Sunday Sights: Over the Rainbow

People like to complain about the weather in Scotland. And to all those people who bitch about the rain, I give you this:

That's what I saw outside my bedroom window this morning. That's what the rain-one-minute-sun-the-next changeable weather here gets you. Absolutely beautiful.

Happy Sunday!

Marmalade

‘Oh, dear, bought marmalade. I call that very feeble.’--The Countess of Trentham, Gosford Park

Oddly, the bleak midwinter is the best time for citrus fruits. You think they’d be a summer crop, but apparently not. And for a brief window of time, knobby, super-sour Seville oranges start showing up, and you know it’s marmalade making time.

My parents have the best story about marmalade, I think. Back before they were married, they took a trip to England and decided to bring back a tin of Sevilles so they could make their own (this being the days before the internet, it was hard to track down fresh Seville oranges in the states, and they lived in the northeast, where you never find them). The can was sealed, of course, so they didn’t think they’d have a problem. They did not count on the brain trust that was customs at Philadelphia Airport at the time. A sealed tin completely threw these people for a loop, and they had no idea what to do with it. They kept my poor parents there for over an hour while they stared at the can, shook it, called over friends to stare at it and shake it, you get the idea. My parents begged them to just open the stupid thing already so they could see there weren’t drugs or anything inside. They wouldn’t do that. Finally, their shaking arms got tired and they just handed the tin back to my parents and let them go. The marmalade they made was delicious, apparently, but they never tried making it again.

As I have the good fortune to live in the UK, I can get oranges that have been shipped straight from the source, and man, did I go crazy this year. We now have a cupboard stocked full of marmalade, in all its tangy glory. I’ve been spreading it on crumpets and English muffins and mixing it into muffin batter and morning bowls of oatmeal. It’d probably be good on chicken or fish or tossed into a stew for an unusual tang as well. This is a wonderfully versatile preserve.

A word of warning: this is not for the short on time. It takes a couple of days to make this, so make sure you plan accordingly.

Classic Marmalade

From the Complete Traditional Recipe Book

1.6 kg (3 1/2lb) Seville oranges

2 lemons

Water

2.6 kg (6lb) sugar

Cut all the fruits in half and squeeze the juice out into a bowl or large measuring cup. Scrape the pith and pips out of the fruit shells and put pith and pips into a bowl lined with cheesecloth. Chop up the peels into matchsticks or chunks, depending on your preference.

Top up the fruit juice with water so it measures 3.6 litres (6 pints). Put the juice and peels into a large pot or bowl. Tie the cheesecloth up around the pith and pips and add the bundle to the peel and juice. Cover and let sit overnight.

Bring the fruit and water to a boil, lower the heat, and simmer for 50-60 minutes, until the peel is translucent and tender. Turn off the heat and let the mixture stand, still with the cheesecloth bag in it, until cool. This will take a couple of hours, so it’s a great time to get any errands or housecleaning or House of Cards binge-watching done. You can also leave it overnight, if you wish.

Put a couple of saucers in the freezer.

Once it’s cool enough to handle, take the bag out of the peel and juice and squeeze the hell out of it. See that viscous, snot-like stuff coming off of it? That’s pectin, which helps your marmalade set. Get as much of it out of the bag as you can (I actually find myself squeezing the bag for a good 10-15 minutes, setting it aside for a bit, and then squeezing it a bit more later, just to get everything out of it). Once you’ve gotten all the pectin you can out of the bag, set it aside and start bringing the peel and juice up to the boil. As it heats, start adding your sugar, testing the flavour as you go. Husby and I aren’t big fans of very sweet marmalade, so I actually only ended up adding around half the amount of sugar the recipe called for, keeping our preserve pretty nice and tart, but if you like your marmalade sweet, go nuts. Some people substitute some of the white sugar for brown, for a richer, darker marmalade, but I haven’t tried that yet and can’t vouch for it. I’m sure it’s delicious. As the juice heats, you might notice it seems rather thick. That’s a very good sign. Bring it up to the boil.

Keep the marmalade going at a nice rolling boil (essentially, just at boiling point, not boiling so crazily it’s spattering), scraping off any thick foam that rises to the surface. After 15 minutes, test the set by dropping a teaspoon of marmalade on one of the saucers and popping it back in the freezer for about 3-4 minutes. Pull it back out and push your finger along the preserve. If you end up shoving a little skin off the top, you’ve reached setting point. Don’t panic if you haven’t reached setting point after 15 minutes. It’s taken me a good hour sometimes to reach setting point. Just rinse off the saucer, dry it, and pop it back in the freezer to test again. Test every 10 minutes or so, alternating the saucers.

Once you’ve reached setting point, turn off the heat and let the marmalade stand for 10-20 minutes before ladling it into hot glass jars. You’ll notice the marmalade is still very liquid at this stage—don’t panic, that’s normal and doesn’t mean you haven’t actually reached setting point. Seal the jars, label them with the date, and store in a cool, dark cupboard.

