LONDON TO SKYE AND BACK
“WELL,” SAYS OUR WAITER, WHO LOOKS LIKE A RUGBY PLAYER BUT FOR THE TARTAN KILT, “YOU’VE GOT THE BRUEGEL.”
AND THERE IT IS, DWARFING LYNN AND ALBYN, WHO OCCUPY THE BANQUETTE BENEATH THE YOUNGER’S DEPICTION OF A FLEMISH VILLAGE, TEEMING WITH FIGURES INDULGING THEIR PASSIONS, FOLLIES AND VICES. IN BETWEEN BITES OF FAT ASPARAGUS WITH STRAW MUSHROOMS STREAKED WITH PESTO AND A CHARGRILLED FILLET OF JOHN DORY, I SPENT MOST OF THIS EXCELLENT MEAL EXAMINING THE BRUEGEL. WE ARE IN THE FIFE ARMS IN BRAEMAR, ABERDEENSHIRE, SCOTLAND. WE’VE ALREADY SEEN THE PICASSO, THE LUCIEN FREUD AND THE MAN RAY PHOTOGRAPHS IN THE BAR. THIS MODERN GOTHIC HOTEL, WHERE EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK IS A WORK BY AN ARTIST YOU RECOGNIZE OR SHOULD IS OWNED BY MANUELA HAUSER AND IRIN WIRTH; YES, THE VERY SAME HAUSER&WIRTH WITH GALLERIES IN NEW YORK, LOS ANGELES, AND A MYRIAD OF CAPITALS AROUND THE WORLD.
WE ARE HALFWAY THROUGH A JOURNEY WHICH TOOK US TO LONDON, THEN EDINBURGH, GLASGOW, THE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS, ABERDEEN, DUNDEE, AND LOCH NESS. WE TRAVEL FOR FOOD AND ART; RARELY FOR STORIED VISTAS. I HOPE TO SEE THE GRAND CANYON AND NIAGARA FALLS BEFORE I DIE BUT ONLY IF WE CAN GET A DECENT MEAL WITHIN SPITTING DISTANCE OF THE SOUTH RIM. BUT THE ISLE OF SKYE, THE LOWLAND PASTURES AND THE LOCHS MADE ME EAT MY WORDS. THIS IS NOT TO SAY WE SUFFERED IN THE FOOD DEPARTMENT. ALBYN, LYNN’S DAUGHTER WHOM I CONSIDER MY OWN, HAS LIVED IN LONDON FOR ALMOST 40 YEARS AND HAS THE ACCENT TO PROVE IT. SHE AND HER FRIEND BILL, WHO WENT TO UNIVERSITY IN ABERDEEN, PUT TOGETHER A NEARLY FLAWLESS ITINERARY. EQUALLY IMPORTANT, ALBYN KNOWS HOW TO DRIVE ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD.
AFTER A WEEK IN LONDON AT OUR BELOVED ZETTER MARLEYBONE ON SEYMOUR STREET, WE TOOK THE TRAIN TO EDINBURGH. THREE DAYS THERE, THREE DAYS IN GLASGOW, THEN FOR THE NEXT NINE DAYS, DROVE NORTH TO FORT WILLIAM, ACROSS THE SKYE BRIDGE TO THE THREE CHIMNEYS IN DUNVEGAN, WEST TO PORTREE, EAST TO PENNAN, SOUTHWEST THROUGH INVERNESS TO FOYER’S LODGE ON LOCH NESS, EAST TO DUNDEE AND A MICHELIN 2-STAR IN AUCHTERARDER (WITH ME SO FAR?) AND, FINALLY, BACK TO LONDON. FIVE DAYS IN LONDON FOR MORE ART, MORE FOOD AND MORE BAD THEATRE.
IF THEY ASKED ME, I COULD WRITE A BOOK, BUT I’LL SPARE YOU THAT. SO, JUST INDULGE ME FOR A BIT, AND I’LL COVER THE HIGHLIGHTS. HERE GOES…
ON PAST VACATIONS LONDON HAS BEEN A WAY-STATION WHERE WE VISIT WITH ALBYN, HER FRIENDS AND MY SISTER ANNIE, HER HUSBAND STEVE AND MY NIECE MADELEINE, EN ROUTE TO THE CONTINENT. BUT THIS TIME WE BOOKENDED OUR SCOTLAND JAUNT WITH A TOTAL OF NEARLY TWO WEEKS IN THIS VAST AND WONDERFUL CITY.
FOR THE THIRD TIME, WE BOOKED OUR FAVORITE ROOM 12 AT THE ZETTER MARLEYBONE, WHERE WE ARE WELCOMED LIKE FAMILY. ANNIE, WHO STAYED A FEW DAYS HERE HERSELF, DISPARAGED THE HOTEL AS BEING “A BIT ‘FAULTY TOWERS'”, WHICH IS WHY WE LOVE IT. YES, YOUR POACHED EGG MAY NOT ARRIVE ALONG WITH YOUR STREAKY BACON. THE CHAIRS ARE TOO LOW OR TOO HIGH FOR THE TABLES. BUT HOW MANY BOUTIQUE HOTELS HAVE BEEN CURATED WITH SO MUCH ECCENTRIC CARE? BAD 18TH CENTURY PORTRAITS, TEA CUPS AND BRIC-A-BRAC FESTOON THE BAR AND DINING ROOM. THE LIFT IS WALL-PAPERED WITH ADS FROM PUNCH. THERE’S A NON-WORKING GRAMOPHONE IN OUR ROOM AND YOU MUST REMIND HOUSEKEEPING THAT YOU’D LIKE YOUR ROOM MADE UP. STILL, THE ZETTER IS A STONE’S THROW FROM MARBLE ARCH AND SERVES ONE OF THE BEST CREAM TEAS IN LONDON.
WITH TIME TO SPARE, WE COULD DECOMPRESS AND ENJOY THE CITY AT LEISURE. WHEN WE VISIT THE NATIONAL GALLERY, WE HEAD FOR THE SAINTSBURY WING TO SEE THE CRANACHS, THE CARAVAGGIOS, THE REMBRANDTS AND THE HOLBEINS. WE’D NEVER SEEN THE IMPRESSIONIST COLLECTION WHICH, SURPRISE, SURPRISE, INCLUDES STUNNING DEGAS, MANETS, MONETS, VAN GOGHS, CÉZANNES, AND ROUSSEAUS. EVER HEARD OF WRIGHT OF DERBY? NO? NEITHER HAD WE. CLEARLY INFLUENCED BY CARAVAGGIO, WRIGHT PAINTED DOMESTIC/SCIENTIFIC SCENES WITH A SINGLE LIGHT SOURCE. UNQUESTIONABLY SKILLFUL, THESE PICTURES ARE BOTH IMPRESSIVE AND MUNDANE, AS IF CARAVAGGIO HAD CHOSEN TO PAINT SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENTS OR BOYS FIGHTING RATHER THAN THE LIVES OF THE SAINTS. THERE WAS A SPECIAL EXHIBITION OF ZUBURAN, VÉLAZQUEZ’S CONTEMPORARY, BUT HARDLY HIS EQUAL. HE WAS INTENSELY DEVOUT WITH A PARADE OF CRUCIFIXIONS, DEPOSITIONS AND RESURRECTIONS. BUT TO ME, THE PAINTINGS ARE WITHOUT IRONY OR REAL DRAMA. CALL ME A PHILLISTINE. BUT I WILL ALWAYS PREFER ZUBURAN’S INCANDESCENT STILL LIFES.
THE HAYWARD IN SOUTH BANK CONSISTENTLY MOUNTS SOME OF THE MOST PLEASING AND PROVOCATIVE SHOWS IN THIS ART-FILLED CITY. YIN XIUZHEN IS A CHINESE ARTIST WHO LOVES TO SEW. SNAKING AROUND A FAKE AIRPORT BAGGAGE CONVEYOR BELT ARE OPEN SUITCASES, EACH PACKED WITH STUFFED SKYSCRAPERS, PAGODAS, THE EIFFEL TOWER, THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING– FAMOUS LANDMARKS WHICH IDENTIFY THE GREAT CITIES OF THE WORLD. A GIANT STUFFED JETLINER HANGS FROM THE CEILING. CHIHARU SHIOTA, EQUALLY OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE, SPINS WEBLIKE ENVIRONMENTS OUT OF TWINE. A HOSPITAL WARD, BEDS LINED UPON IN NEAT ROWS, SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN INFESTED WITH SPIDERS WEAVING A THREE-DIMENSIONAL MESH OF BLACK FILAMENT. BOTH EXHIBITIONS WERE LABOR-INTENSIVE, TO SAY THE LEAST. YIN XIUZHEN’S MADE ME SMILE. CHIHARU SHIOTA’S ARE ALTERNATIVELY WOMBLIKE OR CREEPY. I KEPT THINKING, HOW LONG DID IT TAKE AND HOW MANY STRINGERS TO STRING THE STRING?
