tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13754470916484955632024-02-19T16:46:36.412+00:00GastrobeachLife and seafood by the beach on a Scottish island.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-77852975143642329922015-02-02T11:07:00.001+00:002015-02-02T16:13:29.720+00:00Covered<div xmlns="">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTl9F7nZmQDAEahJOrPWIOZnm5qkxyS7DXNrqzl4gWHkbAlTCQWl74yrp-c-ZBpoNFEdwvZCg2vpNeCYOEpgvemMiVbO_KaDeV_4V8tvVl93sOCigVBE7GC6-F2DhUCCShxyP-cGzi5L5K/s1600/snow_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTl9F7nZmQDAEahJOrPWIOZnm5qkxyS7DXNrqzl4gWHkbAlTCQWl74yrp-c-ZBpoNFEdwvZCg2vpNeCYOEpgvemMiVbO_KaDeV_4V8tvVl93sOCigVBE7GC6-F2DhUCCShxyP-cGzi5L5K/s1600/snow_2015.jpg" height="302" width="320" /></a></div>
The mallards are staying in a particularly tight group this morning. But there’s probably little if any thermal gain for them in huddling while paddling through a sea so cold that the fine slurry of snow on its surface hasn’t melted yet. Fat flakes settle on the lone heron as it looks on, impassive, from its perch on the central rock. Stock-still, hunched like a crone, its grey shawl waxes paler by the moment.<br />
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Snowflakes are coming straight down now. The north wind that yesterday had whipped them up in dancing eddies, plastering them to the glass, has died away. Sporadically, branches on next door’s apple tree move a little, but only due to their bending and recoil from the snow bearing down on them.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Another <i>swoosh</i> <span style="font-style: normal;">and</span> <i>thump</i> <span style="font-style: normal;">as a slab fractures away and avalanches from the roof. It’s been happening all night. Th</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ose</span> <span style="font-style: normal;">sudden commotions in the midst of such</span> <span style="font-style: normal;">tinnitus silence were a little startling. I’ll be fixing gutters come the milder weather.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Oyster? Pearly? The grey obliterating the mainland mountains is cold of content but not of hue. There’s a subtle pinkness to it. A brightly-coloured fishing boat trawls slowly down the Sound as the veil lifts behind it, revealing tentative foothills. Now the contrast is turned up while the colour drains; it’s a pin-sharp pen and ink la</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ndscape</span><span style="font-style: normal;">, impossibly,</span> <span style="font-style: normal;">mathematically</span> <span style="font-style: normal;">detailed. Scrubby trees as dusted fractals.</span> <span style="font-style: normal;">Slow, sine waves.</span> <span style="font-style: normal;">A brimming, binary scene.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
<span style="font-style: normal;">And just as quickly, the pastel’s back.</span> Now a smudge of wan, <span style="font-style: normal;">yellow</span> <span style="font-style: normal;">sun, gently gilding the sand.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<br clear="left" /></div>
nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-37385054757066882582014-11-28T10:56:00.001+00:002014-11-28T18:12:01.241+00:00Tilted<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0cm; line-height: 150%; }A:link { }</style>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjX_pxC8kURYQpQV98JA9qjVDvdvY8okchyphenhyphentJqXoF9v267IwxPGJ1Zde1x4SkdRvLJQtxXZkiQNbYh7lTSquqwE0kj_XbBzHG6HW_JGAB_c3ktRIaAFNyxOkhn7qadnRdcnhZyl-nHyfft/s1600/november_sunrise_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjX_pxC8kURYQpQV98JA9qjVDvdvY8okchyphenhyphentJqXoF9v267IwxPGJ1Zde1x4SkdRvLJQtxXZkiQNbYh7lTSquqwE0kj_XbBzHG6HW_JGAB_c3ktRIaAFNyxOkhn7qadnRdcnhZyl-nHyfft/s1600/november_sunrise_2014.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
Such beauty, intended for no one. Just there, dawning. Cool blue and brilliant yellow-orange; smooth-rippling, lapping, gurgling; craggy and frosted. Closing my eyes only intensified its impact. I could still see it in my mind’s eye (and imprinted on my retinas). And the sounds sharpened, the chill of the rock beneath me penetrated more deeply, the salt-cold tingled more refreshingly in my nostrils.<br />
<br />
And – also deeply refreshing – no meaning. No meaning that I was sitting there, observing, as my location tilted into the path of the nearest star. No meaning that this vista has been spewed forth and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Subduction">subducted</a>, thrust up and ground down, bathed, frozen and parched, over billions of years. No meaning when it is all lost to entropy.<br />
<br />
As I walked back (in my ill-chosen footwear) a sussurus of wings grew in volume to flutter, flap and swoosh as the mallards ditched by the water’s edge. One unusual collective noun for a flock of flying ducks is a ‘plump’. But, to me, that’s more like the sound the stragglers make upon impact with calm water.<br />
<br />
How many sunrises does it take to fully wake a man up? Who knows? For some, maybe just one. For others, more than a lifetime’s-worth. No matter, it’s a stunningly meaningless morning.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-6763861727258796742013-06-22T18:38:00.001+01:002013-06-22T18:52:37.865+01:00Salted Venison<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUHA_Es8FaG14t2csFhcsN9_mbyZxqg_RvYVVxqtOkLg__BJWM3W_1MGfWaHG6cwy805sezC9Fxz0XqIuuQXrSq5twu22JezRpEacEcQEqKclC5nZpkIvyb75nRx5avgIuSKrnp_c_56D9/s1600/red_deer_sea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUHA_Es8FaG14t2csFhcsN9_mbyZxqg_RvYVVxqtOkLg__BJWM3W_1MGfWaHG6cwy805sezC9Fxz0XqIuuQXrSq5twu22JezRpEacEcQEqKclC5nZpkIvyb75nRx5avgIuSKrnp_c_56D9/s320/red_deer_sea.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
It’s dreich and midgey – the worst kind of Highland summer weather. Dreich i.e. overcast, drizzling and as dead still as a Raasay Sunday; midgey i.e. swarming with clouds of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Highland_midge" target="_blank"><i>Culicoides impunctatus</i></a>. You can’t get anything done outside when it’s like this. Midge hoods and anti-insect sprays help a bit, but, inevitably, you still end up getting bitten (a lot) and having to retreat indoors in irritable, itchy-lumpy defeat. And <i>no</i>, you don’t get used to them, even when you have lived here your whole life.<br />
<br />
There are, however, some minor compensations. For example, the long, calm and quiet dusks bring out all kinds of twittering, chirruping, grunting, bellowing wildlife; and the sea is either mirror-flat, or smooth-rippled like old glass. Our camera tends to put a cyan cast on photos, but with the overcast skies and, as a result, the strangely filtered light, the entire land and seascape really does have a very strong cyan cast these evenings.<br />
<br />
Some of the local red deer (<a href="http://www.tsdc.co.uk/animals.html#red" target="_blank"><i>Cervus elaphus</i></a>) population have been getting increasingly bold. Even the noise of shotgun blanks, fired by one of our neighbours, fails to scare them off. Some of the deer (juvenile or female reds, we reckon) have taken to crossing Gastrobeach at dusk. We didn’t find this too unusual at first, as we have seen them on the shore previously. When I took this photo, however, they were wading across it at near high tide. We have now seen them doing this several times; one of them was actually swimming, rather than wading.<br />
<br />
It’s very pleasant to watch them seasoning themselves in this way (only kidding). Not, of course, that I don’t love venison. Red deer are now abundant here, so you would think that venison would be easily available from local shops and cheap to buy. Unfortunately, that’s not the case, and venison is still considered a luxury food.<br />
<br />
They are certainly graceful animals. And they’re welcome to the shore, where they pose so elegantly on these still, filtered evenings. Anyway, I’m sure many local gardeners are much happier to see them down there than up here decimating their vegetable patches.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-26560454654760086992013-06-15T10:35:00.000+01:002013-06-17T13:45:06.506+01:00Beer and OystersLast weekend, our neighbours were kind enough to invite us over for refreshments. Well, we were really just supposed to be going over to pick up some courgette plants, but it turned into one of those evenings when the talk and the alcohol flows freely, and where an hour stretches into three or four without your really noticing.<br />
