A Party

Although we had a very fine party at Oran Mor in Glasgow following my dad's death in January 2016, the folk who'd known him in Morvern were still missing a chance to share the many weird and wonderful tales of his japes. I'd thought about a party in summer 2016 but I was A) in France and B) too damn tired to organise it ... I did get as far as designing the invites

The following March was also a possible date since it was his birthday but getting folk out to Drumbuidhe in daylight hours was tricky and some key folk (Dad's brother and our good friend H) who could have helped with transporting people, were both a bit poorly. Now that we're over two years since dad died it was starting to look as if the Morvern Remembering might never happen - so I resolved to kill two birds with one party and combine my birthday and a memorial for dad with one jolly get-together at Drimnin Hall.

I ordered a stack of wine from the Wine Society, food from the Whitehouse and some two-metre photocopied banners from the copyshop next to my Edinburgh flat. I think the key ingredient for the party was the sparkling wine (folk were strangely resistant to the remains of dad's dirt-cheap red wine collection) but I'm sure the food and banners helped.

I put together a slideshow of images of dad and me: principally from Morvern but with bits from Glasgow, North Carolina, Japan and Oman. As I said to folk in my introduction, I've moved house 29 times in my 51 years but the one constant has been Morvern - I can truly say it's my home.

The party was judged a fine success thanks to:

* Sumarroca Cava
* Treacle Scones
* The Drowning of the Landrover


I have never had any damn success with making scones (so many failures that I've begun to doubt my womanhood) so I include the Glasgow Cookery Books recipe for reference only. Taken from the 1960s edition:

Treacle Scones

* 1lb flour
* 2oz lard or butter
* 1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
* 1 tsp ground cinammon
* 1 tsp mixed spice
* salt
* 1 tblsp treacle
* buttermilk to mix (add 1/2 tsp cream of tartar if using sweet milk)

- mix dry ingredients and treacle
- add buttermilk 'til you have a stiff dough
- divide into four, roll out and cut into four
- brush with a beaten egg and bake in a hot oven for 12 to 15 minutes

The Drowning of the Landrover featured in both the banners and the slideshow and is now firmly entrenched in Morvern's oral history: One summer's day  in 1978 we were due to head out for a picnic at Ben Hiant (with the Sandground family I think). We were taking all the food for the picnic and, since it was low tide, we had to carry it all out to the boat at the end of the point. My dad decided it would be easier to drive the landrover out over the beach. My mum said this would be a bad idea since there was a clay deposit on the beach just under the sand. My dad decided to drive out nonetheless; the landrover got stuck; much panic and shouting ensued; the tide came in over the landrover; JohnNeil came with a tractor the next day to haul the drowned vehicle out; we spent the rest of the summer taking it to bits and cleaning every piece. Despite gallons of Jizer lavished on it, the landrover was never the same again.

Mud!

My earliest memory is of getting stuck on the track to Drumbuidhe. One fine, hot summer when I was just over a year old and my mum was heavily pregnant with my sister, we came up tyo Drumbuidhe with Kenny, a friend of my dad's. The landrover got stuck, as it was wont to do, on a flat portion of track near where we used to cut peat. Kenny had to spend the first few days digging the landrover out, spurred on by my mother's daily trips to see how he was getting on ... the sight of my heavily-pregnant mum wearing a swimsuit and pushing me in a pram drove him to frantic digging out efforts. Given my age at the time I suspect this is a manufactured memory but it's backed up by the regular, annual incidents of the landrover getting stuck. The portion next to the peat digging used to be the worst spot, partly because it was high up, above Drumbuidhe bridge, and getting the required volume of rocks to fill in the limitless bog was difficult. About 35 years ago almost the whole track (from Drimnin to Drumbuidhe Bridge) was refurbished and flattened. For 10 years after that it was possible to drive a standard car to Drumbuidhe and I can remember barrelling along on my bicycle back in 1985. Although the portion of track from Drumbuidhe bridge to Drumbuidhe wasn't improved, it wasn't either soft or heavily used so it's held up well with minimal maintenance such as gabions where it hits the beach. The track from Drumbuidhe to Dorlin is another matter and the portion where it dips down to sea level (and a burn crosses the track) has always been treacherous. It caught out our friendly neighbourhood potter who came on an outing to impress his girlfriend, got stuck and had to withstand being called every shade of stupid by my dad. He's still with his girlfriend and still making lovely pots but he's moved down south ... possibly to avoid the combination of mud and shouty old men.

