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!

Stir-Up Sunday

Happy Stir-Up Sunday! It's time to officially kick off the holiday season--starting with dessert. Those Christmas puddings need time to mature and develop their flavours (some people actually make them more than a year in advance), so pull out those pudding basins and steamers and let's get to work!

Christmas pudding has its origins in the medieval period and is also traditionally known as plum pudding, though it doesn't typically have plums in it (the plum pudding term is probably because the Victorians used to refer to raisins (which are always part of the ingredients list) as plums). In the medieval period, the Catholic church decreed that a 'pudding should be made on the 25th Sunday after trinity, that it be prepared with 13 ingredients to represent Christ and the 12 apostles, and that every family member stir it in turn from east to west to honour the Magi and their supposed journey in that direction.' Nowadays, we give it a stir in any direction and make a wish. The traditional pudding recipe took its form in Victorian England, when people would either boil it in a pudding cloth (resulting in the nostalgic round shape) or pack it into a pudding basin for steaming, as we do now.

The nice thing about this pudding is that, although there are some traditional elements you may want to keep, it's pretty versatile. Feel free to play with the fruits you include--dried cherries and candied ginger are delicious additions, and I even tossed in a bit of leftover homemade cranberry sauce that I had around after our wee Thanksgiving on Thursday, just to see what would happen. I also soaked the vine fruits overnight in some Christmas Orange tea I picked up from Anteaques. Have a little fun with it, and don't forget to make a wish!

Christmas Pudding

Adapted from Delia Smith
400g mixed vine fruits
brandy or strong black tea for soaking
4 oz (110g) shredded suet
2 oz (50g) self-raising flour
4 oz (110g) white breadcrumbs
1 tsp ground mixed spice
1/4 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
good pinch ground cinnamon
8 oz soft dark brown sugar
1 oz (25g) mixed candied peel, finely chopped
1 oz (25g) slivered almonds
1 oz (25 g) candied ginger, chopped
1 oz (25 g) prunes, chopped
1 small cooking apple, peeled, cored, and grated or finely chopped
grated zest and juice of 1/2 large orange
grated zest of 1/2 lemon
2T rum, brandy, or whisky
5 fl oz (150 ml) stout
2 large eggs

Pour the brandy or the strong (brewed about 10 minutes) tea over the vine fruits and let sit overnight. The next morning, drain and set aside.

In the largest bowl you have, combine suet, flour, breadcrumbs, spices, and sugar. Mix in the dried fruit, mixed peel, nuts, and ginger, followed by the apple and zests. Mix thoroughly.

In a smaller basin, mix the eggs and all liquid ingredients. Pour over the dry ingredients and mix thoroughly. Call in family members for help and wishes. Once it's mixed (it'll be a fairly wet and sloppy mix), cover the bowl with clingfilm and let sit overnight so the flavours meld.

Butter a 1.2-litre pudding basin and put a small circle of greased parchment paper in the bottom. Scoop in the pudding mixture and cover the basin with baking parchment and foil. Tie securely with a string and place in a steamer for 8 hours. For those without a steamer, put an upended saucer in a large pot with a tight-fitting lid, place the pudding in the pot, fill up halfway with hot water, put the lid on, and boil away for 8 hours, checking back periodically and topping up with more boiling water as needed.

Remove the pudding from the steamer or pot and let cool completely. Refresh the parchment paper and foil and leave in a cool, dark place until Christmas. When ready to serve, flame with brandy or serve with holly and sifted icing sugar.

Happy Christmas!

Remembrance Day

On 11 November 1918, World War I--the horrific conflict everyone hoped would end all wars--ended with the signing of the Armistice in France. Ever since, the millions dead in that conflict and the ones that came before and after have been lovingly remembered on the eleventh day of the eleventh month. For weeks leading up to the day, poppy brooches start appearing on lapels--cheap paper ones picked up when you donate some pocket change to the Poppy Appeal, or more permanent ones that are crocheted or enameled and brought out every year. These bright little flowers are not only reminders of the lives lost, but are also the symbol of the British Legion's annual Remembrance Day fundraiser, which raises money for wounded vets and their families.They hope to raise 42 million pounds this year.