THE COLLECTIONS IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM, LIKE THE VICTORIA ALBERT, THE LOUVRE AND THE PERGAMON IN BERLIN, ARE THE LOOT OF EMPIRES. WE HAD GONE TO SEE A SAMURAI SHOW, BUT WE COULDN’T GET IN TILL FOUR, SO WE KILLED AN HOUR WITH THE ELGIN MARBLES. LORD ELGIN STOLE THEM FROM THE ACROPOLIS. THE TURKS HAD USED THE PARTHENON AS AN AMMUNITION DUMP, WHICH BLEW UP ALONG WITH ENOUGH OF THE GLORIES THAT WERE GREECE TO JUSTIFY THE THEFT. WHEN YOU SEE THESE SCULPTURES AND BAS-RELIEFS, YOU CAN’T HELP BUT MARVEL HOW THEIR ARTISTRY– PERFECTLY-PROPORTIONED FIGURES, SENSUALLY CLINGING DRAPERY, REARING HORSES (AND CENTAURS) WAS LOST THROUGHOUT THE DARK AGES, ONLY TO BE REDISCOVERED IN THE RENAISSANCE.
AFTER THE ELGIN MARBLES, THE SAMURAI SHOW WAS A BIT DISAPPOINTING. THOSE FANTASTICAL HELMETS, ADORNED WITH BAT WINGS, SCIMITARS, PREYING MANTISES, AND RAPTORS; THE GLEAMING MENACE OF THE KATANAS; THE MASTERFUL PRINTS BY HOKUSAI ARE ALWAYS BREATHTAKING. BUT THE LOW LIGHT TO PROTECT THE PAINTED SCREENS, DEPICTING ROYAL AND DOMESTIC SCENES MADE THEM HARD TO SEE AND I DIDN’T THINK THEY’D LIKE IT IF I USED MY iPHONE FLASHLIGHT.
PHIDIAS, POLYKLEITOS AND PRAXITELES MIGHT HAVE BLUSHED AT THE LUCIEN FREUD EXHIBITION AT THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY. ALONG WITH FRANCIS BACON, FREUD, WHO DIED AT 88 IN 2011, RE-DEFINED PORTRAITURE. AND WHEREAS BACON’S PORTRAITS ARE DISTORTED AND PSYCHOLOGICALLY UNNERVING, FREUD’S ARE HIGHLY RECOGNIZABLE PICTURES OF HIS FRIENDS AND FAMILY AS WELL AS IN-YOUR-FACE NUDES, BOTH MALE AND FEMALE; SOME OBESE, SOME ALARMINGLY EXHIBITIONISTIC. IT WAS A GOOD WAY TO WORK UP AN APPETITE FOR AN EXCELLENT LUNCH WITH CONSTANCE AND SAM AT PORTRAIT.
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THEATRE IS ANOTHER GOOD REASON TO COME TO LONDON. WITH BROADWAY TICKET PRICES IN THE STRATOSPHERE, I’VE DESPAIRED AT SPENDING $400 FOR A SEAT AT ANYTHING WHICH ISN’T ABOUT TO CLOSE. THE BRITISH SUBSIDIZE THE ARTS, SO EVEN FOR A HIT LIKE LES LIASONS DANGEREUSES AT THE NATIONAL STARRING THE INCOMPARABLE LESLIE MANVILLE, THE BEST SEAT IN THE HOUSE IS AROUND $175. BUT AFTER SITTING THROUGH THE FIRST ACT OF THIS OVERBLOWN PRODUCTION, I MIGHT HAVE DEMURRED. DAVID HARE’S GRACE PERVADES, ABOUT HENRY IRVING AND ELLEN TERRY, TWO OF THE GREAT VICTORIAN ACTORS, WAS WONDERFULLY ACTED BY RALPH FIENNES AND MIRANDA RAISON AND INTELLIGENTLY DIRECTED BY JEREMY HERRIN. BUT HARE IS AN ISSUE PLAYWRIGHT AND THIS PLAY IS ABOUT RELATIONSHIPS. TERRY’S CHILDREN, EDITH AND DAVID GORDON CRAIG, REBELLED AGAINST THEIR MOTHER AND THE MANNERED, STILTED THEATRE IN WHICH SHE THRIVED. WHY WAS THERE NEVER A CONFRONTATION BETWEEN PARENT AND CHILD? INSTEAD, EDITH AND CRAIG ADDRESS THE AUDIENCE. VERY CIVILIZED. IT LEFT ME COLD. I CAN’T SAY THE SAME OF DIRECTOR CLINT DYER’S REVIVAL OF ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST, WHICH WE SAW WHEN WE CAME BACK TO LONDON. ALL THE SEATS HAD BEEN RIPPED OUT TO CREATE A THEATRE IN THE ROUND. EXCEPT FOR NURSE RATCHED AND THE PSYCHIATRIST, THE CAST ARE ALL AFRICAN-AMERICANS, WHCH IS APPROPRIATE, SINCE AROUND 80% OF THE PATIENTS IN PUBLIC MENTAL INSTITUTIONS ARE BLACK. PERHAPS IT’S UNFAIR TO COMPARE AARON PIERRE’S McMURPHY TO JACK NICHOLSON’S, BUT WHERE NICHOLSON WAS CHARMING AND MISCHIEVOUS, PIERRE IS BUFF, MACHO AND DOMINEERING. WE LEFT AFTER THE FIRST ACT.
THE ONE BRIGHT SPOT IN THIS BLEAK THEATRICAL LANDSCAPE WAS THE REVIVAL OF THE HOLY ROSENBERGS BY RYAN CRAIG AT THE MENIER CHOCOLATE FACTORY. THIS TOO IS AN ISSUE PLAY– ISRAEL’S INVASION OF GAZA. IT WAS FIRST MOUNTED AT THE NATIONAL IN 2011. A JEWISH FAMILY IN NORTH LONDON HAS LOST THEIR SON DAN WHO’S JOINED THE IDF AND BEEN KILLED IN ACTION. THE ROSENBERG’S RABBI URGES DAN’S FATHER TO DISCOURAGE HIS DAUGHTER RUTH FROM DELIVERING THE EULOGY AT HER BROTHER’S MEMORIAL BECAUSE SHE IS A HUMAN RIGHTS LAWYER WHO’S BEEN INVESTIGATING ISRAELI WAR CRIMES. EVERY CHARACTER IN CRAIG’S PLAY IS PERSONALLY INVESTED IN THE ISSUE. LINDSAY POSNER DIRECTS AN IMPECCABLE CAST IN THIS POWERFUL AND MOVING PRODUCTION
BUT YOU’RE PROBABLY TAPPING YOUR FOOT WITH CROSSED ARMS, THINKING “YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, BUT WHERE DID YOU EAT?!
GREAT BRITAIN HAS LONG AGO SHED ITS IMAGE AS THE COUNTRY WHERE FOOD CAME TO DIE. LONDON’S DINING SCENE IS AS VIBRANT AND VARIED AS NEW YORK OR LOS ANGELES. ALTHOUGH ONLY THE BRITISH COULD HAVE COME UP WITH A WORD AS UNAPPETIZING AS GASTROPUB. PUBS LIKE THE BULL AND LAST AND PARAKEET IN KENTISH TOWN ARE SERVING SKATE AND SQUAB AND ISLE FLOTTANTE, NOT TOAD-IN-THE-HOLE, SPOTTED DICK OR PICKLED EGGS. AND LIKE NEW YORK OR LOS ANGELES, THERE IS A PLETHORA OF INTERNATIONAL CUISINES TO CHOOSE FROM. THERE’VE ALWAYS BEEN PLENTY OF INDIAN, ITALIAN AND FRENCH PLACES, BUT SPAIN, PORTUGAL, VIETNAM, UKRAINE, AND BRAZIL HAVE BEEN ADDED TO THE MENU.
WEARY BUT RAVENOUS FROM A TEN-HOUR, WE RETURNED TO LURRA, A BASQUE GRILL ON SEYMOUR PLACE, A TEN-MINUTE WALK FROM THE ZETTER. LURRA IS PACKED AT NIGHT, THE NOISE LEVEL, PUNISHING. LUNCH IS MORE TRANQUIL. LYNN, WHO NEVER MET A JAMON IBERICO SHE DIDN’T LIKE, ORDERED A PLATTER OF THIS MAHOGANY-HUED, HAND-SLICED DELICACY. I RESISTED THE IRRESISTIBLE GRILLED OCTOPUS IN FAVOR OF MARROW BONES, GRILLED ARTICHOKES AND GRILLED PEPPERS. I WISH WE’D HAD ROOM FOR THEIR WHOLE, GRILLED TURBOT. WE SOOTHED OURSELVES WITH A SLICE OF BASQUE CHEESECAKE.
ALBYN WAS MOST EAGER FOR US TO MEET HER NEW BEST FRIEND LUKE, SO WE TOOK THEM TO DINNER AT JOSEPHINE IN MARLEYBONE (THERE’S ANOTHER JOSEPHINE IN CHELSEA). THIS IS A VERY PRETTY BISTRO; MIRRORED WALLS HUNG WITH FRENCHIE PHOTOS, DRAWINGS, FIN-DE-SIÈCLE POSTERS, AND ADS TO CONVINCE YOU YOU’RE IN PARIS. IT REMINDED ME OF BENOÎT, BOTH THE AMBIENCE AND THE FOOD, WHICH WAS EQUALLY GOOD. MY FISH SOUP WAS WAS AS INTENSE AND FLAVORFUL AS DARK CHOCOLATE; A WHOLE LAPIN À LA MOUTARDE, WHICH I SHARED WITH LYNN, MOIST AND TENDER. ALBYN AND LUKE SEEMED EQUALLY PLEASED WITH A COUNTRY PATÉ AND BLANQUETTE DE VEAU. PERFECT FLOATING ISLAND AND A FLINTY RIESLING FROM THE MOSEL.