Orange, Lemon, and Ginger Marmalade

From Nigel Slater

1 kg oranges

4 lemons

2 kg sugar

100g fresh ginger, peeled and cut into matchsticks

Prepare as for classic marmalade above, topping up the juice with an additional 2 litres cold water and adding the ginger when you start boiling the peels on day 2.

Places to Eat: The Pantry

If there's one thing Stockbridge doesn't lack, it's cute places to have a cup of coffee and a bite to eat. There are so many of them around here I haven't even had a chance to try them all yet, and I've been here the better part of a year. So if you're going to open up a new one, you'd better have something great to offer, and you'd better really know your audience.

Chris and Charlotte Thompson, the couple who opened The Pantry at the end of 2012, clearly did their research. This place is so well attuned to the neighbourhood it's like they conducted a focus group prior to opening. This is the type of cozy local spot that supports local producers, embraces organic, is family friendly (every day from 3-4 is mums' hour, during which coffees are a quid and there are games and things to entertain the wee ones. Very, very smart, as this area's got a significant portion of young families), and doesn't take itself too seriously. It caters to a clientele that is willing to splash out a bit of extra for spelt flour, knows good food, and likes to have a few surprises. That's Stockbridge.

I've embraced The Pantry wholeheartedly: I've been there four times in the last month alone. And judging by the healthy crowds I always see there, I'm not alone.

First, the food. It's great. I've been there for brunch, lunch (twice), and dinner, and it's never let me down. The menus all feature dishes that are comfortingly familiar (kedgeree for brunch, a burger and sandwiches for lunch, etc), but they usually feature a twist. The kedgeree was served with tiny hard-boiled quails' eggs, for instance, and a smoked salmon sandwich is served with a refreshing lemon creme fraiche (the sandwich in question is very good, but I couldn't help but think it would be brilliant if served on rye bread instead of the slightly stodgy white it came on). If you get a sandwich there, order it with their house-made chips, which are thick, crispy, and delicious.

At night they turn the lights down and trot out a menu that changes constantly to reflect what's best of the current season. Husby and I decided to go there for Burns Night a couple of weeks ago, knowing that we'd get more than the expected haggis and slab of shortbread. We were definitely right. While The Pantry focuses on filling comfort foods during the day, they really up their game at night, sending out absolutely exquisite and well-thought-out dishes the like of which I'm used to seeing in places that charge far more than £30 for a three-course dinner. Our meal started off with a cullen skink amuse bouche. Although it was rather big for an amuse, it was so incredibly delicious I didn't care. I felt like I could have happily eaten a gallon of the stuff, which was thick, creamy, smoky--everything you'd want on a damp, chilly evening. This promising beginning was swiftly followed by salads: mine was cured salmon with beetroot and fennel scone pieces, and his was the same, but with anise pickled cucumber in place of the salmon. The plates were almost too pretty to touch, but touch them we did, and quickly devoured the contents. After (it must be said) a very long wait we received our main courses: roasted venison with haggis spring rolls, olive oil mash, and spinach. The meat was roasted to rare perfection, and the mash was smooth and delectable (and perfect for soaking up the rich sauces from the meat). I loved the spring rolls, and found them not only delicious but a rather playful way of working the traditional haggis into the dish.

Dessert is often where restaurants fall down, but that wasn't the case here. Husby had the cheese plate, which is served with mini Peter's Yard crispbreads and apples, while I opted for the 'Confused Cranachan', yet another fabulously presented plate of whisky-soaked sponge circles nestled between an airy mousse with such a pronounced honey flavour it was as if I was eating it straight from the hive. A beautiful bramble coulis helped cut the richness of both the mousse and the sponge.

If I had one issue with this place, it's this: the service needs work. Don't get me wrong, the servers are all very friendly and helpful, but there are definitely some issues there. The first time we went was during brunch on a Sunday, and it was busy. It was clear that the waitstaff was overwhelmed, even though there were plenty of them on the floor. The problem seemed to be lack of organisation: it appeared that they didn't have specific tables assigned to each server, so everyone was just sort of picking up and dropping off wherever. That meant that nobody really seemed to know what any one table's status was, so it took a very long time for anyone to get around to taking our order, and then an even longer time to get our bill. While we were waiting for it, someone else's change was dropped off at our table, and when the bill came, it wasn't ours. At dinner, the issues were less about disorganisation and more about a lack of finesse. Dishes were dropped off at the table with no explanation or introduction whatsoever. While that's not really an issue with the salad or main course, it's definitely a problem when you're confronted with a cheese plate. We had no idea what we were eating. Same with the amuse bouche. I'd love to know what some of the little bits floating at the top were, but, alas, they shall remain a mystery. We had to wait at least 25 minutes after our salads were cleared for the mains to come out, which is a kitchen problem, not a service one, but nobody ever came over to tell us what was going on, or to apologise for the wait, and the person who did finally go to check on the food's status wasn't even our waitress.