In the U.S., today is celebrated as Veterans' Day, and while there are some somber activities of remembrance, it seems like a much quieter day than it is here. It's easier to overlook it, because there seem to be few visual reminders in the days leading up to it. Here in Edinburgh--and elsewhere in the U.K., there's a Garden of Remembrance. Spreading out from the Scott Memorial on Prince's Street is row upon row of small wooden crosses studded with a single paper poppy, planted in memory of someone who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. The first of these gardens was started at Westminster in 1928; there were only two crosses that year. This year, you'll find them in Wootton Basset, Belfast, Cardiff, and Newcastle, as well as London and Edinburgh. There's also one at the Menin Gate Memorial in Ypres, France. Anyone can dedicate a cross to a loved one who died, and include a personal message. It's a very moving, beautiful, and sobering memorial.

Traditionally, there's a two-minute silence at 11 a.m. No matter where you are, take a moment to remember the fallen and be thankful for all our veterans have done for us.

Ghoulish Goodies: Pretzel 'Fingers'

Lo these many years ago, my roommates and I threw a Halloween party. I baked goodies--lots and lots of them, and we invited all my one roommate's fellow Psych grad students. One of them was a handsome man who later became my husband. I dressed as a saloon girl, he dressed as...a hot guy, I guess, and the rest is history.

I like to think my appropriately creepy snacks had something to do with winning him over. The cooking's definitely helped keep him around since!

Delicious!

Amongst the offerings were these little beauties: pretzels transformed into fingers with the judicious use of almonds and red food colouring. Easy to make, particularly if you regularly make pretzels anyway, as I do, and excellent for atmosphere. These made their way to my office Halloween party, where they went over like gangbusters. I like to be able to surprise people.

Pretzel 'Fingers'

1 batch sourdough pretzel dough, rested for 3 hours
Skinless almonds
Food colouring of your choice (I usually go with red)

Bring a pan full of water to the boil and add 2T bicarbonate of soda. Preheat your oven to 190 degrees C.

While that's heating up, cut the rested dough into manageable pieces, roll each piece into a long log, and cut it into 2.5-3" sections. Roll them slightly at one end so it comes to a rounded point.

Using a small, sharp knife, insert the tip into the almonds and split them in half lengthwise. This is a bit fiddly and you can skip it if you like, but I find the whole almonds a bit bulky to make a really great fingernail and prefer to use halves.

Boil the fingers for about 30 seconds each. I advise only doing a couple at a time, so you have a chance to press on the nails before they cool and firm up too much.

After you pull the fingers out of the water, let them cool slightly, and press the almond into the rounded end, pushing firmly so it sinks into the dough and looks like a nail.

Bake the fingers for 20 minutes for softer pretzels, 35-40 minutes for hard. Cool on a wire rack.

Using a paintbrush you keep only for food, paint the nails with food colouring. It may take a few coats for them to look quite right--I think mine took 3. Let them dry thoroughly and dig in!

Ghoulish Goodies: Marshmallow Ghosts

I love making homemade marshmallows. For one thing, they're fabulous. If you've only ever tried the store-bought kind, make these just once so you can taste the difference. Like night and day. For another thing, they're a great example of kitchen alchemy, and since I'm a tiny bit of a closet science nerd, I love me some kitchen alchemy.

Yummy!

It's hard to believe that this awful-looking, brownish, liquid mass is going to turn into glorious, fluffy, white marshmallows.

Getting there...

You refuse to believe it, even as you watch the beater spin, and then all of a sudden--BOOM! You've got marshmallow fluff! And after a couple of hours of setting, you've got the best damn accompaniment to hot chocolate, chocolate fondue, or s'mores you've ever tried. So, so worth it.

Hey! Look at that!

So, it's nearly Halloween, and one of my friends sent a picture of a fabulous little cake adorned with piped marshmallow ghosts. She suggested I try these out for our little office Halloween party and, of course, I rose to the challenge. And quite a challenge it was: I didn't beat the marshmallow quite long enough, so the first couple of ghosties collapsed into Hershey kiss-shaped puddles. The middle batch were great, but by the time I piped the last few, the marshmallow had set too much and they came out less like fluffy ghosts and more like, well, dog poo, if we're being honest. Those I just cut up into little discs for tossing in cocoa, but the others got some faces painted on and are ready for their close-up at the office tomorrow.

Coming soon to a party near yoooooooou!

Marshmallow Ghosts*

1 packet gelatine
1/3 cup cold water
1 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup water
Black gel food colouring

1. Dissolve the gelatine in 1/3 cup water in the bowl of a stand mixer. Let sit for at least 5 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, combine the sugar and remaining water in a saucepan. Bring to a boil and boil until the sugar dissolves and the mixture reaches a temperature of 240 degrees F on a candy thermometer.