SPRING, WHERE WE MET OUR FRIENDS JEMMA AND MARCEL (SHE’S A PLAYWRIGHT; HE’S AN ARCHITECT), IS SITUATED IN THE ROTHSCHILD WING OF SOMERSET HOUSE, WHICH ALSO HOUSES THE COURTAULD GALLERY. THIS WAS CONVENIENT SINCE THERE WAS A SEURAT SHOW WE WANTED TO SEE, IN ADDITION TO THE COURTAULD’S IMPECCABLE IMPRESSIONIST COLLECTION.
WITH ITS PALE GREY WALLS, HIGH CEILINGS AND IONIC COLUMNS; ARCHED WINDOWS AND BUBBLE CHANDELIERS, SPRING IS CERTAINLY A MOST DAZZLING SPACE. SKYE GYNGELL‘S SEASONAL, INGREDIENT-DRIVEN MENU MANAGES TO BE AS SURPRISING AS IT IS COMFORTING. CORNISH CRAB BRUSCHETTA CAME STUDDED WITH BLACK OLIVES, PARSLEY AND FENNEL. MY MUSSELS SWAM IN SAFRON-SCENTED NAGE DOTTED WITH CHIVE OIL. JEMMA AND MARCEL OPTED FOR THE “SCRATCH” MENU– A PRIX FIXE MADE FROM YESTERDAY’S LEFTOVER INGREDIENTS. NOBLE AND DELICIOUS.
WHAT DO YOU CALL THE RESTAURANT ATOP THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY? THOUGH NOT AS GORGEOUS AS SPRING, PORTRAIT COMMANDS A PANORAMIC VIEW OF LONDON, WHICH CONSTANCE AND SAM GENEROUSLY INSISTED WE FACE. RICHARD CORRIGAN‘S FOOD WAS WELL-EXECUTED BUT NOT PARTICULARLY MEMORABLE, WHICH IS PROBABLY WHY THE ONLY DISH I CAN REMEMBER WAS OUR STEAMED DOVER SOLE WITH LEMON BUERRE BLANC.
OUR LAST DINNER BEFORE HEADING NORTH TO EDINBURGH WAS A FAMILY AFFAIR AT ONE OF THE HOTTEST SPOTS IN LONDON. THE FAT BADGER IN NOTTING HILL OCCUPIES THE TOP FLOOR, ABOVE THE CANTEEN, ABOVE THE SECOND STORY BAR. THE DINING ROOM IS RIGHT OUT OF DICKENS. AN ATTRACTIVE YOUNG CREW FITTED WITH HEADSETS GUIDES YOU TO YOUR TABLE, IN OUR CASE, A TABLE FOR SEVEN IN A SEMI-PRIVATE ROOM, OPEN TO THE MAIN DINING ROOM. WITH THE EXCEPTION OF A SWEETBREAD TACO, THE PRIX-FIXE MENU CONSISTS OF STANDARD DISHES, MADE FROM LOCALLY-SOURCED PRODUCE, FISH, POULTRY AND MEAT, PREPARED WITH EXCEPTIONAL PRECISION. A BASKET OF CRISP-CRUSTED SODA BREAD AND CULTURED BUTTER WAS A BELLWETHER FOR A PLATTER OF ROASTED TURBOT, SCALLOPS, CLAMS, AND PRAWNS. MAGRET WAS PINK AND TENDER. HASSELBACK POTATOES, FLAVORFUL GREENS, A SALAD… TOO MUCH OF MANY GOOD THINGS TO EAT IT ALL. IT WAS THE PERFECT SENDOFF.
WE CAME HOME, PACKED OUR BAGS, SET OUR CLOCKS FOR THE CRACK OF DAWN, WHEN WE HEADED FOR KING’S CROSS STATION. THERE, WE RENDEZVOUSED WITH ALBYN AND BOARDED THE TRAIN BOUND FOR EDINBURGH.
SCOTLAND
EDINGBURGH AND GLASGOW
SEPARATED BY A MERE FORTY-MINUTE TRAIN RIDE, EDINBURGH AND GLASGOW ARE VERY DIFFERENT CITIES. EDINBURGH IS A CITY OF HILLS, OF PALE STONE BUILDINGS, THE SEAT OF GOVERNMENT, A FINANCIAL CENTER SECOND ONLY TO LONDON’S, THE ANNUAL VENUE FOR THE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND AND A WORLD-RENOWNED THEATRE FESTIVAL. EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY WAS FOUNDED IN 1582 AND HAS BEEN HIGHLY REGARDED AS A CENTER FOR LEARNING EVER SINCE. GLASGOW IS MORE POPULOUS WITH AROUND 632,000 PEOPLE, 100,000 MORE THAN EDINBURGH. IT FEELS ROUGHER, TOO. MORE NEW YORK THAN BOSTON. REDSTONE BUILDINGS RATHER THAN SANDSTONE. EACH CITY HAS A FIRST CLASS ART MUSEUM, LIVELY RESTAURANT AND MUSIC SCENES AND RESIDENTS WHO ARE NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE TO UNDERSTAND.
IF WE HADN’T BUMPED INTO BRAD SHELTON AT THE INTERVAL FOR LES LIASONS DANGEREUSES, THE JOHNNIE WALKER EXPERIENCE IS THE LAST PLACE I WOULD HAVE FOUND MYSELF IN EDINBURGH. BRAD’S COMPANY TRAVELS THE GLOBE, DESIGNING PROJECTS SUCH AS AN AMUSEMENT PARK IN DUBAI OR A SHOPPING CENTER IN KUALA LUMPAR. THE JOHNNIE WALKER EXPERIENCE COMMANDEERED A DESERTED DEPARTMENT STORE AND CONVERTED IT TO A MULTI-FLOOR TOUR, WHICH BEGINS WITH YOUR FLAVOR PROFILE AND CULMINATES IN A TASTING OF JOHNNIE WALKER WHISKIES. IN BETWEEN, A SPIRITED GUIDE (ORIGINALLY FROM SAN DIEGO) LEADS YOU FROM FLOOR TO FLOOR AND ROOM TO ROOM WHERE YOU LEARN THE HISTORY OF THE JOHNNIE WALKER CLAN, HOW THEY MAKE AND BLEND THEIR WHISKIES, WHAT DETERMINES FLAVOR AND, FINALLY, A CHANCE TO SAMPLE TWO DRAMS OF VARIOUS BLENDS FROM NEARLY A HUNDRED BOTTLES. I TASTED ONE WHICH WAS 147 PROOF! THE DAZZLING L.E.D. DISPLAYS WHICH FLICKER ACROSS WALLS AND TABLES WERE SPECTACULAR; OUR GUIDE, IRONIC BUT INFORMATIVE. AS THE MICHELIN SAYS, “WORTH A SIDE TRIP.
OUR HOTEL, THE OLD TOWN CHAMBERS IS LOCATED ON THE ROYAL MILE, WHICH RUNS THROUGH THE ORIGINAL WALLED TOWN. CENTRALLY SITUATED, DIRECTLY ACROSS FROM ST. GILES CATHEDRAL; CALLED A “CATHEDRAL” BECAUSE IN 1124 THERE WERE NO PROTESTANTS, MUCH LESS PRESBYTERIANS, ANYWHERE, JUST CATHOLICS. DAMAGED BY FIRE, REBUILT AND FINALLY COMPLETED IN THE 15TH CENTURY, ST. GILES WAS RE-CONSECRATED FOR THE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND— PRESBYTERIANS. WE WANDERED ITS SOARING, VAULTED GOTHIC INTERIOR, SERENADED BY A STRING OCTET PLAYING VIVALDI.
ACCORDING TO ITS WEBSITE, THE SCOTTISH NATIONAL GALLERY HOUSES 104,742 ARTWORKS, INCLUDING PAINTINGS, DRAWINGS, SCULPTURE, AND PHOTOGRAPHS. WE ONLY MADE IT THROUGH ONE FLOOR, DISPLAYING 16TH-19TH CENTURY ART. WHERE THERE WERE A LOT OF UNINSPIRING PICTURES. IF WE’D BEEN MORE CIRCUMSPECT, WE WOULDN’T HAVE SKIPPED THE IMPRESSIONISTS. STILL, IT WAS WORTH GOING IF ONLY FOR THE REMBRANDTS, A LATE SELF-PORTRAIT AND A NAKED LADY PEERING FROM HER BED, ENTITLED SARAH AWAITING TOBIAS, WHICH WAS PROBABLY REMBRANDT’S HOUSEKEEPER AWAITING REMBRANDT. AND LET’S NOT FORGET THE RAPHAEL MADONNA AND CHILD, THE SARGENT, THE BOTTICELLI, OR MY FAVORITE GREUZE, GIRL WITH A DEAD CANARY.
AS A FAIR DIVISION OF LABOR, I’D LEFT MOST OF THE RESTAURANT CHOICES UP TO BILL, ALBYN AND BILL’S BROTHER PAUL. I HANDLED THE CITIES. TOM AND MICHAELA KITCHIN’S KITCHIN IN LEITH HAS A MICHELIN STAR, BUT THEIR TWO BIB GOURMANDS ARE IN EDINBURGH. I BOOKED BOTH.