Will the service issues keep me from going back there? No, certainly not. But I do long for these wrinkles to be ironed out, because if the service matched up with the food, than dining here would be more than just very good, it would be simply sublime.

The Pantry

1-2 North West Circus Place
thepantryedinburgh.co.uk

Places to Eat: Angels With Bagpipes

Once upon a time, it was enough for a restaurant to just churn out good food. But then the foodie culture invaded, everyone became a critic on their blogs, and the ante was upped. To be considered a really good restaurant, it wasn't enough to simply get your duck breast perfectly medium rare or your braises fork-tender. Now, your plates needed to look like they belonged on the wall of a museum. And a little whimsy in the dishes doesn't hurt either, as long as it doesn't go too far (caramel with scallops? I don't think so...)

Angels With Bagpipes on the Royal Mile is a restaurant that understands the world it's operating in. Not too formal (it does draw in a lot of tourists schlepping about in jeans and comfortable shoes, after all), but nice enough for a special evening out, and each plate that appears is an absolute delight to see and taste. Whimsy? You've got it (with a name like that, how could this place not be a bit playful?), enough to please adventurous eaters like myself, my husband, and my parents, but the menu's not so out there my rather traditional meat-and-potatoes-loving grandmother couldn't find plenty of dishes that whetted her appetite.

We were in just before Christmas, a busy time for everyone, not least the restaurants of Edinburgh, and yet there was no sense of rush or anxiety in the atmosphere or in the cheerful, laid back, but highly efficient waitstaff. We settled in with some cocktails while we perused the menu--and if you can, seriously check out the cocktail menu, it's fantastic.

As is the food. On our first pass at the restaurant, for my birthday in November, my husband ordered the smoked trout pate while I pounced on the scallops and black pudding. The pate was lovely, not too overwhelmingly smoky, just a bit fishy, a tough balance to strike. Our only complaint was that there was a lot of it, and not quite enough toasts served alongside. My scallop dish was almost too pretty to eat, the succulent, perfectly seared mollusks scattered amidst a tangle of tart, julienne apples and tiny cubes of fried black pudding. The tart apples and the dabs of sauce helped cut the richness of both the scallops and the pudding. Every bite was pure joy; I couldn't recommend it highly enough to the family. This time around, I opted for the butternut squash soup, which was charmingly poured at the table from the teeniest glass teapot I've ever seen. The velvety soup was paired with a rich duck-filled tortellini and a soya jelly that was pleasantly surprising. Other winners at the table were the beef tartare (served traditionally, with a quail's egg, because why mess with a classic?) and the goat's cheese with beetroot, walnuts, and mustard.

Main courses, like the rest of the menu, draw on what's seasonal and locally available. In November I opted for the lamb, cooked beautifully and served with pearl barley and sweetbreads. This time I was in a venison mood. Once again, it was cooked perfectly and was marvellously comforting on a chilly winter's night. They serve part of the neck with the dish, which is brave, because neck can be a tough piece of meat if not treated well. They treat it very well here, slow cooking it for more than a day so it's fall-apart tender and succulent. The fish dishes--bream and trout--were beautiful and delicious as well, but I feel the meats were the real standouts.

Puddings are usually where restaurants like this really let their hair down and have some fun experimenting, and AwB doesn't let you down. I'd strongly recommend the Cranachan. Their playful take on the classic Scottish sweet is served with a Glenmorangie parfait, freeze-dried raspberries that pack a serious flavour punch, and the most amazing, dissolve-on-your-tongue marshmallow you've ever had in your entire life. The panna cotta with raspberry and rosewater sorbet and a Victoria sponge was flavourful but a little stiffer than it should have been. I longed to see what their idea of the Christmas pudding was like, but alas, I was just recovering from a terrible stomach bug and thought it best not to risk it. Next year!

AwB isn't cheap, but it's definitely worth it. The food's amazing, the atmosphere soothing, and the wine and whisky lists impressive. For anyone looking to treat themselves at the end of a day spent sightseeing or have a lovely date night with a loved one, this is an excellent spot to consider.

Crafty Christmas: Wee Stocking Garland

The thing with being a knitter is, eventually, you'll find yourself with all these little bits of yarn that aren't enough for a full-scale project. So, you have to find itty bitty projects for them instead. The charm of the itty bitties is that they're just so darn cute you want to keep making them, and they come together so fast (I was able to churn one of these out in the time it took to watch an episode of Revenge) that you can crank out a lot of them in a pretty short period. I thought, at first, that I'd be making little ornaments for the tree, but as stocking after stocking came out, I thought, 'hey, why not make a garland for the mantelpiece?'