3. Fit the mixer with a whisk and start it up to get the gelatine moving. While the mixer is going, carefully pour the hot sugar syrup into the bowl. Raise the mixer speed to high and let it go for 8-10 minutes, until the mixture turns white and fluffy and holds soft peaks.

4. Spoon the mixture into a pastry bag fitted with a large, round tip. Working quickly, pipe out little ghosts (don't get too ambitious--if they're too tall, they'll topple right over). I found that piping a good, fat, solid base before gradually moving upwards helped.

5. Let the ghosties dry for at least 2 hours, or overnight. Once set, paint little faces on using the food colouring and a small paintbrush used only for food.

Cyclops is Husby's favourite

*Warning: This is not for the faint of heart or the compulsively neat. Marshmallows are messy, and you do run the risk of being burned with hot sugar if you're not careful. The first bit can be tackled with plenty of hot water, the second with plenty of cold.

Recipe source: http://lollyssweettreats.com/

Things You Won't See in the States

The U.S. and the U.K. share a lot of things--a common language (mostly), part of a shared history, slang, music and entertainment, most large companies. But then there are moments where you see something you never saw stateside, and you realize you're in a totally different place now. Things like:

Someone unicycling up Inverleith Terrace in the morning (not that there probably aren't people unicycling in cities in the U.S., but I've never seen one

Roomy cabs driven by people who aren't on the phone all the time

Bagpipers playing the Star Wars theme and We Will Rock You (you'd be surprised how well both those songs work on the bagpipe)

Cheap candies all flavoured with actual fruit

Wellies as fashion statements, even on sunny days

Clotted cream ice cream from Devon

Actual castles in the middle of bustling towns and cities

A man in a sweatshirt, work boots, and a khaki kilt just chilling with friends at a pub

Red phone boxes that people are fiercely proud of and will actually protect

Major museums with free admission (and by that I mean--all the major museums are free)

Pudding bowls for sale in every cookery store

Heated towel racks in every residential bathroom

Teeny tiny combination washer/dryers in your flat

This is an incomplete list I'm sure I'll be adding to, but in the meantime, feel free to add your suggestions in the comments.

And just in case you didn't believe what I said about We Will Rock You working on the bagpipes...

Places to Eat: Number One at the Balmoral

Yesterday was husby's birthday, and birthdays and other special occasions mean a night out at a good restaurant. On the recommendation of my chiropractor (man, how yuppie does that sound?) I secured a reservation at Number One at the Balmoral.

I'll have to thank Stuart when I see him next.

The Michelin-starred restaurant did not let us down in any way. The moment we walked in we were cheerfully greeted and taken to our table, where bottled water was already chilling. Food-wise, you have two options: either do the Chef's Tasting menu for 70 pounds or order a three-course meal a la carte for 64. We chose the a la carte option because there were dishes on that I was dying to try. I also ordered a lovely glass of Pinot from the wine list, which is extensive if you're getting wine by the bottle but a bit limited when you're just going by the glass. Oh well. We settled down, soothed by the cozy atmosphere and Billie Holiday music and waited for the meal to begin.

First up: a trio of, I suppose, pre-amuse bouches, all of which were light, delicate, and lovely. Then came the actual amuse bouche, which was a tiny fritter in a light veloute. Well done on the fritter, which could easily have been heavy and greasy but thankfully wasn't. Nobody wants a grease bomb hitting their stomach before a three-course meal.

I opted for the foie gras starter, which was served with a gingerbread biscuit and peaches--an intriguing combination that worked beautifully. The acidity of the peaches helped cut the richness of the foie (which was cooked to crisp-outside, melting-inside perfection) and the warming gingerbread contributed spices that always pair nicely with foie gras. Husby had the fig tart (figs are FABULOUS right now) with pigeon. Their pigeon was much better than my first attempt with it. Definitely juicier, and playing nicely with the sweet, ripe figs on a paper-thin pastry square.

For mains, we both leaned hearty. Husby had sirloin, served with tongue, sweetbreads (the lucky bastard) and a truffle sauce. We'd never tried tongue and were a bit wary, thinking it would be inevitably tough, but it was perfectly tender and interesting, in a very good way. The truffle sauce was handled with a light and deft hand, so the truffles didn't overpower the dish (a common problem with truffles, I find). My main course was grouse, which has just come into season, with chard and a velvety celeriac puree.Comforting, warming, and gamey without being too aggressive, it was an excellent meal for a chilly fall day.