SCRAN AND SCALLIE (SCRAN IS LIKE GRUB; SCALLIE, A RASCAL) IS A GASTROPUB WHICH FEELS LIKE A NEIGHBORHOOD JOINT. RELAXED, FRIENDLY, WITH INTERESTING TURNS ON FAMILIAR SCOTTISH DISHES. A PÁTÉ EN CROUTE HAD A VEIN OF CRANBERRIES ON A PLATE SURROUNDED BY GREEN APPLE CUBES AND STRAW MUSHROOMS. A BED OF FREGOLA SARDA AND PESTO SERVED AS A PILLOW FOR ROASTED COD.
TIPO, AN AIRY, SECOND-FLOOR TRATTORIA WITH A MODERNIST DECOR, SERVES EXCELLENT NORTHERN ITALIAN DISHES WITH SOME SCOTTISH TWISTS. MY SWORDFISH CARPACCIO WAS DOTTED WITH CHERRY TOMATOES, THIN RIBBONS OF SHAVED FENNEL AND OPAL BASIL. LYNN FOUND HER CACIO E PEPE A LITTLE TOO PEPE, I THOUGHT IT WAS PERFECT, BUT STUCK HAPPILY TO MY RISOTTO MILANESE WITH BEEF CHEEKS.
“IF MUSIC BE THE FOOD OF LOVE, PLAY ON,” THAT PRE-EMINENT SCOTTISH PLAYWRIGHT AND POET ONCE WROTE. WITH THAT IN MIND, WE WENT LOOKING FOR “SESSIONS”, SCOTCH/GAELIC FOR JAM SESSIONS. MUSICIANS OF EVERY STRIPE COME TO PUBS AND PLAY, NOT FOR MONEY BUT BECAUSE THEY WISH TO BE HEARD. WE WANDERED INTO THE GEORGE IV, WHERE THREE OF OUR CONTEMPORARIES WERE PLAYING ’80S COVER SONGS WHILE AN ENTHUSIASTIC CROWD TURNED THE SESSION INTO A SINGALONG. THE NEXT NIGHT, ALBYN LED US BACK TO THE ROYAL OAK, A PUB AS COZY AS YOUR LIVING ROOM, TO LISTEN TO ALISDAIR DOW, A DREAMY SINGER WITH AN ACOUSTIC GUITAR, A LOVELY VOICE AND HAIRY ARMS, PLAYING HIS OWN FOLK-ROCK COMPOSITIONS, WHICH WHICH WEREN’T QUITE JAMES TAYLOR, BUT CLOSE ENOUGH.
FOR OUR LAST MEAL IN EDINBURGH, I’D BOOKED A TABLE AT BADGER&CO. (WHAT IS IT WITH BRITS AND BADGERS, YOU MAY BE WONDERING). THIS PARTICULAR BADGER WAS CREATED BY KENNETH GRAHAM FOR THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS, ALONG WITH HIS FRIENDS MOLE, RAT AND MISTER TOAD, WHICH ARE EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK IN THIS OTHERWISE UPSCALE, ELEGANT RESTAURANT WITH GOOD FOOD AND GRACIOUS SERVICE. MY DIVER SCALLOP WAS THE BEST I’D HAD. LYNN’S VENISON CARPACCIO, ITS SANGUINARY RED DRAPED ACROSS THE PLATE, WAS SCATTERED WITH CURRANTS, FLAKES OF PARMESAN, CRÊME FRAÎCHE AND GRAINY MUSTARD. ALBYN’S CHICKEN BREAST WAS ENORMOUS BUT DRY, WHICH COMPELLED HER TO DOWN GLASS AFTER GLASS OF AN EXCELLENT RIOJA.
EXPLORING EUROPE OR GREAT BRITAIN WHERE DISTANCES ARE RELATIVELY SHORT, TRAVELING BY TRAIN IS THE WAY TO GO. OUR FRIEND BETTE FINALLY TAUGHT LYNN TO TRAVEL LIGHT. ONE CARRY-ON BAG. PICK A COUPLE OF COLORS. NO MORE THAN THREE PAIRS OF SHOES. DOWNSIZE POTIONS, PILLS AND LOTIONS.
GLASGOW AND EDINBURGH ARE HISTORICAL RIVALS, COMPETING LESS FOR POWER THAN INTELLECTUALLY AND ARTISTICALLY. EDINBURGH BOASTS JOHN KNOX, DAVED HUME, HENRY RAEBURN, AND ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON; GLASGOW, FRANCIS HUTCHESON, ADAM SMITH, JAMES WATT, AND THE GLASGOW BOYS. BOTH WERE, ARE, NOTABLE CENTERS OF LEARNING. BUT IN MY BOOK, GLASGOW WINS WITH THE ARCHITECT/DESIGNER TEAM OF CHARLIES RENNIE MACKINTOSH AND HIS WIFE AND PARTNER, MARGARET MACDONALD MACKINTOSH.
WHEN TRAVELING TO FOREIGN CITIES, WE MAKE A SPECIAL EFFORT TO MIX WITH THE NATIVES AND FORTUNATELY FOR US, ALBYN KNOWS FRIENDLY NATIVES IN EVERY PORT. IN FACT, ALBYN HAS MORE FRIENDS THAN I’LL EVER HAVE IN A LIFETIME, ALIVE AND DEAD. WHEN WE CELEBRATED HER 50TH, I COOKED FOR FIFTY OF THEM FOR THREE DAYS IN KENT. AMONG THEM WAS THERÈSE, A NATIVE GLASWEGIAN. SHE IS AN ACTRESS; HER HUSBAND PAUL DOES SOMETHING IN TECH AND SWIMS. WE HAD LOTS OF LAUGHS AND EVEN MORE FOOD WHEN WE MET THEM AT THE OX&FINCH. A HANDSOME GASTROPUB WITH HIGH CEILINGS, COMFORTABLE BOOTHS AND A NICE WINE LIST. LIKE SO MANY RESTAURANTS THESE DAYS, WHERE THE MENUS ARE INGREDIENT-DRIVEN AND SEASONAL WITH INFLUENCES FROM THE MIDDLE EAST AND FAR EAST. WORDS LIKE ZHOUG, DUKKAH, FURIKAKE, MORCILLA, DATTERINI, AND KATSUOBUSHI APPEAR AS MODIFIERS TO SKATE WING, PORK LOIN, HADDOCK, AND CONFIT OF LAMB SHOULDER. LYNN ASKED IF THE KITCHEN COULD JUST MAKE SKATE WITH A BUERRE NOIR, WHICH WON THE DISH-OF-THE-NIGHT AWARD. WHEN ALBYN’S PORK LOIN FAILED TO ARRIVE WITH THE OTHER ENTREES, THE WAITER, EMBARRASSED, SENT HER THE LAMB, WHICH WAS MOIST, DELICIOUS. AND SCENTED WITH CUMIN. THEN, THE PORK TURNED UP AND WE ATE THAT, TOO.
MARGARET AND RENNIE MACKINTOSH’S MARRIAGE WAS BLESSED WITH A SHARED ARTISTIC SENSIBILITY. THEIR DESIGNS BRIDGED TWO CENTURIES, EMBRACING THE SENSUAL CURVES OF ART NOUVEAU WHILE REBELLING AGAINST THE VICTORIAN EXCESSES OF THE GUILDED AGE. WHEN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW RECLAIMED THE LAND WHERE THEY’D BUILT THEIR HOUSE, IT WAS METICULOUSLY DISMANTLED AND RE-ASSEMBLED IN A HOUSE ADJACENT TO THE ART MUSEM, BUILT EXPRESSLY FOR THAT PURPOSE. EVERY ROOM, EVERY CHAIR, WINDOW, BED FRAME, ARMOIRE, AND LAMP ARE MACKINTOSH. THE ROOMS AND FURNITURE ARE ALL PAINTED A WARM WHITE. I COULD HAPPILY LIVE IN A MACKINTOSH HOUSE.
BEN NEVIS IS THE HIGHEST PEAK IN GREAT BRITAIN AND A RATHER CLASSY PUB IN GLASGOW WHERE WE WENT IN LIEU OF DINNER IN SEARCH OF A SESSION. WE LUCKED OUT WITH A FABULOUS QUINTET (TWO FIDDLES, KEYBOARD, GUITAR, AND SCOTTISH BAGPIPE [ONE PIPE]) PLAYING TRADITIONAL SCOTTISH REELS, JIGS AND WALTZES. ALL YOUNG MUSICIANS AND ALL GREAT. ALBYN NEVER SAT DOWN. I WATCHED HER STAMPING HER FOOT IN TIME TO THE MUSIC FOR AN HOUR, WHILE I NURSED A LAGER AND SCARFED DOWN FOUR PACKETS OF CRISPS.