The 35-year-old flattening of the track is now wearing off and every winter a new portion disintegrates. Inside the deer fence there's very little useage of the track so we're just prone to acts of god (cloudbursts and storm surges). Up on the high ground it's a combination of tractor and stock that churn up the damp ground in winter. Cattle are being kept up on the high ground and the tractor that takes their feed out weighs 5 tonnes, the fee trailer is another 2 tonnes so any soft patches in the track can disintegrate quickly. It tends to be a different patch each year but this winter is particularly bad. There are patches by Crow Gully and Auliston which are close to impassable. I got stuck on the way out to deliver soup & sandwiches for the Morvern Community Woodlands fundraising lunch. My contribution was not essential but the digging and cursing required to get me out did make it feel a fair bit more exciting.

I was able to introduce an innovation to the monthly 'Lets Do Lunch' session which was toasted cheese. Truly the food of the gods. Turns out that everyone loves a bit of toasted cheese but not everyone has the chutzpah to realise that this is what lunchtime needed. It may seem a bit unecessary but here's the method that I use for toasted cheese:

wet winter arrives

Everything is squelching underfoot and the water turbine is blocking every 30 minutes with twigs and leaves. Winter has arrived. In the last squeak of fine weather (and it was very fine) I got fourteen folk out along the track to help shift the really big rubbish that Campbell had left behind out. Of course there's still a mountain of small rubbish (cables! pipes! copper fittings! timers! radios!) to be sorted and removed but I can at least move them myself. The Colchester Student lathe was another matter entirely.

 The lathe is one of the more valuable bits of stuff but I had to get everything big out at once, valuable or not, because I at least have some chance of getting it all shifted. The fourteen folk were magnificent. Organised and motivated by the outstanding Luke and Cathy who came up from their farm in the borders to huff and puff with rusty bits of metal. I remain in awe.

Alas my awe for auctioneers remains limited. Having dragged a whole heap o' stuff over the six miles of track it remains where we left it. On the grass outside Drimnin Distillery. Looking out of place and waiting forlornly for the auctioneers (or anyone!) to come and pick it up.

So I'm celebrating what can be celebrated which is that we managed to shift:

* a yanmar tractor (with ridiculously complicated back actor)
* a colchester student lathe
* two 4m fibreglass dinghies
* a 3m aluminium dinghy
* a log splitter for the yanmar
* a 4m trailer (with bust jockey wheel)
* a hydraulic lift
* midge-eater, rotavator, bench saw et al

over six rough miles. There were a few casualties (a couple of flat tyres and the clutch on the series 1 landrover has gone - drat!) and some folk were definitely shocked at the state of the track but everyone made it out in one piece. If anyone happens to be in the neighbourhood with a massive lorry and a desire to shift stuff, do let me know.

The idea was that folk would be rewarded with copious food for their hard work so I had stacks of bread, cheese and casseroles on hand. I also had lots of pots of chocolate mousse having finally tracked down the recipe that my mum used. It's Julia Child's chocolate mousse from 'Mastering the Art of French Cookery' and I've still got some tinkering to do with the details. My mum (and Julia Child) used the egg yolk raw but I find it's got an odd metallic taste so I'm experimenting (see *) with cooking it with the coffee and sugar to produce a custard. The main problem I've got at the minute is the chocolate and butter mixture solidifying in grains rather than smooth chocolateyness. So here's the work in progress.

6 oz dark chocolate (the darker the better)
6 oz unsalted butter
1/4 cup strong coffee (using instant is the easiest)
4 eggs (seperated)
2/3 cup sugar
3 tablespoons whisky
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Mel the chocolate and butter together and leave to cool a bit*
Whisk the coffee, whisky, sugar, vanilla and egg yolks together. Heat gently in a double boiler til the mixture thickens then leave to cool a bit*
Whisk the egg whites 'til they form soft peaks
Fold* the chocolate, custard and egg whites together and refrigerate for a couple of hours or (ideally) overnight.