And finally, the desserts. I went for the lemon souffle, which has to be ordered a little early, unless you want to wait 25 minutes between your main and final course. I took the sommalier's suggestion on the pudding wine and it turned out to be a perfect one (as one would expect). The towering, fluffy souffle arrived alongside a tiny scoop of iced tea sorbet and a cloud-like, lemony cream-cheese mousse topped with granola.

Husby's strawberry parfait was an absolute work of art--a Study in Pink, if you will. Someone's clearly been studying their molecular gastronomy in the kitchens here, and applying it well. The parfait was rolled up in a thin strawberry-flavoured gelee, with strawberry mousse spheres scattered amongst the cardamom beignets. It was absolutely stunning, and delicious, too. Pure taste of summer.

Number One is touted as one of the best restaurants in Scotland, and it shows. No detail is left unattended to, and though the place is rather classic in its designed (think dark wood walls), it doesn't feel stuffy. Service is cheerful, unintrusive, and helpful, and though the dishes are beautifully modern, there are charming old-fashioned flourishes as well, such as trolleys that are wheeled around the dining room with bread and cheese selections. Afterwards, a cab was called for us, and we headed home, fully satisfied, but not overly stuffed.

According to my husband, it was a wonderful birthday.

Dam Good Plums

It's plum season here in the UK, and the little jewels are everywhere: Victoria, green gage, and the famous damsons. I hadn't heard much about damsons before I came over here, but they're big on this side of the pond, and very popular with jam makers. They're considered too sour to eat alone (and they're too small to serve as much of a snack anyway, being about the size of a very large grape) but they pair beautifully with all sorts of flavourings and foods. Being a jammer myself, I thought I'd give these "soor plooms" a go.

Off to the greengrocers' I went to stock up, and stock up I did, so much I ended up making two recipes: ice cream and jam. Jam first.

Most of the recipes I found for damson jam were pretty straightforward: plus, sugar, maybe some water. But I can't leave well enough alone, so I started thinking of what I could add to really make the plum flavors sing. Plums are a good stout fruit that can hold their own against warmer, more aggressive spices like clove, so I decided to go that route, but kick it up by using one of my favourite spice blends: Chinese Five Spice. The combination of star anise, cinnamon, Sichuan pepper, cloves and fennel would at least be interesting, I figured. So, I gave it a go, and after quite a bit of tweaking (and the addition of a couple of extra spices), I had a jam I was proud of. Tangy, warming, plummy: delicious.

 

Seven-Spice Damson Plum Jam

For the sake of those who have more or less damsons than I did, I tried to keep the proportions in the recipe even so it's easier to scale up or down as necessary. Also, feel free to mess around with spice proportions, or leave the spices out altogether. Jam's fairly forgiving when it comes to flavourings, so experiment away!

500 g (about 1 lb) damson plums, washed
1/2 cup water or black tea
1-2 c sugar (depending on your tastes)
1 T Chinese Five Spice powder
1/2-1 tsp ground ginger (or use fresh ginger, peeled and chopped)
1/4 tsp ground allspice

Procedure
Place the damsons and the water in a sturdy pot over medium heat. If you're using fresh ginger, add that too.  As they warm up, the plum skins will start to split. Simmer until the plums have all split open and gotten nice and soft (about 20-30 mins). Remove the pot from the heat and let the mixture cool until you can handle it without burning your hands.

Sift through the plum guts and remove all the stones (you can chop the plums ahead of time to avoid this step, but that's a pain and I just can't be bothered. Easier to do it this way). Once all the stones are out, add the plum guts, peels, ginger (if you're using fresh), and accumulated juices to a food processor (or use a hand blender) and process until smooth. Add it all back to the pot.

Place the pot back over medium heat and add the spices and sugar. If you prefer your jam on the tangy side, use the smaller amount of sugar and adjust as you go. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer until the jam has thickened enough to coat the back of a spoon (about another 25-30 minutes). Test for deliciousness and adjust spices/sweetener as necessary.

If you're canning for later use, go ahead and do that while the jam's hot. If not, cool jam at room temperature, then store in the fridge.

Uses: This jam is good with a wide variety of dishes. Scrape it onto some toast for a delicious snack or breakfast, swirl it through whipped cream for a lovely ice cream topping, or serve with duck or other meats (I can tell you from experience, this is fabulous with duck). Enjoy!

Damson Ice Cream

Regrettably, I got here and realized I wouldn't be able to use my ice cream maker anymore, because there was no way the bowl would fit in our freezer. Luckily, I found this recipe in the Complete Traditional Recipe Book that doesn't require an ice cream maker, just a bit of an arm workout on my part. It's totally worth it. Since this is a syrup rather than a custard-based dessert, it's more like a sorbet than an ice cream, but it's still incredibly delicious and highly addictive. Excellent with a bit of whipped cream with the jam mixed in, topped by a few blackberries.