<br />
Our neighbours have a beautifully-well-kept vegetable garden -- my mother described it as being like a market garden -- with a large polytunnel, enabling them to grow all kinds of veg that would otherwise struggle in our sometimes-harsh climate.<br />
<br />
While drinking (in both senses) in the sun -- ladies on wine and gents on refreshing beer -- we got to talking seafood; they too have a good view of Gastrobeach from their house, so they've seen me down on the shore swimming and foraging (though not at the same time). Before I knew it, there was a tub of Islay oysters on the table, with chunks of lime to go with them.<br />
<br />
I don't know about you, but that's my kind of evening: sunshine, shellfish, a few drinks and (at least initially) smart conversation.<br />
<br />
We went home with much from that evening -- not just the washed and bagged lettuce and mange tout, not just the courgette plants, not just the satisfied belly full of beer and oysters, but the sense that good company and a wonderfully-relaxed atmosphere are sometimes closer than you think.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, right next door.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-45820284640124575642013-01-07T11:17:00.000+00:002013-01-07T11:17:46.406+00:00Half Light<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9psk8AaF8FgoIhcMCBZNyi7V9dl2KmU7OWZa84Dw4sTy68v9wqZPr_VMEztF_A2RSdl2Swfe5CqnxOFkPObAZr5YUSSrjAJM-QUeKA46zKkyEgXKJQel38B1oCub1gxw-aj8Nm7Gi15ZH/s1600/creelboat_sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9psk8AaF8FgoIhcMCBZNyi7V9dl2KmU7OWZa84Dw4sTy68v9wqZPr_VMEztF_A2RSdl2Swfe5CqnxOFkPObAZr5YUSSrjAJM-QUeKA46zKkyEgXKJQel38B1oCub1gxw-aj8Nm7Gi15ZH/s320/creelboat_sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The ever-expanding array of Christmas decorations may be packed away in the loft until next year, but I'm not ready to kill the lights just yet. As I have no religious inclinations I celebrate Christmas in the ancient way - as a time for family, fun, feasting (and a little drinking), but also in the other old sense of being a time to light up the winter darkness.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My ancestors, lacking LED technology, would have done this with blistering bonfires, and with torches made of bound-together twigs or rags soaked in animal fat attached to stout sticks. No such trouble is required to fend off the winter gloom these days, which makes it all the more odd that most people insist on removing every trace of festive illumination the moment 'twelfth night' arrives.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I do try to keep this continuing effulgence subtle. One string of 'warm white' lights adorns the crab-apple tree outside, and the 'bright white' Christmas tree lights have been relegated to a large glass jug I have placed on a shelf near a plug socket.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On a more serious note - winter darkness can have a serious impact on mental and physical (all the same thing anyway) health. Don't be put off lighting up your life by daft conventions about removing all that stuff, when you could keep at least some of it in place to help to cheer you up in the dark months.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cinnamon-laced coffee now plunged and steaming away in my new Roland TB-303 (Bass Line) themed mug, I look forward to the remainder of the flaky hot-smoked salmon which I will be having for lunch.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's properly dreich out on Gastrobeach today. At least the mountains are visible as I view their grey bulk through the reflection of my jaunty light-jug.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The attached photograph is from a walk we took on one of the few dry days. My wife captured the image - a creel-boat heading out of the bay at sunset.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wish you a Happy New Year but at this moment I particularly wish you a happy January and February. And if their days can't be merry, then at least make them bright.</div>
nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-67950699110458381772012-10-02T16:50:00.001+01:002012-10-02T17:10:54.951+01:00Whitebaited Breath<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxIWQv9k3PCWHp-w5piJr0NwyDjmT2NBagVL0IeRHgIFVT2NjASBJgXHnPWjqs8ODgEwahHxz2rPtVSeTfV_x-n1CsDvXO6hnFejlJ1ZHdQRJsQDuIQVS8FJe-1WdRkXrHNaFpYN7oZ06/s1600/moody_october_sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxIWQv9k3PCWHp-w5piJr0NwyDjmT2NBagVL0IeRHgIFVT2NjASBJgXHnPWjqs8ODgEwahHxz2rPtVSeTfV_x-n1CsDvXO6hnFejlJ1ZHdQRJsQDuIQVS8FJe-1WdRkXrHNaFpYN7oZ06/s320/moody_october_sky.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moody October sky</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Don't you just love October? The summer is still a warm, barbecue-flavoured memory; September has lulled you into a false sense of security; and then, all of a sudden, October batters in with hailstorms and getting-up-in-the-dark blear.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But it's no problem this time - we have some autumn sunshine lined up, Mediterranean style. And, when we get back, I'll get to work on planning weekends away, and other distractions, to break up the moribund months of the long winter.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The closest I've got to collecting seafood recently is stealing lovely crispy-coated whitebait off my wife's plate at <a href="http://www.westend-hotel.co.uk/" target="_blank">The West End Hotel</a> in Fort William, last weekend. I followed that - and my own massive portion - with a bowl of huge and very tasty <i>moules</i> cooked <i><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/moulesmarinierewithc_71787" target="_blank">marinière</a>.</i> The mussels were, I was assured, fresh from nearby Loch Linnhe. They certainly tasted it, and I had a bit of a carb-out dunking all manner of absorbent matter (food only) in the delicious creamy sauce, before finally attacking it with a big spoon.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Another reason that these mussels met with my approval was that they had decent hard shells. Wee splintery shells, such as the ones on some of the mussels you get prepacked in the supermarket, are not on. Call me fussy but I want to be able to drink the tasty cooking liquid safe in the knowledge that I'm not going to lacerate my throat or stomach with shell shards.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And where are we going on holiday? Turkey! We're very much looking forward to the food and I'm hoping there are lots of fresh <i>balık </i>(fish) dishes on the all-inclusive menu. I made us a Turkish taster meal last weekend - no fish on the menu but plenty of meat with fruit in it, tomato salad with loads of raw garlic in it, <i>kahve</i> (Turkish coffee) and <i>baklava</i> (filo and honey sweetmeats). We were fragrantly stuffed after that lot.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As for the language, I can now remember how to ask for red wine. My wee nephew suggested it might be an idea to learn how to ask for food, too - just so we don't starve or get too drunk.</div>
nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-91454673712038614092012-08-25T11:02:00.000+01:002012-08-25T14:39:41.449+01:00A Gander at Goose Barnacles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWTnQncXxBHSo41Otp7N1cnF_ATUbXoAAgEE3lPKspJHLodUUJnS4wbQOXfsPGOeE-SkWe0euoGJD5K4vWHkDNZYf3-EojZ9x8xPGmgE2HSV3kBlKMmYjx-Gs_hj44xgijIHZ-uPVR5P0T/s1600/goose_barnacles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWTnQncXxBHSo41Otp7N1cnF_ATUbXoAAgEE3lPKspJHLodUUJnS4wbQOXfsPGOeE-SkWe0euoGJD5K4vWHkDNZYf3-EojZ9x8xPGmgE2HSV3kBlKMmYjx-Gs_hj44xgijIHZ-uPVR5P0T/s320/goose_barnacles.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The fascinating organisms pictured, are goose barnacles. We found them, while on holiday, washed up on the otherwise uniformly empty and sandy shore of Boyndie bay.<br />
<br />
We had never seen goose barnacles before and found them quite beautiful, if a little alien. Although we didn't attempt to eat them I wondered if they would be anything like the barnacles that the Spanish, particularly of the Galicia region, risk life and limb to collect from wave-battered rocky inlets. Because of the great difficulty and danger involved in collecting them, the Spanish variety - known as <i>percebes</i> - fetch premium prices in their bustling fish markets.<br />