Serve with whipped cream if you're feeling fancy and just pouring cream if you're feeling impatient.

High Summer Heat

It's the end of July, the weather is sultry, walking through the bracken feels like hacking through forest untouched by human hands, the garden is barely under control and I'm sitting indoors fretting about my academic work and cooking a whole heap o' stuff.

Tomorrow is Drimnin's summer dance and I cook the BBQ stuff. I took over from B because, frankly, nobody in the community could tolerate her complaints any longer. Obviously I complain as well (the standing! the heat! the vegetarians!) but not quite to the same level as B. Also I hold a basic hygiene certificate, having turned up to the course in Strontian where you spend a day being told all the different ways you can kill folk with food.

In order to limit the number of people we kill (and placate the pesky vegetarians) I spend the day before the dance pre-cooking lamb shanks and sausages and roasting vegetables. I'm using this as an excuse not to get down to my academic paper and it's working so far but even I cannot avoid the need to get a synopsis off to my supervisor by the end of today.

Hey ho.

One of the (many) reasons that I'm behind with my research is that the first half of the year has been concerned with: trying and failing to get elected as a councillor and laying a new floor in the fank. They were both much more work than expected but the fank, at least, is finished and ready for eager airbnb renters.

When it comes to the garden, there's no doubt that it's getting a bit out of control and, having successfully chopped down the hated leylandi hedge, both chainsaws have stopped working. Rather than fret too much I ordered a stack of timber from our local timber-supply man (who's also the bus driver and fireman). It's a long trip for him so he tends to come along with his partner L and her grandchildren. L has a fabulous wee garden in Lochaline and keeps chickens so she always comes along with some eggs. This has provided another excuse for avoiding my paper as I've had to come up with recipes to use up the eggs. The one I'm trying out today is Blackcurrant Curd.

600g blackcurrants
juice of 1 lemon
450g sugar
125g butter
5 eggs beaten

Cook the blackcurrants and lemon juice for five minutes then pass through a mouli-legume. Stir the puree, butter and sugar in a bowl over simmering water til the butter has melted. Add the eggs and stir gently til the mixture thickens (about the consistency of soft ice-cream). Pour into sterilised jars and keep in the fridge once cooled. It should keep for about a month but I'm freezing half of mine since it can also be used - mixed half and half with whipped cream - as a quick ice-cream base.

Now I've just got 8 lamb shanks, 60 sausages, 50 peppers and one academic synopsis to prepare.

Cake & Ale

My New Year picture of sloe gin with a fruit bowl in the background inspired a friend to make banana bread (more immediate gratification than marinading sloes) so it seemed appropriate to add two of my favourite cake recipes for the New Year. Banana bread is, let's face it, a cake rather than bread and this recipe from Mary Berry admits that by adding chocolate chips. Try as I might I can't stop the chocolate sinking to the bottom of the cake but it still tastes very fine, particularly when warm. I've doubled the ingredients to make a more substantial cake and I just chuck all the ingredients in together which seems to work fine.

Banana & Chocolate Chip Loaf

2 ripe bananas
2 tbsp milk
100g soft butter
150g plain flour
150g caster sugar
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1 tsp baking powder
1 eggs
...... mix all together til as smooth as possible, then add
100g chocolate chopped into small pieces
....... pour into a large loaf tin lined with baking parchment and bake at 160C/gas mark 3 for 45 minutes or until browned and cooked through

New Year indulgence was tempered with the screening of Ken Loach's film, "I, Daniel Blake" which had me (and everyone else in the audience) sniffling from the start. I paused before heading home to photograph the new moon over Loch Linnhe.

Crunch

Obviously everything I cook is completely yummy but there are some dishes, such as borscht, that provoke spontaneous delight in others: who knew that virtue could taste so good. My granola works like that. It was one of the many things I discovered in Japan thanks to the excellent wholefood cooperative that catered to homesick Americans in far-flung inaka. When I got back to Britain I had sporadic attempts to make some myself but it was the blog by Orangette that kickstarted the crunchiness. It was then the lovely Japanese Kaori who requested this recipe and reminded me how good it is.