NOT TO BE OUTSHONE BY THE SCOTTISH NATIONAL GALLERY IN EDINBURGH, GLASGOW’S KELVINGROVE GALLERY AND MUSEUM OPENED ITS DOOR IN 1902. IT TOO IS LOCATED ON THE UNIVERSITY’S CAMPUS. ARCHITECTS JOHN W. SIMPSON AND E.J. MILNER ALLEN’S RED SANDSTONE EDIFICE, WITH ITS ORNATE TOWERS AND BAROQUE FACADE, STANDS IN OSTENTATIOUS CONTRAST TO THE MORE AUSTERE STYLE OF THE PERIOD. THE ENTRY HALL IS SPECTACULAR; MORE CATHEDRAL THAN MUSEUM. THE COLLECTION IS ECLECTIC AND DIVERSE. ALONG WITH THE SCOTTISH IMPRESSIONISTS JAMES GUTHRIE, JOHN LAVERY, E.A. HORNEL, JAMES PATERSON AND THE OTHER GLASGOW BOYS, THERE ARE VINTAGE CARS, MACKINTOSH FURNITURE, FRENCH IMPRESSIONISTS AND A SPECTACULAR CRUCIFIXION BY SALVADOR DALI, A BIRD’S EYE VIEW OF THE CRUCIFIED CHRIST. APPARENTLY, DALI HIRED A HOLLYWOOD STUNTMAN TO HANG FROM THE CEILING OF HIS STUDIO TO GET THE CORRECT PERSPECTIVE.
MARGO IS TOO GRAND TO BE CALLED A GASTROPUB. IT MANAGES TO BE BOTH SPACIOUS AND HOMEY. EVEN WITH DISHES RANGING FROM WHITE CRAB VOL-AU-VENT AND BRETON MUSSELS WITH BRETON CIDER TO SKATE WING WITH ‘NDUJA BEURRE BLANC AND PORK BELLY WITH CARAMELIZED FENNEL, MORCILLA AND BLACK GARLIC KETSUP, THE COOKING IS MORE GROUNDED THAN IT MIGHT APPEAR. A BOTTLE OF RED FROM THEIR EXTENSIVE, INTERNATIONAL WINE LIST HELPED US OVER THE BUMPS.
WEDNESDAY MORNING WE ATE A LAST BREAKFAST AT SARDI AND UBERED TO THE AIRPORT TO PICK UP OUR RENTAL. BYE, BYE RIVER CLYDE. HELLO, SKYE.
OVER THE SEA TO SKYE
HILL HOUSE, A MACKINTOSH GEM COMMISSIONED BY WALTER BLACKIE, THE PUBLISHING MAGNATE, IS COMPLETED ENVELOPED BY SCAFFOLDING AND MESH, BECAUSE IT IN THE MIDST OF MAJOR RESTORATION. STILL, IT WAS OPEN FOR BUSINESS. THAT’S WHERE WE WERE WHEN ALBYN DISCOVERED TO HER HORROR THAT HER BACKPACK CONTAINING HER LAPTOP WAS NOT IN THE CAR. FORTUNATELY, THE GLASGOW AIRPORT WAS ONLY THIRTY MINUTES AWAY, WHICH IS WHERE WE FOUND IT, UNDISTURBED, IN THE CAR RENTAL OFFICE. BUT IT COST US AN HOUR AND WE WERE DUE AT THE INVERLOCHY CASTLE HOTEL FOR A MULTI-COURSE TASTING MENU AT 7PM SHARP. WE WERE DRIVING NORTH INTO THE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS, PASSING THROUGH A BLEAK AND DRAMATIC LANDSCAPE, WHICH LOOKS LIKE A SOME DISTANT PLANET. THE GLACIERS OF THE LAST ICE AGE GROUND DOWN THE PEAKS AND SCRAPED THE TOPSOIL FROM THE LAND. THE TWO-LANE HIGHWAY CUTS RIGHT THROUGH THESE MOUNTAINS SO EVEN THOUGH BEN NEVIS, THE HIGHEST PEAK IN BRITAIN IS ONLY 4,313 FT (2,00 FT SHORTER THAN MT. WASHINGTON) THESE JAGGED BASALT PYRAMIDS, DEVOID OF VEGETATION, SHEEP OR PEOPLE, LOUER OVER OUR NISSAN SUV LIKE SLEEPING GIANTS– SCARY AND MAGNIFICENT. WE PULL UP TO THE INVERLOCHY CASTLE HOTEL AT 6:30 COMPLETELY EXHAUSTED, IN NEED OF A NAP AND A SHOWER. I SAY AS MUCH TO MANAGER WHEN WE CHECK IN AND ASK HIM, PLEASE, COULD WE COME TO DINNER AT EIGHT. “I’M SORRY, SIR, BUT DINNER IS SERVED FOR ALL OUR GUESTS AT SEVEN. YOU MAY COME LATER, IF YOU CHOOSE BUT YOU MAY MISS SOME OF THE COURSES.” SUCH A CONDITION IS UNHEARD OF IN A MICHELIN QUALITY RESTAURANT CHARGING $145/PERSON PLUS WINE. BUT THE INVERLOCHY IS, IN FACT, NOT A MICHELIN STARRED RESTAURANT, EXCEPT IN ITS HISTORICAL CONNECTION TO THE MICHELIN-STARRED CHEF ALBERT ROUX OF GAVROCHE FAME, WHO’S BEEN DEAD SINCE 2021. THE INVERLOCHY’S RESTAURANT IS NOT EVEN MENTIONED IN THE GUIDE AND FOR GOOD REASON. WE BARELY HAVE TIME TO DUMP OUR BAGS AT THE INVERLOCHY LODGE, DOWN THE ROAD FROM THE CASTLE, AND RACE BACK FOR THE COCKTAIL HOUR. I TASTE TROUBLE ON THE HORIZON WITH MY FIRST BITE OF HORS D’OEVRE, A FISHY-TASTING PATÉ ON A TOAST ROUND, WASHED DOWN WITH A FLUTE ON NON-VINTAGE TATTINGER. AT SEVEN PRECISELY WE ARE HERDED EN MASSE INTO ONE OF SEVERAL DINING ROOMS WHERE OUR TABLE FOR THREE COULD SEAT TEN. I WAS PRESENTED WITH A WINE LIST SO SHORT WE COULD HAVE BEEN AT A HOLIDAY INN. WHEN I ASKED WHY, I WAS TOLD THAT THE INVERLOCHY NO LONGER KEEPS A LOT OF WINE BECAUSE THE DEMAND IS SO LOW. WHAT?! I COULDN’T BRING MYSELF TO PHOTOGRAPHS THE BRIEF PARADE OF AMUSES BOUCHES. MOVING ON, ALBERT ROUX MIGHT HAVE TOLD THE CHEF DE CUSINE THAT YOU CAN’T COOK 45 SCALLOPS AT THE SAME TIME, BECAUSE THEY COME OUT LIKE SHRIVELED HOCKEY PUCKS, COWERING IN THEIR SHELLS. THE DUCK COURSE CONSISTED OF A TOUGH MAGRET ACCOMPANIED BY A SAVORY LITTLE BLOCK OF DUCK LIVER, FORCEMEAT SANDWICHED BETWEEN LAYERS OF UN-PUFFED PASTRY. DESSERT? FUGGETABOUTIT. WE HAD COFFEE IN THE LAVISHLY OVERDECORATED LOUNGE, BEFORE RETIRING TO THE LODGE WHERE WE ARE THE ONLY GUESTS, WHERE ALBYN’S TOILET DIDN’T FLUSH AND THE HOUSE PHONE WAS DEAD.
WELL, THINGS ARE ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE THE DAWN OR MAYBE AFTER. REDEMPTION CAME AS WE CROSSED THE ARCHING BRIDGE INTO SKYE. ALBYN NOT ONLY SERVED AS OUR TOUR GUIDE, CURATING THE CHOICE OF ROUTE, SITES, HOTELS AND RESTAURANTS, BUT CHAUFFEUR. I RELAXED IN THE NAVIGATOR’S SEAT AND TOOK IN THE SIGHTS, SERENADED BY ALBYN’S PLAYLISTS, WHICH RANGED FROM SCOTTISH FOLK MUSIC TO KENNY RANKIN. BILL HAD WARNED US ABOUT THE SPRING WEATHER, RAIN AND FOG, BUT GOD GAVE US A BREAK, SPARING US EVERYTHING BUT THE EVER-CHANGING CLOUDS. THERE WAS STILL SNOW ON THE PEAKS OF THE THREE CHIMNEYS AS WE PASSED THEM ON THE WAY TO THE THREE CHIMNEYS HOTEL, WHICH OCCUPIES A CLUSTER OF 100-YEAR-OLD, WHITE-WASHED CROFTER’S COTTAGES ON THE SALT WATER LOCH DUNVEGAN. THE HOUSE OVER-BY IS WHAT THEY CALL THE SIX-ROOM HOTEL. OURS WAS A SWEDISH MODERN SUITE WITH A VIEW OF THE WATER. SINCE WE’D ARRIVED ON THE LATE SIDE, I ASKED IF WE COULD SIT DOWN AT EIGHT. NO PROBLEM. YES, THIS RESTAURANT HAS A MICHELIN STAR.
