - says it all really
$$ Players, player's wives, player's mothers, groundsman, tea lady, small boy, dog
%% lucky sod
*** interesting that nobody noticed this for 90 minutes! I assume they finished the match, were due to play extra time as it was a draw but it was by then too dark. Now then, don't you think someone should have thought about this possibility in advance? Presumably they then had to rearrange the match, or even just play the extra time, on another date. Or perhaps they just tossed a coin in the bar afterwards and the unlucky losers went through to the next round.

For those few of you who have never been to Bacup, the ground is on a steep slope on the outskirts of the town, where the wind whistles down off the Pennines across a bleak and barren landscape, peppered with depressing rows of dirty terraced housing. And that's me talking the place up.

Ah, non-league football, its what life's all about.

DEPORTATION UPDATE... DEPORTATION UPDATE...

Alex is reprieved! He had his interview with the immigration department at Edinburgh Airport yesterday and they were feeling in a good mood, so he got a 3 month extension. He even turned up to today's business course wearing a suit. This is probably because he packed all his things up on the expectation they were going to tell him to jump on the next plane back to Malaysia,but fortunately for him it didn't come to that.
Gill told us the news this morning as we arrived for the start of the business course at Napier University.
"Alex says its good news," she said.
"He's being deported," replied Stepan, drily.

The above news may or may not explain the exchange of texts I've just had:

UNKNOWN CALLER: Hey up 4 a drink morow? Hope not 2 busy after course
ME: Who is this please?
U. C.: r u Frank boddy?
ME: Yep
U. C.: Ur terrorist. lol
U. C.: C u morow sheffield navy.peace from d guerilla samboanga teritory.

Answers on a postcard please.

The Don't Give a Monkey's Approach, Parts 1 & 2

TDGaMA Part 1

We've had a week's break from school, but are back with our noses to the pepper grinder now in what is rather haughtily called the Second Semester. From what we've been told today, it will be quite different to the First, which was concerned with basic techniques across the (chopping) board. This semester is the serious stuff, the stuff that counts towards our diploma, and it includes such things as a business course (which starts this week); more Wines & Spirits certification; a food writing course (restaurant reviews, that sort of thing); putting together a personal portfolio of dishes, all of which must be cooked, photographed and presented in a binder (the photos, not the food); and the final diploma lunch, at least 5 courses, served to at least 8 friends and family. I could see the colour draining out of many people's faces as Lizzie went through the details.

But today we got back into the swing of things by refreshing our knife skills, and repeating the basic recipes which "you should all know without looking at your recipe books by now" according to Lizzie, who was in a foul mood all day. Anyway, I managed two kinds of bread rolls, sweet pastry, savoury pastry, white sauce, and even meringues without breaking sweat. Why meringues are considered a "basic recipe" I have no idea, but fortunately they only have 2 ingredients and so this is not a huge problem.

The secret to meringues, I have discovered, is not to give a monkey's about them. Just whip them up until they look something like, mix the sugar in until it kind of dissolves, put the oven on... oh... low-ish, bung them in and forget about them until lunch is ready. Perfect. I have decided this is probably the answer to all life's problems.

The thing is, the week off has given me time to reflect and consolidate what I have learned through the simple process of letting it roll around inside my head for a while until my brain decides there is nothing to worry about and everything sort of settles somewhere comfortable. Topped off by cooking what turned out to be a fairly decent meal last Friday night for friends Annabelle and Stuart, as well as the family. This was made all the more successful by a) baking some very fine buttermilk and caraway seed rolls to go with it and b) concluding I had not actually poisoned Margaret who fell ill the next day (but nobody else did). So with those confidence boosts, I have returned to the school with a much more upbeat approach and relaxed attitude. So ends the "First Semester Report".

TDGaMA Part 2

There was a bit of catching up to do on our return to school. James appeared to be still recovering from the hangover he got the Thursday before breaking up. Graham ("Hunter")'s broken wrist was still a major topic of conversation... for him. We had a new starter in Morag, who did her first 3 months last year, but had to drop out unexpectedly at that point. Boston Kate had been to Spain, been ill, and spent most of the time sleeping on the floor because of a bad back. And Alex, yes Alex, has been given 48 hours to come up with a reason not to be deported.

We all sometimes wonder how Alex has got this far in life. It turns out that he came to the UK from Malaysia on a 3 month tourist visa, and never bothered to tell the authorities he was on a course. So even while he was negotiating with the school to extend to do the final 3 months of the course (which we all told him he shouldn't do because it would be too difficult for him), and trying to raise the money to do it from a Malaysian bank, it never dawned on him he should apply for a new visa. Apparently he was stopped at Glasgow airport on his way to Poland last week... woah, stop. This is a guy who has no money, and when asked what he was going to do during the break told us he wanted to see more of England. So... he was on his way to Poland, with an expired visa, and he got hauled up and told he had 48 hours to come up with a good reason he should be allowed back into the country. Even at this point he didn't tell them he was on a course! Oh, Alex.

Alex brought each of us a little present of a keyring from Poland. "Something for you to remember me by. You might not see me again very soon," he said to me earnestly, punching me playfully in the ribs. On Wednesday we shall know.