And that's just what I ended up with.

Cute, huh? And pretty simple, too, especially for those who already know a bit about making socks. I got the pattern out of a book called Socks, Socks, Socks, and it can be easily adapted to other needle sizes and use whatever colours you have on hand. Have fun!

Wee Stockings Garland

Tools
1 set of 4 size 1 (US) double point needles
lace yarn or a couple of strands of a 4-ply sportweight yarn in the colours of your choice

Leg: Cast on 20 stitches and divide between 3 needles. Work K1P1 rib for 3 rounds, then switch to stocking stitch. Knit 15 rounds.

Heel: Slip 1st 10 stitches of the next row onto 1 needle, set other 10 stitches aside. Working only with the stitches on needle 1, work as follows: (RS) *Sl 1 K1; repeat from * (WS) Sl1, purl across row. Repeat these two rows until a total of 11 rows have been worked.

Turn Heel: Continue on 1st 10 stitches, starting with a WS row. P5, p2 together, p1. Turn work. Sl1, k1, ssk, k1. Turn work. Sl 1, p2, p2tog, p1. Turn work. Sl 1, k3, ssk, k1. 6 stitches remain. Do not turn.

With a spare needle, pick up and knit 4 stitches along the side of the heel and slip them to the first double-point needle. Knit 10 stitches across the instep of the stocking and hold on a second needle. Pick up and knit 4 stitches along the other side of the heel, then knit 3 heel stitches. There are 24 stitches total, and the beginning of the round is at the centre of the heel.

On the first needle, knit to the last 2 stitches, k2tog, knit across 2nd needle, ssk the first two stitches on 3rd needle, k to end of round. Work 1 round even, then repeat the decrease round. Repeat these two rounds until a total of 16 stitches remain.

Work foot even until it measures 1 1/2" from back of heel.

Toe: Slip 1 stitch from the beginning of needle 2 to needle 1; slip 1 stitch from the end of needle 2 to needle 3. There are now 8 stitches on needle two and 4 each on needles 1 and 3. On first needle, knit to last 2 stitches, k2tog; on 2nd needle, ssk, k to last 2 stitches, k2tog. On 3rd needle, ssk, k to end. Work 1 round even. Repeat these two rounds until 8 stitches remain. Break yarn and graft stitches together.

When you're done all your little stockings, cut a length of yarn or thin ribbon the length you'd like and string them on, knotting to keep them in place. Hang and let everyone admire your handiwork!

Charity Begins on the High Street

If you're the do-gooding type (or just looking to give back a bit during the holidays), you're in luck: it's almost impossible not to give back over here.

I think of the States and, aside from Goodwill, I can't name a single store off the top of my head that sells things in order to raise money for a charity. I'm sure they exist, I just can't think of any that are country-wide. But here, every charity has a shop on the high street, and they're actually pretty great. One of our favourite bookshops supports Oxfam, and that's one of about ten charity shops in our immediate neighbourhood. They sell everything from clothes to furniture and nick-knacks. This time of year, they even sell adorable Christmas cards and wrapping paper.

And that's not the only way to give back while giving to yourself: this year, we're buying our Christmas tree from an organisation called Caring Christmas Trees, which donates the profits from the trees to an Edinburgh homeless shelter. It's not as if the trees are really expensive, either. And if that doesn't do, the trees they're selling at our farmers' market raise money for a children's charity.

Maybe it makes us a bit lazy, because we don't really have to put much effort into finding a charity to support, mail off a cheque, etc. But it's nice to have an opportunity to give back so easily, especially with things we're going to be buying anyway. I know I feel a bit warmer and fuzzier knowing that my tree will help give someone a hot meal, rather than contributing to the Christmas bonus of the CEO of Home Depot.

And now, I'm off to Oxfam to look for some books!

St Andrew's Day

Happy St Andrew’s Day! Today Scotland raises a dram (and rolls out the fireworks) to the country’s patron saint.

Andrew’s been the patron saint of Scotland since about the middle of the 10th century. According to legend, his relics were brought to the Pictish king, Oengus mac Fergusa, in the 8th century. Around 100 years later, Oengus II led an army of Picts and Scots into battle against the Angles, which were under the command of Aethelstan, near modern-day Athelstaneford, East Lothian. The heavily outnumbered Oengus vowed to appoint Saint Andrew patron saint of Scotland if he won the battle. The next day, as the armies were forming, white clouds formed an X in the sky.

Kind of like this

 Guess who won the battle? Oengus stood by his word and Andrew became Scotland’s patron saint. The allegedly divine cloud formation was immortalised on Scotland’s flag, the Saltire. The X was also used by superstitious Scots to keep witches from flying down their chimneys.
Thanks Andrew! Now, off to the castle for the party!