MY WIFE AND DAUGHTER SHARE A COMMON TRAIT: THEY LIKE TO MAKE FRIENDS WITH WAITERS. THIS GENEROUS AND EGALITARIAN IMPULSE IS ONE I DO NOT SHARE. I’M INTENTIONALLY HUNGRY WHEN I SIT DOWN AT A ONE-STAR RESTAURANT, SO I HONESTLY DON’T CARE WHERE THE SERVER IS FROM OR WHEN THEY MOVED TO SCOTLAND OR WHY THEY MOVED TO SCOTLAND FROM BANGLADESH OR SYRIA OR MOZAMBIQUE, LITHUANIA OR PERU. OUR ROUND-FACED, DECIDEDLY WHITE WAITER WAS CLEARLY EUROPEAN, SO WE PLAYED GUESS-THE-ACCENT FOR TEN MINUTES. “RUSSIAN? GREEK? NORWEGIAN? DUTCH? ALBANIAN?” “ORIGINALLY, I AM FROM ROMANIA.” FROM THERE, IT TOOK LITTLE ENCOURAGEMENT FOR FLOREN TO RECOUNT HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY, INCLUDING HIS BORN-AGAIN CONVERSION TO EVANGELICAL CHRISTIANITY. SIX QUESTIONS FROM ALBYN AND FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, I WAS ABLE TO PROCURE A WINE LIST. BUT THE DINNER, FLOREN NOTWITHSTANDING, WAS SUBLIME. LIKE HIS PREDECESSOR SCOTT DAVIES, CHEF PAUL GREEN, WHO TOOK OVER IN 2025, SOURCES ALL LOCAL INGREDIENTS SUCH AS OUR CRAYFISH CRUDO FROM LOCH DUNVEGAN (THREE CHIMNEYS IS ON LOCH DUNVEGAN), NORTH SEA COD, LOCAL LAMB WHICH GRAZE IN SALT-KISSED PASTURES. AND, YES, A PERFECTLY-COOKED ORKNEY SCALLOP SERVED IN ITS SHELL. RHUBARD WAS IN SEASON, SO DESSERT WAS SEVERAL ITERATIONS OF THAT SOUR-SWEET CELERY, WHICH I HAPPEN TO LOVE AND LYNN HATES. SHE WAS ASSUAGED THOUGH NOT ENTIRELY WITH CHOCOLATE TRUFFLES.
FLOREN WAS ON DUTY TO SERVE US BREAKFAST– PORRIDGE, THICK SLICES OF BACON, FRESHLY-BAKED SODA BREAD, STRONG COFFEE AND THE REMAINING CHAPTERS OF HIS LIFE.
GAZING ACROSS THE MARSHY EXPANSE OF LOCH DUNVEGAN IN 1752, NORMAN, 22ND CHIEF OF MACLEOD, CONTEMPLATES EVICTING HIS TENANT FARMERS. WHOSE MEAGER CROPS BARELY GENERATE ENOUGH INCOME TO PAY THE THE RENT ON THEIR CROFT, HIS CROFT, AFTER ALL. BETTER TO TURN THE FARMS INTO GRAZING LAND FOR SHEEP. THE MACLEODS HAVE OCCUPIED THIS PIECE OF SKYE FOR MORE THAN 800 YEARS, TRACING THEIR LINEAGE BACK TO LEOD, SON OF OLAF THE BLACK, THE NORSE-GAELIC KING OF MAN AND THE ISLES. ALTHOUGH IT HAS UNDERGONE SEVERAL RENOVATIONS OVER THE CENTURIES SUCH AS CRENELATED WALLS, A MOAT, AND DEFENSIVE TOWERS, ONE MACLEOD OR ANOTHER HAS LIVED HERE EVER SINCE. HUGH MAGNUS MCLEOD OF MCLEOD, THE 30TH CHIEF AND CURRENT OCCUPANT, WAS ON HAND TO GREET US IN PERSON, BUT HE DID STAR IN THE INFORMATIONAL VIDEO IN THE GIFT SHOP. I DON’T KNOW IF HUGH STILL EATS IN THE DINING ROOM OR ATTENDS TO HIS CORRESPONDENCE IN THE LIBRARY. THERE ARE PORTRAITS OF HIS ANCESTORS ON EVERY WALL. SOME , SUCH AS THE RED MAN WHO ALLEGEDLY MURDERED HIS WIFE AND GOT AWAY WITH IT (OH, HOW TIMES HAVE CHANGED!), IS BY ALLAN RAMSAY, A RENOWNED PORTRAITIST. ONE INTERESTING FOOTNOTE: THE DUNGEON, A WINDOWLESS STONE CELL, WHERE PRISONERS WERE STARVED TO DEATH, IS LOCATED NEAR THE KITCHEN.
ALTHOUGH PORTREE IS CONSIDERED THE CAPITAL OF SKYE, ONE COULD NEVER DESCRIBE IT AS A BUSTLING METROPOLIS. FISHING BOATS BOB IN ITS GENTLY CURVING HARBOR. THE HOUSES WHICH LINE THE QUAY ARE PAINTED CANARY YELLOW, PASTEL PINK, SKY BLUE, AND GREY. WE WERE STAYING AT THE HOTEL MARMALADE ON A HILL OVERLOOKING THE HARBOR. ALBYN HAD BOOKED A FISH RESTAURANT IN THE TOWN, HOPING TO CATCH SOME SESSIONS AFTER DINNER, BUT SOMEHOW THE MARMALADE SCREWED UP OUR RESERVATION. WE WOUND UP SHARING A GIGANTIC AND QUITE TASTY RIBEYE AT THE HOTEL. POOR ALBYN HIKED INTO TOWN IN SEARCH OF MUSIC. BUT EVEN ON A SATURDAY NIGHT, NO ONE WAS PLAYING.
BILL AND PAUL INSISTED THAT WEATHER PERMITTING, WE MUST DRIVE TO TORRIDON, A SPECK OF A TOWN ON LOCH TORRIDON, NORTH AND EAST OF SKYE, NOT FOR THE TOWN, BUT THE DRIVE ITSELF. SO BACK WE WENT ACROSS THE SKYE BRIDGE. BRIGHT YELLOW GORSE LINED THE TWO-LANE ROAD PAST INLAND LOCHS, CLIMBING AND TWISTING UP CLOUD-CAPPED TOWERS OF ROCK. THE SKY TURNED SLATE GRAY. TWO LANES NARROWED TO ONE, WITH TURNOUTS EVERY HUNDRED YARDS SO THE CARS COULD PASS ONE ANOTHER. UP AND DOWN AND AROUND. IMAGINE THE GRAND CORNICHE WITHOUT ANY TREES. OR RAILINGS. AT LONG LAST, THE ROLLER-COASTER ROAD DEPOSITED US IN FRONT OF A WHITE WASHED COTTAGE, WHERE WE WERE TWO HOURS LATE FOR LUNCH AND NOBODY CARED.
IT WAS AFTER THREE. I WAS HUNGRY ENOUGH TO EAT MY FOOT AND CERTAINLY DIDN’T EXPECT THE DELIGHTS THAT CAME FROM THE TINY KITCHEN BEHIND THE BAR. SWEET AND TENDER MONKFISH DEEP-FRIED IN A TEMPURA BATTER, A SALAD OF ORKNEY SCALLOPS, AND, IF MEMORY SERVES, A WHISKY STICKY TOFFEE PUDDING. WE WERE TWO HOURS WEST OF FOYER’S LODGE ON LOCH NESS, HOME TO THE LEGENDARY LOCH NESS MONSTER! WITH JUSTIFIABLE TREPIDATION, ALBYN RETRACED OUR STEPS UP, UP THE TORTUOUS ROAD, MT. LIATHACH TOWERING 3,458 FEET ABOVE US, BUT AS WE DESCENDED TOWARDS INVERNESS, THE HARSH LANDSCAPE MELTED INTO VERDANT MEADOWS POPULATED BY FLOCKS OF SHEEP AND THEIR BABIES. I KNEW WHAT I WANTED FOR DINNER.
LOCH NESS MAY NOT BE THE DEEPEST LAKE IN GREAT BRITAIN. THAT DISTINCTION GOES TO LOCH MORAR AT 310 METERS. STILL, 230 METERS IS DEEP; DEEP ENOUGH THAT LOCH NESS CONTAINS A GREATER VOLUME OF WATER THAN ALL THE LAKES IN BRITAIN AND WALES COMBINED. CERTAINLY ENOUGH TO CONCEAL THE PREHISTORIC MONSTER HIDDEN IN ITS DEPTHS. SO IT WAS JUST DUMB LUCK THAT EVERYWHERE WE WENT, THERE SHE WAS, AS I WILL POINT OUT IN THESE PICTURES.
IN THE PHOTO (ABOVE RIGHT), LYNN IS ACTUALLY TAKING A PICTURE OF THE MONSTER, WHOSE HEAD HAS POPPED UP OVER ALBYN’S RIGHT SHOULDER. AT NIGHT, THE ANIMAL OFTEN EXCITES FLUORESCENT PLANKTON, WHICH IS PARTIALLY OBSCURED BY THE REFLECTION IN THE WINDOW (BELOW, CENTER LEFT). ABOVE AND TO THE LEFT OF THE GARDEN CHAIRS, YOU CAN SEE THE REAR END OF THE CREATURE, SUNNING ITSELF TO THE RIGHT OF THE PROMONTORY AND HER WAKE (HAVING JUST SUBMERGED) IS CLEARLY VISIBLE IN THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THE TWO BANKS IN THE FAR LEFT PHOTO.