Maple & Olive Oil Granola (adapted from Orangette's adaptation of Early Bird Food's version)

300g porridge oats
250g pumpkin & sunflower seeds
50g dessicated coconut
150g flaked almonds
1tsp coarse salt
85g brown sugar
175ml maple syrup
120ml olive oil
chopped dried apricots, prunes, cherries


Stir together the oats, seeds, nuts and salt. Mix the brown sugar, maple syrup and olive oil ... add to the oats and seeds and stir to coat. Spread the mixture in a large baking tray and bake until golden brown for 45 minutes (180C, 350F, gas mark 4) checking and stirring every 15 minutes or so. When the mixture has cooled, add the dried fruit and store in an airtight container

While baking this I was making my first stab at sorting the family photographs that arrived from my dad's flat in some buckets and carrier bags. This was just the first sort of the photographs: dividing them into "Drumbuidhe", "Anywhere Else" and "Rubbish" ... if I didn't recognise the people or place then it got binned. Thankfully my mother had labelled most of the negatives but I've still got a stack to get through. As far as sorting out my dad's estate goes, this isn't one of the arduous tasks but my sister is trying to wring as much drama out of it as she can (even if that means she misses out on the gentle pleasure of revisiting my parents lives through the years). It was she who dumped all the photographs into buckets and bags so that she could A) rent out dad's flat less than a month after his death and B) sell the bureau that they were stored in. As I sorted through the photographs I came across a few where my sister has been cut out of the photograph and then, most bizarrely, the photograph has been returned. Apart from having my sister removed, the photographs have little else in common - they feature me, my mum, the Cambridge academic Pip Gaskell and my sister's Chilean friend Loretta. I don't think there's any grand meaning behind this, I think my sister was just being a bit daft ...

The deeds of dad's flat have recently been passed on to my sister (I'm inheriting my dad's 1/3 share of Drumbuidhe but that takes a wee bit longer to sort out). She was also up from Devon in Glasgow this week without telling me. I'm not upset at this (I very rarely take offence and I'm up in Drumbuidhe anyway) and I assume it's because she's selling my dad's flat and, after making such a fuss about how she was the only one who knew my dad's intentions, she doesn't want to admit that she just really needs the cash. Hey ho.

lentil life

In the classic 1980s sitcom 'The Young Ones' one of hippy Neil's main occupations was the preparation of lentils, lentils and more lentils. As a child I associated lentils with overcooked mush mixed with hated cooked carrots. I didn't like them. Then I lived with the vegetarian Lesley at college and was introduced to her lovely lentil and apple curry. Then the 1990s explosion of ingredients brought green lentils and their nutty yumminess to the UK.

Although Nigel Slater started as a food stylist, producing mouth-watering photographs for Marie Claire, my favourite book of his is the words-only 'Real Fast Food'. It has this great recipe described as "a life-saverwhen the fridge contains nothing but the cat's milk and an old packet of Japanese soya paste"

Lentils with Tomatoes
for 2
100g lentils
2 tblsp olive oil
1 chopped onion
1 chopped red chilli
1 tin tomatoes

* cook the lentils in boiling, salted water for 15 minutes 'til just tender, drain
* fry the onions in the oil for about 7 minutes, add the chilli and cook for a further minute or two
* add the lentils and tomatoes and simmer for about 10 minutes
* season and serve ... also good served cold as a salad

I'm coming to the end of a 2 week stint at losing some weight. I'm only a wee bit overweight but, with both parents suffering from metabolic issues, I want to halt the trend of increasing weight. So I'm especially thankful for spicey lentil recipes.

There was never going to be an ideal time to follow a carefully restricted diet but it turns out that I'm really, really bad at academic writing whilst half-starving. I'm not sure if I would have been brilliant if I'd been fully caloried up but the major review report I finally submitted was woefully underpowered - and late - which does not bode well for he review meeting in a couple of weeks.

Probably best not to mention (yet) to my, rather annoyed, supervisor that I've put my name down as a labour candidate for the 2017 Highland council elections.