<br />
It looks like the ones we found were the <b>pelagic gooseneck barnacle</b> variety <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lepas_anatifera" target="_blank"><i>Lepas anatifera</i></a>. The stems of these are, apparently, edible. But, because the stems are so thin and not very meaty, they would probably just be a load of messy hassle to prepare. The <a href="http://www.learnspanish4life.co.uk/recipes_detail/889/6/percebes---barnacles" target="_blank">Spanish variety</a>, in stark and expensive contrast, are apparently simple to cook - just boil up for a few minutes in some sea-water - and deliciously salt-meaty. Just be sure to pull the crunchy head off.<br />
<br />
I have just read, with some incredulity, that goose barnacles are so-called because it was thought in the (I hope distant) past that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barnacle_Goose" target="_blank">Barnacle Geese</a> developed from them! Tiny geese, spontaneously erupted from the driftwood, one day to fledge and take flight: charmingly naive notion on the one hand and disturbing autogenesis-like concept on the other.<br />
<br />
Well we did say they looked alien.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-29323573975213274262012-08-13T10:58:00.002+01:002012-08-13T11:12:29.783+01:00Life's Baleen Good<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.staticflickr.com/4064/5123718281_0ae6fe79af_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="240" src="http://farm5.staticflickr.com/4064/5123718281_0ae6fe79af_z.jpg" title="Gardenstown by fitaloon, on Flickr" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A big boat off the Banffshire coast<br />
by fitaloon (sourced from Flickr)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's cloudier today, with a curiously warm east wind pushing a swell in towards Gastrobeach. The swell made for interesting swimming conditions yesterday: It had churned up seaweed and sand murk from the bottom of the wee cove, so I couldn't really see what I was swimming through. Being carried back towards shore by rolling waves was fun despite the several mouthfuls of salty water I scooped up along the way. Just give me some <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baleen" target="_blank">baleen</a> and I could filter-feed.<br />
<br />
A summer (so far) of sea, celebration and spectacular sunshine. All, as you would expect, a bit fishy too. Shiny new memories glittering like a line-full of darrow-hooked mackerel.<br />
<br />
We headed north-east at the start of the holidays, to stay once again at the tiny fishermans' cottage, and indulge in a week of fresh seafood and coconut ice-cream. My menu for the week turned out something like this:<br />
<ul>
<li>Saturday - out to the chippy for scampi, chips and a bottle of too-sweet rose wine (from the Spar across the street)</li>
<li>Sunday - hmm, didn't write that one down, so it must have been meat</li>
<li>Monday - smoked hake with salsa and oatcakes, followed by rock turbot in a cream sauce with roasted tomato salad on the side</li>
<li>Tuesday - mussels cooked in white wine and garlic, followed by sea bass in a teriyaki/balsamic/chili reduction</li>
<li>Wednesday - dressed crab, then skate with a lemon butter and caper sauce</li>
<li>Thursday - fresh hake with herb butter, followed by that very special coconut ice-cream</li>
<li>Friday - didn't write that one down either, but I think it was a large bag of prawns cooked in garlic butter</li>
</ul>
While I'm making lists I will create one about some of the inferences we can draw from the above:<br />
<ol>
<li>We ate a lot of (excellent) food</li>
<li>We were not on any (recognisable) form of low-fat diet</li>
<li>We were (unequivocally) spoiled</li>
<li>While I have no particular problem with the lingering odour of fish and garlic, Glade will not be marketing that particular fragrance any time soon.</li>
</ol>
Now we're back home, and work beckons. But the Perseid meteor shower on a balmy, midge-free August evening was a rather special way to round off the holidays.<ol>
</ol>
nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-70691190145237144132012-06-15T16:37:00.000+01:002012-06-15T16:37:55.917+01:00Sam and Salm<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0nKZXFkMnSsR4GUdljubwd8oBkHoRTj5-JYlLUZj15uBM-DlM-yzUKqtLtGaRlBnn56y4MgJxGe2gPNDI3jpNjE7JEpKO_z5Po2n72zjCP-tFlS9OEjB47fuFVDM8ag2uBw6ear5kxbYz/s1600/samphire_in_hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0nKZXFkMnSsR4GUdljubwd8oBkHoRTj5-JYlLUZj15uBM-DlM-yzUKqtLtGaRlBnn56y4MgJxGe2gPNDI3jpNjE7JEpKO_z5Po2n72zjCP-tFlS9OEjB47fuFVDM8ag2uBw6ear5kxbYz/s320/samphire_in_hands.jpg" width="320" /></a>Green, sprouty, salty and tasty.<br />
<br />
My dad was trying to get us to describe the taste of samphire; 'a bit like asparagus, but salty,' my brother ventured. I don't know how to describe it but the saltiness is, by far, the overriding flavour.<br />
<br />
The wee green shoots are popping up all over the salt-flats. They are tricky to spot at first; then you notice them contrasted against the background of the brown muddy areas, then, when you get your 'samphire eyes in', you begin to see them <i>everywhere</i> amongst the grass and sea-pinks.<br />
<br />
The sunny weather has made the prospect of lazy cooking even more than usually attractive. In this spirit of 'less time cooking means more time kicking back, watching the hills turn red, nice glass of wine in hand,' my wife threw together some salmon and samphire parcels. Oil on foil; samphire on foil; salmon fillets on samphire; cumin, pepper and butter on salmon; seal up the foil parcel and into the oven for 15 minutes. Ocean-tang-fastic.<br />
<br />
We'll be looking for the <a href="http://www.gastrobeach.com/2011/09/blite-about-now.html">Sea Blite</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suaeda"><span style="font-style: italic;">Suaeda maritima</span></a> coming through next. More indescribable-other-than-in-terms-of-saltiness halophile treats for the summer months. Hurrah!nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-25903968304686632122012-05-28T19:30:00.000+01:002012-05-28T19:44:11.625+01:00Delphinity<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYpxaXe2yCgRx8lhlpyrGx12_-icLzjJUm3UwCJzdtyL-kbTHqpU7q07iJ0zABE3-qfUQLh4lzM4mn_Nqq5pg2urVFyisEpMeRaZI3CMBICMs0ROOKd-0fJFBZkeUGkeyOMZGr_Ag8aSz/s1600/dolphins_mallaig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYpxaXe2yCgRx8lhlpyrGx12_-icLzjJUm3UwCJzdtyL-kbTHqpU7q07iJ0zABE3-qfUQLh4lzM4mn_Nqq5pg2urVFyisEpMeRaZI3CMBICMs0ROOKd-0fJFBZkeUGkeyOMZGr_Ag8aSz/s320/dolphins_mallaig.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dolphins from Armadale-Mallaig ferry</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Thirty degrees. We don't get thirty degrees. I don't remember us ever having, in the north west of Scotland, a spell of weather as hot, blue-skied and all-round gorgeous as this. I hardly recognise the place: The mountains look Alpine, the sea looks Aegean and the sunburned faces look like stop-lights.<br />
<br />
Our trip across to Mallaig on the Armadale ferry turned into a nature cruise when the skipper announced that we were heading towards a school of dolphins. All we could see at first was a dark patch in the flat calm water - a dark patch which, upon inspection with the small binoculars my wife had the foresight to bring, turned out to be caused by the leaping and diving of a school at least fifty dolphins strong. (I assume that these were of the Common variety <i>Delphinus delphis.) </i>Tourists surged forward to catch the action on tiny and expensive-looking camcorders. I pointed our camera in the general direction of the dolphins and started pressing the button pretty much at random, as I couldn't see the view screen due to the glare. We got a few reasonable shots but not as many as I would have had if some foolish camera designer hadn't decided it would be a good idea to get rid of optical viewfinders.<br />
<br />
By the time we reached Mallaig the wee seafood shop by the railway station was pretty much cleaned out. We had to make do with 350g of Gravadlax-style thick cut smoked salmon to accompany the spelt loaf we had picked up in Armadale earlier in the day.<br />
<br />
