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

Delicious Discovery: Fallachan Blaand

Is that not one of the most Scottish-sounding names you've ever heard?

Ok, you're going to think I'm insane with this one, and to be fair, you're not alone. Even the waitress thought I was crazy when I ordered it at A Room in the Town the other night. But the thing is, I've gotten to the point where I've become a risk-taking eater, to some extent. The crazier something sounds on a menu, the more I want to try it. So when I spotted Blaand on their puddings menu with the other after-dinner drinks and saw that it was a liquor made from whey (the leftovers from making cheese), I thought: 'that just sounds too bizarre to pass up!'

When the waitress came back around I passed on pudding but asked for a glass of the Blaand. She stared at me and asked, "Are you sure? Do you know what it is?" I smiled pleasantly back and said I did. She hurried off to fetch me a taste before pouring a full glass, probably figuring she was dealing with a tourist getting in over her head and anticipating me spitting a glassful right in my husband's face, which is a pain to clean up.

Back she came with a glass of honeysuckle-colored liquor, which surprised me. I guess because I had cheese on the brain, I half expected it to look milky, almost like a white Russian or something. This was soothingly familiar looking, like a glass of a rich chardonnay. I sniffed, I tasted.

I liked.

It's like nothing I'd ever drunk before, and I used to write a wine column, so I've tried a fair number of quaffs. The first flavor is an eye-opening saltiness that says: "This is not your average after-dinner drink. Brace yourself." But then it moves right along to a tasty sour note tempered by a lightly sweetened edge, like honeyed Granny Smith apples. To finish, there's a slightly earthy flavour that, I'm ashamed to admit, I couldn't quite place, but it was quite pleasing and left me wanting more. The shocked waitress obligingly brought me a full glass, which I polished off slowly. This, like most after-dinner drinks, is a sipper, and it was actually wonderfully refreshing on a summer evening. The menu advises you try it with cheese (makes sense, it being the product of a cheese byproduct), and yes, it would be an excellent accompaniment to a fairly strong or heavy cheese that needs something to cut the richness. It would be marvelous with a blue, for example, or even a creamy brie.

Having raved about it, I have to admit that this probably isn't for everyone. I got the distinct impression that you either love this stuff (me) or hate it (waitress), but it's definitely worth trying, even if it's just so you can say you did it.

Blaand actually has a nice long history in Scotland, even longer than the whiskey this country is so well known for. It was brought over by the Vikings way back when, and it has the distinction of not being classifiable as a wine, a spirit, or a beer because of what it's made out of. It has about the same alcohol content as wine and is served in similar quantities.

Blaand was produced on a small scale throughout Scotland for years, mostly by farmers and crofters who were making cheese and hated to waste the whey. It was used for medicinal purposes and sailors used to take barrels of it on board ship to help them stay warm. With the advent of more mechanized farming and cheese production in the 20th century, the production of Blaand petered out, only to be revived in the last few years by a historian-turned-Lanarkshire farmer named Humphrey Errington (who is also credited with creating the now-famous Lanark Blue cheese). Errington was looking for a way to use the whey on his farm and found an old recipe for Blaand. He whipped some up, aged it in oak casks, and named it "Fallachan," which is Gaelic for "hidden treasure."

A most apt name, I'd say.

Haggis, Neeps, and Tatties

Oh, haggis. Robert Burns loved you; most Americans hear about your ingredients and can barely finish their breakfast sausage. But you're a really beautiful, brilliant, delicious thing, and I'm a lucky girl because one of the excellent butchers near my flat makes it in-house and it's fabulous.

For the past few days, my husby's been waxing rhapsodic about haggis, neeps, and tatties--a traditional (I believe) Scottish supper dish, and what Honey wants Honey gets. The dish is typically made with a steamed or baked haggis and mashed root vegetables, but I thought that might be a bit too much soft on the plate, so I opted to make a root vegetable hash. The result: fantastically delicious and wholly satisfying. I paired it with a really lovely, slightly spicy Spanish wine I picked up at Waitrose for the princely sum of 4 pounds. Livin' large, here.

The necessaries

Haggis: Hard to find in the U.S., everywhere over here. Many balk at the idea of eating a food that's mainly offal, forgetting entirely that that's basically what all sausages are. Haggis is a type of sausage and mostly tastes like the spices that are used in it. Be bold and give it a try--you might surprise yourself.

Neeps: We thought the neeps were parsnips, but they're actually turnips. By the time we realised, the parsnips (a root veg that looks like an anemic carrot) had already been purchased, so I threw them in as well and found they added a welcome sweetness to the dish.

Tatties: Potatoes. Get some nice firm ones that stand up to roasting.

Haggis with Neeps and Tatties Hash
Serves 4

1 small haggis, traditional or vegetarian
2 medium-sized potatoes, diced large
1 medium swede (the vegetable, not a tourist) or 2 turnips, diced large
2-3 parsnips, sliced chunky
1 small onion, sliced crosswise
3 slices or rashers of bacon or cubed smoked pork
Brussels sprouts, split lengthwise
Olive oil
Fresh herbs

Bring a pot of water to the boil on the hob. Add the swede/turnips and boil for about 5 minutes. Add the potatoes and parsnips and boil another 3-5 minutes, until just starting to get slightly fork tender. Drain and cool slightly.

In a frying pan, saute the bacon until it starts to color or render fat (if you're using streaky bacon). Add the onion and saute together for about 2-3 minutes, until the onion takes on a creamy color.

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees celsius/350 farenheit.

Put the parboiled root vegetables and brussels sprouts in a bowl and toss with olive oil and herbs (I used thyme and rosemary). Add the bacon and onion and toss.

If the haggis is in an outer packaging, remove it. Prick the haggis all over with a fork and wrap it in aluminum foil. Set it in the middle of a baking dish and arrange the roasting vegetables around it. Roast for 40 mins to an hour, until the vegetables are browned and the haggis is steaming. Split the casing around the haggis  and scoop out the insides to serve with the veg.