For the Syrup
700ml water
425g sugar
Juice and thinly pared zest of 1 lemon
2 drops (about 1/8 tsp) vanilla

For the Ice Cream
1 litre hot ice cream syrup
600g damson plums
150ml double or whipping cream

Bring the water and sugar to a boil in a heavy-bottomed pan, adding the lemon zest as it heats up. Let the syrup boil for exactly 1 minute, then remove from the heat and add the lemon juice and vanilla. Pour into a bowl and allow to cool, if you're planning on storing this and making the ice cream later. It can be stored in teh fridge for up to 2 weeks.

If, however, you want your ice cream tonight, then poach the damsons in teh syrup for about 10 minutes, until the fruit is soft. Leave to cool completely (the recipe book suggests overnight). When cool, remove the stones, strain, and liquidise the pulp. Scrape into a freezer-safe container and freeze for 1 hour.

Whip the heavy cream until stiff and fold completely into the ice cream mixture. Replace in the freezer.  Remove after 1 hour and mix. You'll start to see the edges hardening. Repeat the freeze/mix cycle a few more times, until the mixture hardens. It'll take 4-5 hours, but it's definitely worth it.

Recipe: Green Onion, Coriander & Chili Flatbreads

Damn you, Great British Bakeoff. Once upon a time, I was able to happily sit on my bum on a Sunday afternoon, whiling away the hours with some knitting and mindless entertainment, but then you came along and I find myself thinking, "Oh, man, now I want to make some crazy flavored breads/ridiculously intricate cakes/perfect looking pies!" And so I haul myself off to the kitchen and proceed to spend the rest of the afternoon trashing it, pulling out eggs and flour and recipe books and interrupting my previously useless tranquility with fatty deliciousness. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

Green Onion, Coriander & Chili Flatbreads

2 tsp dry yeast
1 cup plus 2 T warm water
3 1/2 cups flour
2 tsp salt
3-4 green onions, sliced thinly
2 tsp ground coriander
1 1/2-2 tsp chili flakes or hot piri-piri seasoning (optional)*
1 T olive or rapeseed oil

Sprinkle the yeast into the 2T warm water and let dissolve for about 10 minutes. It should look slightly frothy.

Meanwhile, whisk together the flour, salt, coriander, and chili flakes, if you're using them. Make a well in the center of the flour and pour in the green onions, yeast, oil, and 2/3 cup water.

Mix, adding more water, if necessary, to form a firm, moist dough.

Knead on a lightly floured surface until the dough is smooth, shiny, and elastic. Put the dough in a clean bowl, cover with clingfilm, and leave in a warm place to rise until doubled in size, about 1 1/2 hours.

Punch the dough down and let it rest. Meanwhile, heat a griddle or skillet over medium heat until very hot.

Divide the dough into eight equal pieces androll out each piece into a round about 6" (15 cm) across and 1/2" (1 cm) thick.

Place the dough rounds on the hot griddle or pan and prick all over with a fork to prevent large air bubbles from forming. Cook each flatbread until golden brown on both sides, about 5 minutes per side. Set aside while you cook the others.

Serve with houmous, curry, or cheese for a delicious lunch or afternoon snack.

*If you're not partial to spicy things, consider replacing the chili with some freshly grated lemon peel. I find the lemony flavor compliments coriander quite beautifully.

On the Fringe: The Ash Girl

Cast your memory back to childhood and remember Disney's Cinderella. Remember that one? With the cute talking mice and the grandmotherly fairy godmother? Ok, now think of the exact opposite of that and you'll have The Ash Girl. Disney's Cinderella was basically a Stepford Smiler who didn't seem to really mind the horrific abuse she was living with. The Ash Girl is suicidally depressed, lives next to a forest inhabited by the seven deadly sins, and is nearly accidentally raped by her own father (it's also hinted that her father married her stepmother because he had certain 'needs' and his daughter was getting just a little too pretty.) It's dark and disturbing as hell, but it's also pretty awesome. Read the full review here

The Edinburgh Military Tattoo

If you come to Scotland in August for anything, come for the Military Tattoo. It's a hell of a show (and since you're coming here in the first place, I'm going to go ahead and assume you already like bagpipes.)