After a dip in the sea at Morar we settled on our blanket, laid out on the glistening white sand, to eat our picnic late-lunch in the (did I mention <i>thirty degrees</i>) sunshine. Life doesn't really get much better than that.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-88558051673233384782012-03-26T11:42:00.009+01:002012-03-26T13:12:51.732+01:00Limpet Games<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdMRoR6VQsfRvgz0s3MAwDZIwpPAax3Xd3ekkWPcVHCj0tEfgXIETi0gu_IVgocxnRMYyfkQcYBN1yRIo_qCrso1CNVQUpAccSc_21OhazFrOEAk-sg0Yxgiku9SCgqEIOVKxrh6k387m/s1600/polystyrene_ship.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdMRoR6VQsfRvgz0s3MAwDZIwpPAax3Xd3ekkWPcVHCj0tEfgXIETi0gu_IVgocxnRMYyfkQcYBN1yRIo_qCrso1CNVQUpAccSc_21OhazFrOEAk-sg0Yxgiku9SCgqEIOVKxrh6k387m/s320/polystyrene_ship.jpg" alt="summer iceberg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724167845155781474" border="0" /></a>I learned a valuable lesson from my wee nephew this sunny weekend: It is possible to push a skewer through an inflated balloon without bursting it. The fact that he took off half way down the garden as I started to push the skewer in didn't inspire confidence but, despite the fact that he had only 'seen it on telly' it did, in fact, work.<br /><br />My wife and I were feeling surprisingly fresh after a superb 'galloping gourmet' evening of tapas, Kir Royale, hot-smoked salmon, Moroccan lamb and more sumptuous desserts than you could shake an eager spoon at.<br /><br />After toast, coffee, outdoor-sofa-lazing and balloon shenanigans we packed a rucksack with flask of elderflower cordial, packet of nuts and some salami, then took off over the rocky shore at, approximately, dog-whelk pace. Trekking sandals were the business for splashing through the perishing-cold sea and not-quite-so-perishing rock-pools. My nephew only had trainers (complete with built-in flashing LED lights) and Sonic the Hedgehog socks. But he too splashed around regardless.<br /><br />An enormous chunk of polystyrene was pressed into service as a ship, complete with stick mast and complement of sailors: Captain Limpet and his trusty whelk crew. The inshore breeze didn't make for ideal sailing conditions. I slip-slided out through the water to a kelp-covered island to launch the vessel, only to see it deposited straight back on the rocks; Captain Limpet entirely failing to live up to his name.<br /><br />After late-lunch break we continued on along the shore, taking in the beautiful hazy view in between repeated backtracking to share our nephew's latest (and, of course, most important) discovery. We made it as far as the 'cave' (really an arch) at the point. There was what looked like a bat-box lodged high up at the apex and, when I pointed this out to my nephew, he was keen to know how the bats had managed to get their house up there.<br /><br />He marveled at a smooth indent and groove in the rock where the waves continually splashed in and ran back down to the sea. I explained about the endless action of the sea wearing away the rock. He seemed to take the notion of geological timescales in his small stride. And, probably because it was time to return home, he really didn't want to leave that place. The trip back slowed from dog-whelk to limpet pace and the backtracking requests multiplied. We must have covered miles of that same stretch of shoreline.<br /><br />Gastrobeach looks just as inviting today as sunlight glistens on the smooth water. The mountains are, once again, hazy blue; like some far-off and enchanted mythical realm.<br /><br />I am too grown up to believe in mythical realms but I can, at least, rejoice in the magic of reality: an amazing world where skewers can be pushed through inflated balloons and water can wear away solid rock.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-23952087028315085242012-03-05T09:12:00.008+00:002012-03-09T17:22:35.859+00:00A Walk to Radio Rock<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziqqLXqh_hX8Mx0jD1eiZDNDqT-MuE1D7OSGSlN5wlASf4CP5BqKEIVFWInVvWBGS1k955aG0PAtiK3f37nL7Gk-kUMWIMAwQ6-71xv04ZnkvKHp2mnzZOena5Cy99HaQJjgxG-MQp6E_/s1600/jaggy_rocks_camus.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziqqLXqh_hX8Mx0jD1eiZDNDqT-MuE1D7OSGSlN5wlASf4CP5BqKEIVFWInVvWBGS1k955aG0PAtiK3f37nL7Gk-kUMWIMAwQ6-71xv04ZnkvKHp2mnzZOena5Cy99HaQJjgxG-MQp6E_/s320/jaggy_rocks_camus.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717948588892235954" /></a>A walk to the point last weekend, in the chill March wind, was a welcome antidote to 'morning after' fuzziness. We headed out, along with a friend who was staying with us for a short break, scrambling over progressively larger stones until we reached the sharply-spiked rocks at the eastern tip.<br /><br />There's a small cove just round the headland, where the waves ebb and flow through rounded pebbles. Our friend noticed that a rock to the side of the pebbles was making a strange noise, not unlike radio static. The sound was created by the sea, bubbling away through a crack in the rock.<br /><br />We scrambled up the hill from the shore, hauling ourselves up through the sturdy heather. The view was worth the effort: a sweep of grandeur - all snow-capped peaks, blazing low sun, scudding clouds and steely sea. We followed a sheep track until we were heading back in the direction of home, facing west. The Cuillins rose ahead of us, way beyond the russet moor, before the view was swallowed by an incoming hail cloud.<br /><br />Five minutes from home the hail shower hit us: a freezing deluge, mixed with sleet and cold rain.<br /><br />Steaming bowls of thick lamb broth, back at the house, revived us soon enough. We sat and watched the weather close in, warming up and looking forward to another evening of good wine and good company.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-65018756946623500822012-02-21T15:38:00.006+00:002012-02-21T18:05:31.870+00:00The Shellfish Gene<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zP0F28Tkj2khnOWgLWFkGzZxh7fpvAQkNkeXIYtporbkNA2RV-_RL9mpT7iNvPLjy3IvycZDHUBxdGqcb1nSHMyFn7gHN6810gpyK-AKEqjVw7j63aRW4PoBzptmMavEDWH8qidsh1tx/s1600/bucket_cockles_surfclams.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4zP0F28Tkj2khnOWgLWFkGzZxh7fpvAQkNkeXIYtporbkNA2RV-_RL9mpT7iNvPLjy3IvycZDHUBxdGqcb1nSHMyFn7gHN6810gpyK-AKEqjVw7j63aRW4PoBzptmMavEDWH8qidsh1tx/s320/bucket_cockles_surfclams.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711651534857066802" /></a>We hit the <a href="http://www.gastrobeach.com/2010/04/clam-before-storm.html" style="font-style: normal; ">surf clam</a> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">motherlode</span> on our last foraging trip. There's a particular place in one of the streams flowing back down to the sea which must have just the right combination of temperature, nutrients, sand and wee stones to provide them with an ideal home (surf clam style). They were still small but we have learned from experience how tasty they can be in a chowder.<div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div>My brother found an enormous shell from a recently-deceased native oyster <i><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ostrea</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">edulis</span></i>. I'd never seen a true oyster shell that size; it must have been fully 16 centimetres across.<br /><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">We also found a decent number of cockles and my mother insisted on collecting a load of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">wilks</span>, common whelks, limpets and slightly gritty mussels. We banned those from the ensuing chowder. She also accepted a gift of a large bag of <a href="http://www.gastrobeach.com/2010/04/these-spoots-are-made-for-wok-ing.html"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">razorfish</span></a> from a passing salt-wielding forager.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">It took us about an hour and a half to clean and prep all the shellfish. We scrubbed them all and removed the beards from the mussels, then I cut open the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">razorfish</span> and extracted the tastiest bits. My brother made a base for the chowder which included stock made from prawn shells, cream, herbs and potatoes. He then added the surf clams and cockles to cook until the shells opened. Meanwhile I boiled up the mussels, limpets, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">wilks</span> and whelks in a separate pot. A dusting of flaked <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chipotle" style="font-style: normal; "><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">chipotle</span></a>, garlic salt and chili-sauce provided the appropriate flavourings for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">razorfish</span>, which I then <i>attempted</i> to flash fry. I must now admit to having a condition known as frying-pan-not-hot-enough-because-my-mother's-stove-is-rubbish rage. I'm seeking treatment but it's quite specialised. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">razorfish</span> ended up rather rubbery as a result of half-boiling in the pan rather than truly frying. They were better raw as my brother conceded until I pointed out to him that the pieces were still moving at the time he tried one.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">We already had enough shellfish to feed a rugby team and make 70s-style shell-covered table lamps for all their extended families, when my mother announced that this lot was just our starter and that we were also having main course and dessert. The chowder was rich, flavoursome and wonderfully messy to eat. I also managed a few mussels, a couple of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">bulots</span> (whelk) and even a vulcanised limpet.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Another excellent family meal scavenged from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Gastrobeach</span> for free (apart from the smoked ham joint and chocolate ice cream).</div></div>nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-8000164235945838912012-02-16T11:23:00.010+00:002012-02-16T13:06:23.728+00:00Seashell Sanctuary<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyzb1_76dakLbs1sXEXiGbJiwM7qL-4HAKq0cASPcubJdg8sowF5MYiCf_gbIPxWDB0dEpxBse9xDpfNDPMFL0urB2-2c6zWXjEgtTLnQWYfncPhoFKV8iJWYJFU5hetRRhZVDj1OA5Pdp/s1600/conical_hermit_crab.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyzb1_76dakLbs1sXEXiGbJiwM7qL-4HAKq0cASPcubJdg8sowF5MYiCf_gbIPxWDB0dEpxBse9xDpfNDPMFL0urB2-2c6zWXjEgtTLnQWYfncPhoFKV8iJWYJFU5hetRRhZVDj1OA5Pdp/s320/conical_hermit_crab.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5709711983599341138" /></a>It's been an uplifting, gastronomic and romantic few days on and around <a href="http://www.gastrobeach.com/">Gastrobeach</a>. It is amazing how a long weekend at home can turn into a wonderful and fulfilling mini holiday. And having that extra time coinciding with decent tides at useful times of day is neatly serendipitous. Lots to talk about, so I may spread it over a few blog posts.<div><br /></div><div>I decided to cook a special meal on the Friday evening, to kick off the long weekend in style. The food available in the supermarkets here is often boringly generic so I took to the wee shops to gather my main ingredients: a couple of juicy venison steaks from the butcher and around half a kilo of fresh prawn tails from the seafood deli.</div><div><br /></div><div>I fried up garlic and parsley with a lot of butter and some rapeseed oil, then added some lemon juice to make a hot, lemony garlic-butter dip. I simply plunged the prawn tails into boiling water for a couple of minutes. If you've never experienced the messy delights of shelling hot prawns at the table, and eating them dipped in tangy garlic butter, then you may be the sort of person that got scolded by their mother for being a messy eater and has now developed an unhealthy complex or two. You'll certainly be the sort of person that is missing out.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had seasoned the venison steaks and marinated in Port for an hour or so. Using the garlic-butter pan (complete with tasty caramelised garlic bits) I began making a reduction for the steaks. A good glug of cassis, some more Port and a couple of teaspoons of blackcurrant jam, added to the leftover venison marinade, made for a rich sauce reduction. I boiled some chopped celeriac and potato then whizzed (with some lemon juice and butter added) to make a smooth puree. Venison steaks are excellent flash-fried but they are quite dense, so you'll need to fry them for a bit<i> </i>longer than beef steaks to get to the equivalent level of cookedness. I left ours quite rare but then rested them for a while out of the pan while I fried some baton-cut courgettes in the meat juices. I then returned the steaks to the pan for a final heat. Somewhat better than the pizza and a movie I had originally planned.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was dessert too: chocolate and vanilla cheesecake by those <a href="http://www.sainsburys.co.uk/groceries/frameset/redirect.jsp;GROSESSIONID=P82fPrPsLwqJktR9vTr1c0hN4pckQstMMq4SygPZqBS81hGvVpvZ!1167472531?bmForm=deep_link_groceries_search_javascript&bmFormID=1329397311384&bmUID=1329397311384">Gü</a> people. We now have loads of those wee glass dishes they come in, but they make passable ramekins if you are a ramekin sort of person. Is that a person that likes little rams? The liquid accompaniment to the whole meal was a refreshing cava de <a href="http://www.tesco.com/wine/product/details/default.aspx?N=8134+4294966500&id=257444582">Codorniu</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Saturday was dry if a little overcast. Humans ventured onto the shore around 2pm to follow the still-receding tide line. My brother and mother joined us for a "fun but serious" forage. We were mostly seeking surf clams to form the basis of a bumper seafood chowder but were often distracted by the other fascinating sea-life revealed by the low tide. The image I've used is a wee taster of this: a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hermit_crab">hermit crab</a> in a beautiful conical shell.</div>nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-25295460050697488072012-02-01T14:45:00.008+00:002012-02-01T15:39:54.895+00:00All Wellie and Good<div class="picture right" style="width:313px;"><img src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2702/4244848789_cbf5100e0a.jpg" alt="Orion from Ayrshire" width="300" /><br />A beautiful winter shot of Orion over the Ayrshire coast. Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/johnspooner/4244848789/">John Spooner via Flickr</a>.</div>It's a crispy-cold and sunlit day, with scratchy snow showing on the mainland peaks. It looks like t-shirt weather from in here but, at around 2 degrees with windchill outside, I wouldn't recommend it.<div><br /></div><div>The bright, dry weather and longer days have been thoroughly liberating. My wife came home from work early on Monday and we had time for an hour-long trek along the 'flotsam' side of the bay before the light was gone. Along the way we spoke to a friend who had caught up with us in his quest to claim a dented blue plastic barrel, which he intended cut down and use as an animal feed container.</div><div><br /></div><div>We made it as far as the jaggy rocks two-thirds of the way towards the point before accepting that we were running out of daylight. The wobbly, rounded stones along this stretch of shore aren't conducive to surefootedness in low light, especially when you're wearing too-big Argyll wellies. My wife has snug snowboots with chunky and grippy soles, so she was somewhat more gazelle-like (in relative terms) than me in the failing light.</div><div><br /></div><div>The views (combined with the cold air) were quite breathtaking. Two ships passed in the dusk far out in the Sound. A heron hunched, old-man-like, in the steel-flat water. They seem to like these low light conditions - I assume that it's easier for them to spot the flash of small fish than when the sun is higher in the sky.</div><div><br /></div><div>The bright stars of Orion were just beginning to show in the east as we tramped, happy and becalmed, up the drive to our cosy-warm house.</div>nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-51398783719052194182012-01-26T10:40:00.008+00:002012-01-26T11:42:41.217+00:00Guvec Kind of LoveWe took a short break away in Inverness at the weekend, just to dissect the bleak and incessant-feeling month of January into manageable chunks. The sales, it seems, are still in full swing (not that we're much interested in them) with desperate, flagging chain stores hawking their miserable generic wares.<div><br /></div><div>Eating out was the high point for us. It's a treat to be able to go out to a reasonably-priced, quality restaurant that isn't aimed at formal-dining well-heeled toffs and landed gentry, as some rural 'country house hotel' restaurants are wont to be.</div><div><br /></div><div>We chose <a href="http://www.highlandaspendos.co.uk">Aspendos</a> Turkish restaurant for our Saturday night out. Turkish, and Middle-Eastern cuisine in general, is really growing on me. The flavour combinations are really quite different to what you generally find in Western cooking and there's a wholesome 'big-heartedness' to the style that is unfussy and refreshing. Tastes such as the bitter/sharp tang of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sumac">sumac</a> take a bit of getting used to but they are grown-up, exotic flavours that my palate is ready and eager to learn.