I had the inauspicious task of turning 33 a few days ago. I know that’s not a cue to start shopping around for retirement homes or for picking out my favourite shade of blue rinse, but it’s hardly spring chicken territory. If I were a footballer I would be described as being in my ‘twilight,’  the game of lawn bowls is becoming more and more appealing and I’m now the precise age that Jesus was when he was crucified.

I’ve finally realised that the purpose of birthday gifts is to take your mind off all of this stuff, something shiny to divert attention. My eldest Sister came up trumps in a big way this year by buying me my first ever Japanese mandolin. I must be the last person in the world to own one of these things but I’m not really a kitchen gadget sort of guy. A mandolin, however, is going to get its mileage in my kitchen, that’s for sure - I even inexplicably used it to make a cheese and cucumber sandwich at lunchtime. But for my Thursday evening snack-attack I’ve made something that probably all new mandolin owners make within their first 48 hours, parsnip crisps with a sour cream & chive dip.

My very generous Sister also bundled in a DVD of the Bruce Lee classic, ‘Enter The Dragon,’ so that’s my Thursday night done and dusted then! Martial arts, parsnip crisps and a couple of lager beers. You could turn me into a pig in a mud bath and I’d be less content than I am right now.

Thanks Big Sis!

GDave

PS. Hey! Bruce Lee was just a few months shy of his 33rd birthday when he died! What are you trying to tell me?

Still on a breakfast theme (the Floddies, not the Pimm’s) and it’s high time I posted a dish from my current part of the world. I moved to Scotland just over a year ago and it’s been equally an education of cuisine as one of culture.

I didn’t know until my time here that jumbo sausages could be deep-fried in batter, that the Pakora was regarded (by some) as Scotland’s national dish, nor that the Scotch Pies at Ibrox could make your gums bleed for more than the duration of a Glasgow Rangers football match. Here, just as in the rest of Britain, great food doesn’t come looking for you. It has to be hunted down, which is really what this blog is all about.

Herrings in Oatmeal doesn’t take too much hunting down. A very famous Scottish breakfast, one which even I’ve known of for years, and so simple there’s really no recipe involved. My herrings came to me filleted by my fishmonger with the skins left on, but these little blighters are über boney so a little time was taken to pluck out the worst offenders. Once boned and trimmed the fillets were well seasoned and dropped flesh side down onto a plate of pinhead oatmeal and pressed hard making sure the whole side of the fillet was firmly coated with the oats. The oiliness of the fish was all the adhesive needed for this. Finally the fillets were fried in a hot, oiled skillet on the oaty flesh side for 3 or 4 minutes until the oats were toasty and brown, then flipped onto the skin side for another couple of minutes along with a knob of butter.

Of course, your average 280 lbs Scottish bare-knuckle prize fighter might skip the sprig of parsley and lemon wedges, but this is one tasty brekkie that will set you up, well, until lunchtime at least.

GDave