I'm not a night owl--I'm lame, so there are few things that will tempt me from my cozy home at 10:30 at night, and yet, there I was, climbing to the very top of section 11 in front of Edinburgh Castle, husband in tow, settling in and excitedly waiting for everything to start. It was definitely worth staying up for.

There was a dance paying tribute to tartan weaving:

And a nod to the new Disney/Pixar film Brave (Scotland's really excited about that)

And, because this is Scotland, we had to be reminded of the fact that this is the land o'whiskey, with one of the prettiest dances of the evening:

The Australians showed up and rocked out. They started off singing and playing some old traditional tunes and then turned the whole arena into a disco as they launched into Highway to Hell. The Australian military is clearly the coolest on earth.

The Americans were playful too, paying tribute to comic book characters and superheroes through the years:

A group of highly talented drummers/Three Musketeers extras from Switzerland paid tribute to binary code:

I'm going to assume that they were tapping out some super-important message in code as well, just to bring it all together. The King's Guard from Norway was there, just to prove there are no hard feelings over those centuries of Norse invasions:

This part becomes even more impressive when you realize these are not professional soldiers at all, but conscripts doing their compulsory year of military service. Well done, gentlemen! There was also a piece celebrating the industrial revolution in dance that was much cooler than Danny Boyle's strange phallocentric celebration of earth-rape during the Olympics opening ceremony. Sorry, don't have video of that one, just take my word for it. And, of course, at the end, everybody came out -- bands, dancers, and a shetland pony (sure, why not?) to celebrate the Queen's Diamond Jubilee in a restaging of her coronation at Westminster Abbey:

After that, we took a few solemn moments to pay tribute to those who have fallen in service to their country (you can't read it, but the projection on the castle is the tombstone of the Unknown Soldier in Westminster Abbey)

And, finally, the pipers played everyone out with a rousing rendition of 'Scotland the Brave':

On the Fringe: A Brief History of Scotland -- We Done Loads!

Quick, when I say “Scotland”, what do you think of? Kilts? Whiskey? Bagpipes? FYI, none of those were actually invented here (a fact that’s difficult to remember when all you see is kilted bagpipers playing outside of whiskey shops up and down the Royal Mile). Want to find out the real history of Scotland? Well, a book might be a good bet. But if you want to get a fun take on Scottish history that pokes fun at itself and features Sean Connery voiceover narrating as God, check out A Brief History of Scotland — We Done Loads! Read full review

On the Fringe: Allotment

It was so nice of Edinburgh to finally realize it was summer the very week I had to sit in the middle of a garden to watch Allotment. I basked in the bright sunshine, enjoying the cup of tea and scone that was provided (delicious!) and prepared myself for an hour’s worth of lovely entertainment. Boy, was I wrong. Not wrong about the play being entertaining — it was as good as the refreshments; better than I expected, in fact. But it wasn’t light by any means. Read the full review here

Recipe: Gin and Tonic

It seems the weather gods have finally started to feel ashamed of the way they treated us this summer. And really, they should. Making the summer of the Jubilee, the Olympics, and our first season here one of the coldest, wettest, and most miserable on record? Not cool, weather gods.
But August has been a bit different, for the most part. There have actually been sunny warm days. I’ve been able to put my jumpers and cardigans aside and put on those cute sundresses I brought from the States! This weekend, temperatures are set to hit 31 degrees C (which is hot, quite hot) in some parts of the country. We’re looking at about 21-24 up here in Edinburgh, which is just fine by us. Warm enough to be pleasant without being unbearably steamy. Still, I’m sure that plenty of people will be reaching for the Pimm’s or that other hot weather standby, the gin and tonic.
The classic G+T actually has an interesting history to it: it was originally introduced by the army of the British East India Company in India in the early 19^th century. See, the British soldiers and colonists got down to India and realized there were bugs there. Specifically, malaria-toting mosquitoes. Quinine was an effective treatment for the disease, but its bitter taste made it unpalatable. So, they did what any sensible person would do: added booze. Enough gin and you won’t remember what flavour means anyway. They also used to add sugar and lime to the quinine and gin. Nowadays, tonic water has much less quinine, so it’s less bitter, but we still cling to that lovely gin and tonic (or vodka tonic, which we can now enjoy because we’re all kind of friends with Russia again). Sit back, enjoy the lovely weather, and treat yourself to a tipple!
Gin and Tonic
2 oz gin
5 oz tonic water
1 lime wedge
1 tsp lime juice (optional)
Pour gin, tonic water, and optional lime juice into a highball glass over ice. Stir well and garnish with a lime wedge.