</div><div><br /></div><div>I ordered <i>Kalamar Tava</i> (deep fried squid rings) and my wife chose <i>Gumus Tava</i> (deep fried whitebait) for starters. They were really fresh and substantial starters but she found the whitebait a little salty and so we swapped. I didn't find them too salty but then I probably wouldn't have noticed, being something of a budding <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halophile">halophile</a> myself.</div><div><br /></div><div>My main, <i>Balik Guvec</i> (mixed fish cooked with onion, peppers, garlic, tomatoes and artichoke), was a splendid, bubbling cauldron of fish stew. It was hard to identify the type of fish under its delicious and blistering tomatoey blanket, but I think it might have been chunks of hake and salmon. My wife had <i>Visneli Jumbo Karides</i> (king prawns, roasted almonds, spring onion, cherry, coriander, onion and peppers). This, also, was superb, and the unusual combination of the prawns and cherry chutney really highlighted a different approach to appreciation of seafood flavours.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our final course, though we were now fast approaching bursting point, was <i>Baklava </i>for my wife and <i>Kezkul </i>(a sort of milk pudding, not unlike panacotta in consistency, with rosewater, sugar, coconut, pistachio and cornflour) for me. Both portions were so enormous that we couldn't quite finish them, and we just had space to squeeze in some hot and viscous Turkish coffee to round off the meal.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love fish stews, soups, chowders and gumbos, and will need to make a point of experimenting with them further. I hear you can make a passable <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bouillabaisse">bouillabaisse</a> out of any scrappy wee rockfish and shellfish, and there are plenty of those kicking (well, wriggling and wallowing) about on Gastrobeach.</div>nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-69821109824140532942012-01-16T09:52:00.003+00:002012-01-16T10:42:59.368+00:00La Mer du MercureThe sea looks like quicksilver this morning: slow, smooth waves of liquid metal illuminated by the flat peach-coloured light of the still-hidden sun. It's a cold beauty.<br /><br />Struggling out of the warm nest of bed in the morning seems harder in January than during the pre-Christmas buzz of December, despite the fact that the days are lengthening again. It's that realisation that winter festivities are over but spring is still some way off. So I find myself coming up with strategies to alleviate the dark-day effects: getting outside for a while each day; staring at the patches of blue sky when they appear (to absorb the precious blue wavelengths); taking vitamin D; using one of those wake-up lights as a poor substitute sunrise.<br /><br />The vast store of Christmas luxury food has now dwindled. The last mince pies were consumed at the weekend; a delicious but hard-to-digest reminder of festive scents and flavours. A few treats still remain: some excellent smoked salmon; a small piece of wine-infused pickled pork; a sliver of Manchego cheese. We've accrued enough bottles of booze to last until next Christmas.<br /><br />Walks on Gastrobeach in bracing weather have helped to blow away the cobwebs. Our stroll along the shore the day after a storm revealed a plethora of beached sea-life: many starfish; a lone feisty squat lobster; a small fish stranded in a pool; several sea-urchins. I found an oyster of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Crassostrea virginica</span> variety yesterday and later consumed it as a flash-grilled snack doused with chilli sauce.<br /><br />Looking back over this post it seems a little melancholy. I suppose that's just the way it came out, but it wasn't really my intention. I have had a wonderful festive season and enjoyed every minute of contact with family and friends. We celebrated like we meant it.<br /><br />I don't make resolutions but I think I need, for my own balance of mind, to have upcoming treats to look forward to throughout the winter. It shouldn't be one great blast of enjoyment then three months of hunkering down til springtime. So we'll line up some treats and breaks away; we'll keep the sparkly-lights shining and we'll keep in touch with family and friends.<br /><br />It's not a resolution, just a practical solution, for partial diminution of the winter blues.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-85084451460146192482011-12-12T14:48:00.010+00:002011-12-12T16:05:55.747+00:00Baws for Thought<div class="picture right" style="width:313px;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmR-_TDrlBQfDWjAoiMZcbS24MipPp7AxrH63eJsEm50uRQUirc_tsVyOC-XIcbpTHwAe-uw2p2xC4-nnJAkxf6O-iZg3iIuz6UV9RGJ3cZbojj5jVVwcC4SKhmiVE2AUs6TJ_4Lg0xT5w/s1600/hurricane_bawbag_gourock.jp" alt="hurricane bawbag, gourock" width="300" /><br />Bawbag-battered Beachfront, Gourock</div>It could only happen in Scotland: we get a great big storm; some Glasgow wit christens it #HurricaneBawbag; it goes viral on Twitter; some US news networks think it's an official name and report it as such.<br /><br />If you don't get the joke then I suggest you look it up. The storm itself wasn't really much of a joke, with some major structural damage across Scotland and widespread loss of electricity. We get a lot of storms here but they are usually from a southwesterly direction, while 'Bawbag was a northwesterly belter.<br /><br />We lost our own electricity for a couple of days but made the best of it, putting the little-used Morso stove into action as a focus for concerted huddling. It was also perfect for keeping a pot of cinnamon-infused coffee piping hot. We whipped up an omelette on a wee gas stove for sustenance.<br /><br />There is something special about those few nights every few years when there is no electricity. Families sit together, primarily for warmth, but end up in conversation in the absence of any other distraction. Anecdotes and stories are, just for a while, passed from generation to generation in a way that was once routine. The primal glow of the fire (and perhaps the odd dram or two) fuel the warmth of the openness and humour.<br /><br />Gastrobeach was scarily spectacular in the storm. Great white sheets of spindrift whipped across the bay, obliterating the view across to the mainland. Our front windows are now covered in a film of salt spray. Only the seagulls seemed to be willing to tough out the storm on the wing; no gale seems violent enough to curtail their enjoyment of riding the gusts.<br /><br />There will be many more storms this winter and they will all change the complexion of the beach in interesting ways, presenting (I hope) renewed foraging opportunities. I'm running short on dried sea lettuce <a href="http://www.gastrobeach.com/2010/06/lettuce-be-clear.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">Ulva lactuca</span></a>, which has become an essential seasoning ingredient for use in my fish recipes and instant soya cup soups. I'm sure there will be plenty available, strewn like bright green rags all over the lower shore.<br /><br />The wind's picking up again as night falls. But it's the familiar soggy southwesterly. I know its <span style="font-style: italic;">modus operandi</span> and I shall not fear its wrath. Well, at least I <span style="font-style: italic;">hope</span> we're not talking 'Baws again.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-64214327840350612552011-12-05T09:33:00.011+00:002011-12-05T10:33:06.665+00:00Simple Soupy Twist<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxcRHIYm6jMoKYLjqE6lLBeOcxAFGtPQgU9Le3Grpi33GDuHGB0fg6HMV2nG0GZl4CdlJqwj2GRn6Lu6OdQskQaCkf_gbkMiwzy1a1cm2salyI-wXuq5vk3vkmy3RX_5hmgnTYlG5B0-b/s1600/snow_ducks.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxcRHIYm6jMoKYLjqE6lLBeOcxAFGtPQgU9Le3Grpi33GDuHGB0fg6HMV2nG0GZl4CdlJqwj2GRn6Lu6OdQskQaCkf_gbkMiwzy1a1cm2salyI-wXuq5vk3vkmy3RX_5hmgnTYlG5B0-b/s320/snow_ducks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682590080206613202" border="0" /></a>The first snow of winter is here. A quick freeze/thaw/freeze cycle has formed a sheet of frozen sleet just perfect for sustaining a layer of delicate snow. I'm aware of that wonderful soft silence that comes with the sound-insulating quality of new snow. The mainland mountains are entirely greyed out behind a foreground curtain of drifting snowflakes.