NOTE: SEVERAL OF THESE SHOTS WERE TAKEN FROM INSIDE FOYER’S LODGE, A MICHELIN-BLESSED BOUTIQUE HOTEL, BUILT IN 1863 AS A HUNTING AND FISHING LODGE. OUR ROOM, WITH AN AMPLE VIEW OF THE LAKE WAS PAINTED HUNTER GREEN. THE BATHROOM WAS AS LARGE AS MY KITCHEN WITH MARBLE SINKS, WHITE TILES AND A WALK-IN SHOWER. DEER HEADS, PERIOD PHOTOS, AND BIRD PICTURES FESTOON THE DINING ROOM, WHERE YOU CAN SEE THE GUESTS SCANNING THE LAKE FOR “NESSIE”. THE KITCHEN GETS “E” FOR EFFORT WITH EXCELLENT INGREDIENTS SUCH AS LAMB, SALMON AND DUCK BREASTS. BUT WITH THE EXCEPTION OF FRIED WHITEBAIT WITH AIOLI AND A CREAMY GARDEN PEA RISOTTO, THERE WAS JUST TOO MUCH GOING ON ON EACH PLATE. THE ORANGE GLAZE ON THE MAGRET WAS CLOYINGLY SWEET. CUMIN AND MINT OVERPOWERED THE RUMP OF LAMB. BUT FOYER’S WITH ITS INCOMPARABLE LAKE VIEW, IT’S WARM AND EFFICIENT STAFF AND COZY LUXURY, IS WELL WORTH A SIDE TRIP.
OUR NEXT STOP IS BALLATER IN ABERDEENSHIRE, A TIDY AND PROSPEROUS TOWN WHERE THE GLENMUICK PARISH CHURCH DOMINATES THE MAIN SQUARE ACROSS FROM CLOTHING SHOPS, A JEWELRY STORE AND OUR HOTEL, THE BALMORAL ARMS, WHICH ALBYN HAD BOOKED FOR TWO NIGHTS. AFTER SEEING OUR ROOMS, SHE OBSERVED, “THIS LOOKS LIKE A HOTEL IN EAST GERMANY.” THREE FLOORS UP, NO LIFT, A VIEW OF TIRE-STREWN BACKYARDS, AND NO COMPLEMENTARY FACIAL TISSUE, WHICH WAS CONSIDERED AN UPGRADE.
MURRAY, BALMORAL’S ONLY CABBIE, SPIRITED US TO THE AFOREMENTIONED FIFE ARMS IN NEARBY BRAEMAR, WHERE WE COULDN’T AFFORD TO STAY AND EAT DINNER. “THE OWNER”, WHOM MURRAY DID NOT NAME (IRIN WIRTH). “HE TAKES TEN OF HIS MATES TO DINNER, SEE. THE BILL WAS 150,000 QUID. SPENT 15,000 QUID ON ONE DRAM OF WHISKY!” IF YOU HAPPEN TO BE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD VISITING CHARLES AT BALMORAL CASTLE, DON’T MISS THE OPPORTUNITY TO CHECK OUT THIS HOTEL. EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK THERE IS SOMETHING TO LOOK AT. A PICASSO, A LUCIEN FREUD, THE BRUEGEL, INLAID ART DECO TABLES AND CHAIRS IN THE BAR, CUBISTOID-PAINTED WALLS BY GUILLERMO KUITCA IN THE CLUNIE DINING ROOM, PHOTOGRAPHS BY MAN RAY AND CECIL BEATON, A GERHARD RICHTER, A LOUISE BOURGEOIS SPIDER IN THE INNER COURTYARD, AND A WATERCOLOR OF STAG’S HEAD BY QUEEN VICTORIA. HAPPILY, THE FOOD LIVES UP TO ROOM. ALTHOUGH SHORT-HANDED THAT NIGHT, THE SERVICE WAS CORDIAL AND CAPABLE. THE ITALIAN WINE STEWARD WAXED RHAPSODIC ABOUT VARIOUS BOTTLES IN AN IMPENETRABLE ACCENT, BUT PICKED A NICE ITALIAN WHITE TO GO WITH THE FISH. AFTER DINNER, WE PEEKED INTO THE WHISKY ROOM, WHICH, WITH ITS BACKLIT BOTTLES FELT LIKE THE CAVE OF ALI BABA. I ASKED ABOUT THAT 15,000-QUID DRAM. “WHAT WAS IT?” “SORRY, SIR, THAT’S NOT FOR ME TO SAY.”
I’D HEARD ONLY GOOD THINGS ABOUT FISH SHOP, A SMART BUT CASUAL SPOT WITH A BAR RUNNING THE LENGTH OF THE RESTAURANT, NATURAL WOOD TABLES, A SCHOOL OF METAL FISH SWIMMING ABOVE OUR HEADS, AND BUSTLINGLY EFFICIENT SERVICE. (LYNN WAS PARTICULARLY TAKEN WITH AN EXCESSIVELY TALL WAITER WHO ESCORTED HER TO THE LADIES ROOM.) CAPE WRATH OYSTERS WERE PLUMP AND FITTINGLY BRINY. I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT FRITTO MISTO CONSISTS MOSTLY OF FRIED CALAMARI AND OTHER ASSORTED SEA CREATURES. FISH SHOP’S IS MOSTLY VEGETABLES, DUNKED AND DEEP FRIED IN THICK LAYER OF BATTER. MACDUFF SKATE WAS MUCH BETTER; FRESH-TASTING AND PAN-FRIED WITH BUTTER AND CAPERS. IF MEMORY SERVES, ALBYN WAS HAPPY WITH HER INVERURIE PORK CHOP.
WE MET REBA, BILL’S MOM, AT THE BANCHORY LODGE IN BANCHORY. REBA, ELEGANT, WARM AND INTELLIGENT, HAD RESERVED A TABLE BY THE BAY WINDOW WHICH LOOKS OUT ON THE RIVER DEE WHERE A FISHERMAN WAS CASTING FOR SALMON. THE DEE FLOWS THROUGH ABERDEENSHIRE TO THE NORTH SEA. AFTER AN EXCELLENT MUSSEL LUNCH, REBA LED US FIRST TO CRATHES CASTLE, A BARONIAL TOWER HOUSE ERECTED BY THE BURNETT FAMILY IN 1323 AND OCCUPIED BY THEM UNTIL 1951 WHEN, DAMAGED BY FIRE, THE FAMILY GAVE IT TO THE NATIONAL TRUST. IT’S A NICE-LOOKING LITTLE CASTLE, BUT MORE SPECTACULAR IS THE TOPIARY, A REFLECTION OF LADY SYBILL AND SIR JAMES’ EMBRACE OF THE ARTS AND CRAFTS MOVEMENT (REMEMBER THE MACKINTOSHES?). AFTER A BRIEF STOPS AT THE FALLS OF FEUGH, WE PRESSED ON TO THE IMPREGNABLE DENNOTTAR CASTLE PERCHED ON A ROCK ON THE NORTH SEA. IT WAS HERE, IN 1685, WHERE THE SCOTTISH CROWN JEWELS WERE CONCEALED FROM CROMWELL’S INVADING ARMIES.
NAPOLEON AND JOSEPHINE WOULD HAVE APPROVED OF THE MALMAISON HOTEL IN ABERDEEN, NAMED FOR THE CHATEAU WHERE THEY LIVED IN HAPPIER TIMES. OUR SPACIOUS, MAD ROOM WITH ITS CRAZY WALL COVERINGS AND BATHROOM WITH A DOUCHE À DEUX, ENCOURAGED SHARING. THE DOUBLE-HIGH DINING ROOM HAD A CEILING OF PLANTS. THE BAR AND ADJACENT WHISKY ROOM WERE JUMPING WHEN WE CHECKED IN. CONSISTENT WITH THE FRENCH THEME, ALBYN HAD BOOKED CAFÉ BOHÈME, A WOODSY, CAVELIKE SPACE, WITH ONE WELL-DESERVED MICHELIN ROSETTE. SUBSTANTIAL AND FLAVORFUL FRENCH-INSPIRED DISHES SUCH AS BLEU SHELL MUSSELS, PORK LOIN WITH CONFIT OF BELLY, BEEF FILLET OX CHEEK CROQUETTES, AND A SINFULLY RICH SALTED CHOCOLATE CRUMBLE TART. NOR COULD YOU BEAT THE RIOJA.
WHEN I WAS SIXTEEN, I SPENT A FASCINATING SUMMER WORKING AT A NATIONAL AUDUBON NATURE STUDY CAMP FOR GROWNUPS ON AN ISLAND IN MUSCUNGUS BAY, ON THE COAST OF MAINE, WHERE I LEARNED QUITE A LOT ABOUT FLORA AND FAUNA. SO I WAS PARTICULARLY EXCITED ABOUT GOING ON A DOLPHIN WATCH OUT OF MACDUFF. AGAIN WE WERE SPARED THE RAIN. MOST OF THE TEN OR SO PASSENGERS ON THE 50-FOOT BOAT, TOTED CAMERAS WITH 400MM LENSES, BINOCULARS OR BOTH. SERIOUS BIRDERS. ONLY A FEW DOLPHINS GRACED US WITH THEIR ELUSIVE PRESENCE, BUT AS WE APPROACHED TROUP HEAD, A 300-FOOT CLIFF RISING RIGHT OUT OF THE SEA, I SAW THE BIRDS. GANNETS, 3,000 PAIRS BY SOME ESTIMATION, MAKING THIS ONE OF THE LARGEST GANNET ROOKERIES IN THE WORLD. SHARING THE SHEER CLIFF FACE WERE GUILLEMOTS, RAZORBILLS, KITTIWAKES, FULMARS, AND THE ELUSIVE PUFFIN. WHEN THE CAPTAIN CUT UP SOME MACKEREL AND TOSSED IT OVERBOARD, THE GANNETS WENT CRAZY, DIVING INTO THE WATER LIKE A SCENE OUT OF HITCHCOCK’S THE BIRDS.