<br /><br />Ducks dabble in the bay as the feeble dawn approaches. The heron doesn't hang around long after presumably finding the pickings a bit thin and somewhat frozen.<br /><br />It's thick soup weather. And we came up with a gem of delicious soupy-twistery yesterday. We had boiled up a chicken carcass for stock with the intention of just adding barley to make a simple and tasty chicken broth. Upon visiting the fridge to collect up the bowl of wee bits of meat stripped from the carcass prior to boiling, we found some other interesting leftovers.<br /><br />Those little clingfilm-covered bowls of leftover bits and bobs have a tendency to build up. And there's a certain joy in being able to offload the lot into one coherent recipe. The bits in question were: a bit of homemade Thai curry paste left over from making a fish curry a few nights before; a bowl of coconut milk left over from same; some cooked green cabbage from the night before. I put the whole lot in with the chicken stock, chicken bits and barley, then boiled it up for an hour. This made for a pretty special soup: warming chickeny goodness with soft barley and the soothing aromas of coconut and lemongrass.<br /><br />I hate throwing food away and I get a little annoyed with myself when I have to do it. It gives me a vague feeling that I've made a miscalculation somewhere that has meant that I haven't used the food efficiently and <a href="http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/timeously">timeously</a>. A hard-working cook for a mother and an extended family full of Scottish Presbyterians will do that to you.<br /><br />Try experimenting this Christmas: Offload your leftovers by creating imaginative and colourful flavour combinations that haven't come out of any recipe book. You might just discover something wonderful and in using up all your leftovers you will be, at least in this regard, free of sin for a while.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-28666666584004350222011-11-21T09:36:00.015+00:002011-11-21T18:11:01.869+00:00Ling when you're Winning<div class="picture right" style="width:313px;"><img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/26/Molva_molva.jpg/800px-Molva_molva.jpg" alt="common ling drawing" width="300" /><br />Common Ling, from Wikipedia</div>I bought a piece of ling from the fish man last week. This was a nicely de-boned fillet but, if you ever see a whole one, you might be mistaken for thinking it was an anorexic cod or a conger eel. It is, in fact, a member of the cod family but its eel-like appearance can be a bit off-putting for the novice fish cook.<br /><br />I think the species we get here is the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_ling">Common ling <span style="font-style: italic;">Molva molva</span></a>. It is apparently a voracious predator that likes to hang around wrecks and rough ground. Sound like anyone you know? I hope not. There is also a Blue ling <span style="font-style: italic;">Molva dypterygia</span> which looks even more like an anorexic cod but I'm pretty sure it's predominantly the<span style="font-style: italic;"> Molva molva </span>that is found in Scottish waters.<br /><br />A method for cooking ling didn't immediately spring to mind for me. It has quite tightly-grained and firm flesh compared to cod but, from what I could remember of the last time I cooked it, it doesn't have a very strong flavour. I had a quick look through a few recipes and adapted one to match the ingredients I had available. It ended up as a quite respectably chefy-looking pan fried ling fillet on a bed of flageolet beans, peas and bacon.<br /><br />The cooking method was fairly simple. First, fry up some garlic and finely diced onion and allow to soften. Next, turn up the heat and add in some chopped bacon or pre-prepared bacon lardons and fry until the bacon starts to brown. You can add in some finely chopped chorizo if you like - this will add some extra bite and saltiness to the dish. Drain most of the liquid off a tin of flageolet beans but keep the liquid to hand. Add the beans to the fried bacon and onions and also chuck in a handful of frozen peas. Let that lot fry for a couple of minutes then add in some of the bean juice and turn down the heat to a slow simmer.<br /><br />While the bean mixture is simmering, cut the ling into portions and season with plenty of salt and pepper. Get your frying pan really hot (rapeseed oil is great to use for high-temperature frying - I often use <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Ola-Oil-Virgin-Pressed-Rapeseed/dp/B005NLLKXC/ref=sr_1_1?s=drugstore&ie=UTF8&qid=1321878262&sr=1-1">Ola</a> or <a href="http://www.sainsburys.co.uk/groceries/index.jsp?bmUID=1321878078581">Borderfields</a> Scottish rapeseed oil) then put in the fish, flesh side down. Allow it to brown nicely before turning it over to the skin side. Once the skin side has crisped up you can turn down the heat until the fillet is cooked through but still moist.<br /><br />Finally, add some cream to your bean mixture and allow it to heat through but not boil. Serve in a large shallow bowl with the ling perched on top of the bean mixture for genuine chefiness-look.<br /><br />You could easily make this recipe without the flageolet bean and just use the frozen peas but I think if you were doing it that way you'd need to crush the peas in order to let the flavour out. I love flageolet beans and they always go really well with bacon, or any other cured meat for that matter.<br /><br />You can probably tell I'm getting into cosy winter hibernation mode with this kind of food. It's hearty and filling, comes in a big bowl and doesn't <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> require the use of a knife to eat it. But the peas-only version of this recipe would make a perfectly acceptable summer dish along with a glass of chilled white.<br /><br />The weather has turned to smirry, gloomy November grimness but I'm going to turn all the lights on and ignore it. No point in sitting here in the dark. Need to catch some rays, artificial or otherwise. But that's a different fish story altogether.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-9007061820112147462011-11-07T09:35:00.006+00:002011-11-07T10:38:53.462+00:00Full of Beans<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAl3nUAwCNFRUjK8mm2fFACrHJu5T595XKc8er-6zuITmsVJCbbCqHTMiIFYfu9q8VUdLkq2GSZqd-RkmY_lj76E41BlYMHbUmRPPFHLjLXM9Z6G0tNHcwwVe7_NXvDnbH4UKramKd1hsM/s1600/sunrise_november_rays.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAl3nUAwCNFRUjK8mm2fFACrHJu5T595XKc8er-6zuITmsVJCbbCqHTMiIFYfu9q8VUdLkq2GSZqd-RkmY_lj76E41BlYMHbUmRPPFHLjLXM9Z6G0tNHcwwVe7_NXvDnbH4UKramKd1hsM/s320/sunrise_november_rays.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672201372330481618" border="0" /></a>What a beautiful November morning. The sun is blazing through the window and I am squinting to read what I'm typing. Yes, I have blinds, but they are staying resolutely up today so that I can absorb as much of this precious daylight as possible.<br /><br />I've just recovered from a nasty stomach bug so am feeling full of the joys of health and vitality today. And coffee. My first cup of coffee in a week! Bliss.<br /><br />I got up early(ish) yesterday to watch the sunrise. It's a fairly slow process at the moment because of the sun's very low arc in the sky. It seems to meander along behind the mainland mountains for quite a while before finally putting in a full appearance. But that lazy rising gives plenty of time for optical fireworks as the light morphs and beams its way to full blazing glory.<br /><br />Later in the day we drove to Balmacara and took a walk in the forest before scrambling down to the shore. My wife made arrangements of brilliant red and yellow leaves then photographed them against ivy, moss and rock backgrounds. We rounded off the walk with an al fresco cup of stupidly-sweet Aero hot chocolate, from the wee shop.<br /><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cassoulet">Cassoulet</a> for dinner tonight, I think. We've loved it ever since our first giant French tin of it. We make our own now: soaking the beans (mostly haricot or cannellini) overnight; rapid boiling them; then bubbling them up with frankfurters, pre-roasted pork belly slices, thyme and tomato puree. The meaty surprises are great but, for me, cassoulet is really all about the soft and savoury beans. Get those right and your cassoulet will work perfectly, whichever recipe you use.