HOW MANY OF YOU ARE OLD ENOUGH TO REMEMBER LOCAL HERO (1983), A BILL FORSYTH MOVIE WITH BURT LANCASTER ABOUT A REP FROM AN OIL COMPANY WHO SHOWS UP AT A SEASIDE TOWN TO NEGOTIATE WITH THE LOCALS ABOUT BUILDING A REFINERY. THAT TOWN WAS, IS PENNAN. AND THE RED PHONE BOOTH, LANCASTER’S ONLY CONNECTION TO THE OUTSIDE WORLD IS STILL STANDING, SANS PHONE.
ALBYN WAS HAVING DINNER WITH AN OLD SCHOOL CHUM OF BILL’S, BUT SHE HAD THOUGHTFULLY RESERVED A TABLE AT MARA, A NONDESCRIPT ITALIAN WINE BAR, WHICH DIDN’T LOOK PARTICULARLY PROMISING. WITH CAROLINA PICKING THE WINES AND ROSS IN THE KITCHEN, THE COCHRANES TURN OUT ONE PERFECT SMALL PLATE AFTER ANOTHER. POUND FOR POUND, MARA WAS OUR BEST SCOTTISH MEAL OF THE TRIP. “MARANCINI” STUFFED WITH PARMESAN CREAM AND TRUFFLES, A CAESAR SALAD WITH A CREAMY DRESSING AND MORE CRISPY ONIONS, A PITHIVIER OF VENISON RICH WITH LIVER, AND AN EXOTIC PANNA COTTA WITH A PASTRY HAT OF BLACKBERRIES. MAMA MIA!
THERE’S MUCH TO SEE IN ABERDEEN, BUT FIRST WE HAD TO FIND A KILT FOR SOPHIE. WE DID FIND A SERIOUS KILT SHOP,WHERE THEY KINDLY INFORMED US THAT KILTS WERE FOR MEN, THAT THEY ARE MADE TO ORDER, WEIGH ABOUT FIFTEEN POUNDS AND COST AROUND $500. HE SUGGESTED WE TRY THE MALL, WHERE WE FOUND A REASONABLE TARTAN. THE ABERDEEN ART GALLERY IS A RATHER AVANT-GARDE MUSEUM WITH AN ECLECTIC COLLECTION OF OBJECTS AS WELL AS ART. MORE ARRESTING IS ST. MACHAR’S CATHEDRAL, WHOSE ORIGINS DATE BACK TO THE 6TH CENTURY. ITS SOARING ROMANESQUE INTERIOR HAS BEEN LOVINGLY MAINTAINED WITH A MAGNIFICENT PIPE ORGAN AND METICULOUS STONEWORK.
THE VICTORIA-ALBERT HAS BUILT A BABY VICTORIA-ALBERT IN DUNDEE WHERE THE RIVER TAY MEETS THE SEA. KENGO KUMA’S STUNNING DESIGN LOOKS LIKE AN ABSTRACT SAILING SHIP CONSTRUCTED OUT OF GIANT POPSICLE STICKS. FITTINGLY, THE RRS DISCOVERY, CAPTAIN SCOTT’S ANTARCTIC EXPLORATION SHIP IS PERMANENTLY DOCKED ACROSS FROM THE MUSEUM. A SPECIAL EXHIBITION CALLED CATWALK ABOUT THE HISTORY OF RUNWAY SHOWS PROVED ENGROSSING. WE LUNCHED LIGHTLY IN THE CAFETERIA OVERLOOKING THE TAY. LIGHTLY, BECAUSE THAT VERY EVENING WE WERE HEADING FOR GLENEAGLES.
ONCE MORE WE WERE FORCED TO CHOOSE BETWEEN ROOMS OR FOOD. GLENEAGLES, ESTABLISHED IN 1923, IS AN 850-ACRE LUXURY HOTEL, SPA AND GOLF COURSE, WHERE THE ROOMS START AT $1325. IT ALSO HOUSES ANDREW FAIRLIE, THE ONLY MICHELIN TWO-STAR IN SCOTLAND. ALBYN SOLVED THE ROOM PROBLEM BY FINDING A PLEASANT-ENOUGH HOTEL IN AUCHTERARDER CALLED CAIRN LODGE. BILL’S BROTHER PAUL AND HIS WIFE EMMA ARE AUCHTERARDERANS, SO THEY CHAUFFERED US TO GLENEAGLES AND JOINED US FOR A PRE-DINNER DRINK IN THE ENORMOUS BAR. EVERYTHING ABOUT GLENEAGLES IS ENORMOUS; THE HOTEL ITSELF, THE SPA, THE GROUNDS, AND THE SIX OTHER RESTAURANTS. DESPITE THE WELL-SPACED TABLES, IMMACULATE LINEN, EXTRAVAGANT FLOWER ARRANGEMENTS, CRYSTAL GLASSWARE, AND SILVER, ANDREW FAIRLIE MANAGES TO FEEL INTIMATE. THE STAFF MAKES YOU FEEL WELCOME WITHOUT BEING OVERLY FAMILIAR. SERVERS TOP YOUR WINE AND WATER GLASSES WHEN YOU’RE NOT LOOKING. DISHES LARGE AND SMALL ARE DELIVERED AT A LEISURELY PACE. ONE-BITE AMUSES BOUCHES WERE ALL DIFFERENT, ALL DELICIOUS. I ORDERED THEIR SMOKED LOBSTER, FAIRLIE’S VERSION OF LOBSTER THERMIDOR, BUT THE WINNING DISH WAS LYNN’S WHOLE, PAN-ROASTED SWEETBREAD WITH A VEAL REDUCTION. THE SOMMELIER WHO LOOKED UNDER DRINKING AGE RECOMMENDED A 2015 GRAND CRU SCHLOSSBERG RIESLING, WHICH SEEMED TO GET BETTER WITH EACH SIP. AND GLENEAGLES DROVE US BACK TO THE CAIRN LODGE.
IT WAS A SHORT FLIGHT FROM GLASGOW TO LUTON AIRPORT NORTH OF LONDON, WHERE WE DECOMPRESSED FOR FIVE DAYS BEFORE FLYING HOME. I HAD SUSHI WITH MY SISTER ANNIE IN KENTISH TOWN WHERE SHE AND STEVE HAVE RECENTLY MOVED INTO AN ADORABLE LITTLE MUSE HOUSE, NOT FAR FROM ALBYN. SOUTH KENSINGTON TO ST. JOHN’S WOOD TO KENTISH TOWN. THEY’VE NEVER BEEN HAPPIER. KENTISH TOWN IS LIKE THE UPPER WEST SIDE. WE JOINED HER, MADDIE AND ALBYN FOR DINNER AND CUCKOO’S NEST AT THE OLD VIC. WE EXPLORED THE EXTRAORDINARY PERMANENT COLLECTION AT THE VICTORIA-ALBERT, VIEWED DAVID HOCKNEY’S FINAL EXHIBITION AT THE SERPENTINE AND AN EXCELLENT LIVING ABSTRACT EXPRESSIONIST NAMED CECILY BROWN. WE HAD AN INCREDIBLY-GOOD MEAL AT ST. JOHN’S, AND A GOODBYE DINNER AT A LOVELY LITTLE ALSATIAN RESTAURANT CALLED ELSA, CLOSE TO THE ZETTER.
TUCKED INTO A TINY TABLE, WE FEASTED ON ASPARAGUS WITH RUNNY POACHED EGGS, PAN-ROASTED COD WITH SPINACH AND BABY POTATOES, SUCCULENT BRAISED SPARERIBS WITH WHITE TURNIPS AND TURNIP GREENS. WE SIPPED OUR LAST RIESLING ENSEMBLE AND REALIZED HOW MUCH WE’D MISSED EACH OTHER SINCE OUR RETURN TO LONDON. TRAVELING CAN BE STRESSFUL AS WELL AS REWARDING, BUT AS WE REMINISCED ABOUT THE JOHNNY WALKER EXPERIENCE, THERESE AND PAUL AT THE OX&FINCH, THE MACKINTOSH HOUSE, THE SESSION PLAYERS AT BEN NEVIS, THE DISASTROUS INTERSHLOCKY DINNER, CROSSING THE ARCHING BRIDGE INTO SKYE, THE MOUNTAINS, THE LOCHS, THAT PERFECT SCALLOP AT THE THREE CHIMNEYS, THE DIVING GANNETS, THE ROAD TO TORRIDON, “NOT ALL DISABILITIES ARE VISIBLE” SIGNS, AND ALL THE TALK, THE LAUGHS, THE LOVE.