<br /><br />November can be a grim month, so I intend to savour the good days like the softest of savoury cassoulet beans. There may be repercussions.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-88742299236040671992011-10-25T09:16:00.015+01:002011-10-25T10:39:27.022+01:00Free Birds<div class="picture right" style="width:313px;"><img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/9e/White_tailed_Eagle_DG.JPG/784px-White_tailed_Eagle_DG.JPG" alt="sea eagle off skye" width="300" /><br />Sea Eagle off Skye, courtesy of Wikipedia</div>We're having some odd weather for late October: a warm but gusty southeasterly wind and daytime temperatures of around 16 degrees. The humidity alternates between torrential downpour and tenuously blow-dried.<br /><br />I dunked myself in a choppy sea yesterday. I reckoned the sea temperature of around 12 degrees wouldn't be too painful. I've certainly felt worse but I wouldn't call it pleasant. The water was murky with stirred-up sediment and dark waves pushed me back towards the shore.<br /><br />The balmy autumn weather and stiff breeze seem to have struck a chord with the birds. As I drove along the road yesterday I saw them everywhere, singly and in groups, just hanging on the wind, subtly adjusting their wings and feathers moment by moment to remain stable. A lone buzzard hovered at car-roof level; a group of crows floated high above the house (would be great if they would do that again for Hallowe'en); seagulls maintained station above the white-capped waves in the bay.<br /><br />Talking of birds, we saw a Sea Eagle <a href="http://www.rspb.org.uk/wildlife/birdguide/name/w/whitetailedeagle/index.aspx"><span style="font-style: italic;">Haliaeetus albicilla</span></a> from the Armadale ferry a couple of weeks ago. It seemed to have been following a fishing boat along with a gaggle of other birds. It peeled away and swooped in close to the window of the ferry. They are huge, with a wingspan of up to eight feet, and have a distinctive white tail. The woman across from us insisted at volume that it was an Osprey.<br /><br />Filtered sunlight has just broken through the clouds lending the autumn grass a pale-gold sheen. The sun is a wan yellow smudge, low in the sky.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-12881995015136998812011-09-29T12:22:00.005+01:002011-09-29T13:01:16.745+01:00Piering into my Past<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvyWGnQt2qoTcyHGoCmbENd54gdkONud6jmM83ENpPCwSD02BEDDLPW7ZWM7YZJq_myGvGiuzc_N5pDgoTY-tQ_RuFhkqXzIPHD7uJ_OcdUgWzaWDC3AZ1PLgTcKMpGLl5_NBAmMXwOOm/s1600/ei_pier_sunset.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvyWGnQt2qoTcyHGoCmbENd54gdkONud6jmM83ENpPCwSD02BEDDLPW7ZWM7YZJq_myGvGiuzc_N5pDgoTY-tQ_RuFhkqXzIPHD7uJ_OcdUgWzaWDC3AZ1PLgTcKMpGLl5_NBAmMXwOOm/s320/ei_pier_sunset.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657750328918892690" border="0" /></a>An impromptu trip to the pier at high tide last evening brought a flood of childhood memories. I used to spend so much time there; mucking about in boats at high tide and searching for oysters at low. I remember falling off the pier one low tide while trying to scramble up the side. I landed right next to a rusty but sturdy fisherman's knife. It cleaned up nicely and my mother still uses it today.<br /><br />We ordered food at the bar then strolled down to the pier with G&Ts in hand. The tide was intoxicatingly high. A beautiful evening; a warm breeze set gentle waves lapping over the top of the pier. It was good to see creels on it again.<br /><br />The bay where the pier is located faces north, so it's an ideal place for yachties to tie up in choppy weather. Our worst winds are usually south-westerly, so anchoring in a north-facing bay is a good thing. But last night's influx wasn't about choppy weather; just a lovely evening bringing idyllic notions of friendly pubs and cold beer, I think.<br /><br />The food was excellent: rack of lamb with a rich red-wine sauce, followed by fruit crumble and icecream. A Wednesday trip to the local hostelry seems a great way to break up the week. But it's the kind of place that usually warrants more than just "a quick pint". We behaved ourselves last night and felt the better of it this morning.<br /><br />The tide is peaking around 8.30 this evening. A wee dip before dark might be in order.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-2699100252974777682011-09-19T09:07:00.003+01:002011-09-19T09:40:15.647+01:00Here We 'R' AgainIt may have not have escaped your attention that September has an 'r' in it. That's a (very) rough reminder of the fact that the sea temperature is now dropping again and it's safer to commence collection and consumption of tasty bivalves.<br /><br />In a spirit of determined foraging enthusiasm my brother, my wife and I headed for the shore on Saturday afternoon; rake and bucket in hand. We had intended to collect surf clams but the tide wasn't really big enough to reveal the sandier areas where surf clams are more abundant. So we settled for a decent pile of juicy cockles which we found further up the shore in the gravelly areas.<br /><br />As usual we ended up separating off into different parts of the bay, following our own personal cockle-finding trails. My wife was scanning the bottom of a small stream when she saw what she thought was a bubble. She prodded it gingerly, fully expecting it to have been produced by some sea creature still hidden in the adjacent seaweed. It turned out instead to be a clear marble.<br /><br />My brother made a delicious chowder with the cockles (and few surf clams) we had collected. He used some <a href="http://www.gastrobeach.com/2011/05/squats-entertainment.html">squat lobster</a> stock that I had in my freezer left over from my party a few months ago. He added smoked haddock, potato, onion and milk and, finally, some cream and the cockles and clams. An excellent start to the shellfish-foraging season and a reminder of the need for hearty comfort food and good company during the cold, dark months ahead.<br /><br />My wife reckons I'm losing my marbles when I go swimming in the cold sea. After her peculiar find on Saturday I'm starting to wonder if that might be literally true.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1375447091648495563.post-3301000795335487942011-09-17T11:18:00.005+01:002011-09-17T12:36:05.730+01:00Foamin' in the Gloamin'<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipX9k8LQO2bCMFOmczgZ_RqoCuyxeL8hY1zRzu0Z6bktBysz7PTDLMNKIvZHllEeOXRjUxxDmBnCyIDtWeH2K2mIdV3s_Vdkhzvh40MHM57DjrSeePWoq3CbEvMfouZhSM6s-z_ERMvGK/s1600/surfer_whitehills.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipX9k8LQO2bCMFOmczgZ_RqoCuyxeL8hY1zRzu0Z6bktBysz7PTDLMNKIvZHllEeOXRjUxxDmBnCyIDtWeH2K2mIdV3s_Vdkhzvh40MHM57DjrSeePWoq3CbEvMfouZhSM6s-z_ERMvGK/s320/surfer_whitehills.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653288509648324050" border="0" /></a>We had some spectacularly choppy weather whilst over northeast in August. The north wind really drives in there, raising huge breakers pushed up by great underwater outcrops of rocks. The rocky shores alternate with sandy bays to provide great variety for the abundant local surfers; both beginner and verging-on-insanity hardcore.<br /><br />On one of the wet and windy afternoons we wandered down to the seafront to watch two particularly dedicated exponents of the art. They were surfing into a boulder-strewn cove with enormous lumps of rock just below the surface where they repeatedly tumbled off their boards and into the roaring sea, after weaving in on the foaming crest of some formidable wave.<br /><br />Watching the surfers I could see where the <a href="http://www.allaboutstuff.com/Out_at_Sea/The_Ninth_Wave.asp">ninth wave superstition</a> (about the ninth or tenth wave being the big one) comes from. The big waves <span style="font-style: italic;">seemed</span> to come at quite regular intervals and we found ourselves getting exasperated at the surfers for missing the biggest and best! It's just an illusion, though. The timings of the complicated wave pattern interactions of crest and trough are impossible to predict in an environment with so many lumpy variables.<br /><br />Crazy, perhaps, but I did admire their skill: Two wiry guys pitting themselves against the mercy of the brutal ocean just for the brief thrill of riding on the crest of a wave. Humans are really odd.nunciohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13517490484836183431noreply@blogger.com0