We left the story with Chef Daniel, which was a full on post, but not a full on day. After that we caught up with the boys. A long walk for us along the river but for the boys a scooter ride away. We still got there before them. Les Bassins des Lumières, which claims to be the world’s largest digital art centre. A huge block of concrete, a German submarine base from 1941 repurposed to make use of the 110m pools. The walls and the water form an immersive backdrop to several art installations.

No queue and straight through the bag search. We’d not booked tickets which didn’t seem to be a problem and within five minutes we’d entered into darkness, not sure where to go or where to stand. The show was everywhere, and although I’m not sure I was a fan of either artist I was blown away by the sheer size of the place and the reflections of light and artistry. I will not look at a Matisse or Frida Kahlo in the same way again.

The next day, the penultimate one, it’s a quiet start and I think we are all ready for some of our own space. My wife and I decide a repeat visit to the Darwin centre is in order. I’ve been dreaming of the brookie that I saw in the cabinet. Rather than take the boat across the river, we decide to walk, taking in the Pont Chaban-Delmas (bridge) and I close out in my mind the question that’s been troubling me all week. How do the boats get through the bridges? Up close and in person I see it now. What a feat of engineering, a vertical lift bridge rather than a cantilever. I wish I’d been there to see a boat come through. Perhaps another day.

Darwin Centre has quiet beats on in the background, perfect for some notes with a coffee. It’s good until the rap comes on. The brookie didn’t live up to expectation. I suspect it has a good shelf life and a huge number of calories that I’m now regretting.

We continue our walk along the river and across the Pont de Pierre built in 1822, apparently commissioned by Napoleon with 17 spans, that must have been some build back in the day.

We are heading to a crêperie that my son has chosen as his last meal with us before moving onto Madrid to meet his university pals, the next adventure of his summer holiday. A well-earned break after 5 years on a physics master’s course.

Lunch is just as one hoped from a crêperie, the boys get a meal deal with dessert thrown in, whereas the adults stick to a simple buckwheat affair, mushrooms, ham, egg served with a green salad.

We hug and say our goodbyes, as we make sure he’s on the right tramline to the airport.

The three of us are left to our own devices and I decide to visit the local art shops in the area because I haven’t got enough empty journals. I come across one selling three pens and an online tutorial, on offer. It’s of a picture that I’d quite like to draw and decide this could be the one that takes me back, recentres my creative streak, and stops the fear.

We agree to meet at 4, the Bar à Vin, Cours du 30 Juillet. Reasonably priced wine by the glass, before we head back to a funky Carrefour for bread and a few bits and pieces that we need to help finish off the cheese that fell in our baskets over the weekend. We call it a picky tea, the odds and ends floating about that need eating. The tomatoes, a few cherries, a peach each, apricots. Green salad, tinned fish. The half empty jar of haricot blanc.

Three plates instead of four, each plate different and everyone is fed as we try to adopt a zero food waste policy!

The last day, we are in that space, where we know we need to pack up, ready for our own beds and at the same time don’t want to return as reality will bite. If we’d put an itinerary in place we’d know exactly what we were going to do. Instead we are slightly in limbo, that space where we are pseudo packed and waiting for the last minute items that seem to add up to more than all the items already packed. We don’t need to be at the airport until 18:45 for the bag drop so it’s going to be a long day. Fortunately the place we are staying has said we can leave our bags inside until we need to collect them.

We go back to the Darwin centre again, this time via the boat. The world returns to normal (what was I thinking with a brookie) and I’m back in hold with a pain aux raisin and a coffee. All is well in the world as I correct yesterday’s mistake.

It’s the quiet side of the river and we are finally persuaded to try the scooters in a safe place. At breakneck speed we whizz up and down the cycle path. Those things are fast and I can see why the boys opt for them against the tram.

More meandering and we end back up at Michels for lunch. It’s the same routine, almost the same menu. It’s cheerful and we know what to expect as we put in a final few shops, enjoy the sun and make our way to get our bags. It’s been a great trip with lots of memories.

A day bristling with opportunity! I’m excited having booked this a month or so ago from home. I’d found an English-speaking cookery school in the heart of Bordeaux that offered a seasonal 5 course cookery lesson based around a trip to the market.

Looking forward to meeting a couple of folks who would be partaking in the day with similar interests I arrived at the Atelier just before 9:30 as suggested. Chef Daniel greeted me, waiting beside the coffee machine. He’s pretty sharp to let me know it was just me today and not to worry. OK, so nowhere to hide, this was going to be a one-on-one experience at the Gastronome cook school. A little daunting, at the same time, what an opportunity.

We go through to the kitchen and get the preliminary chat out of the way. His questions are good and thought provoking, even in those five minutes I’m learning about myself, what kind of cooking do I do, why I’m there, what do I want to get out of the morning. The confidence to ask for what I want at the fishmonger or the butcher springs to mind. I know I’m not going to walk away from this morning with a new set of confidence skills, and yet there is a little therapy in this as I’m encouraged to talk about my journey as a cook and myself.

I share my early experiences, about growing up with the deep fat fryer, the broiler and how I taught myself to cook after leaving home. We swap war stories for a few minutes. His journey from the finance industry to finding himself working as a chef. It’s fascinating to hear the life story and choices he made to find himself opening a cook school here in France just as the pandemic hit.

I wish I’d come more prepared in my thinking, and then I’d have overthought it. Meanwhile, as he’s chatting the cogs are whirring. He’s working out in his head what 5 courses he’s going to pull together.

Then there is the bonus guest we are cooking for. My wife as part of the package is joining me later on for the menu’s grand reveal. So at the same time as working out what he needs to buy at the market he’s working out what we are going to cook that my wife will like, checking if there is anything to avoid.

Globe artichokes come to mind along with fish. The fear of approaching the counter and knowing what to choose. The artichokes, I’ve only ever had them from the jar, but they look so beautiful stacked up in the European markets fresh. What do you actually do with them to cook them down. We talk about sardines and filleting a fish, I normally buy pieces that look like meat, nothing with a head or the eyes looking at me, safe, things that have been filleted already. He’s making mental notes, and then we head to the market. I think I saw him grimace at both the thought of the artichoke and the sardines!

It’s chucking it down, the first rain all week. Spare umbrellas at the door we head out along the cobbled streets to the indoor market. Which he explains is fairly sleepy on a Tuesday. He talks about creating relationships with stallholders and how long it’s taken him. François the fishmonger and Emily on the fruit and veg stall.

François descales a maigre for us, and takes the fins off. He throws in a handful of sardines for free. We buy two large artichokes, some peaches, cherries, potatoes, green beans and shallots.

I’ve never heard of maigre. I try to find out if there’s an English name and it turns out there is: meagre, same word, we just spell it like a criticism. It’s also called croaker, shade-fish, corvina, stone bass, depending on who’s selling it. Not a rare fish either, it runs from Norway down to Congo and all through the Mediterranean. I’ve just never seen it offered in Scotland, or if they had I’d probably have thought it was sea bass.

By the time we’ve finished the rain has stopped and the sun is already drying the streets. I nip to the loo, a fresh coffee, glass of water in hand. He’s set our stations up with a waste bowl and explains that we need to tackle the things that are going to take the longest. The artichokes, the potatoes. It feels obvious to me, but I can appreciate not everyone comes with the same knowledge. Aside from the prep, the fish will be the last thing to cook.

I get a lesson in trimming the artichoke down, pulling the fluffy part away (the choke) and simmering it for 30 minutes with a lemon to stop it going brown. The potatoes are slowly cooked in butter and olive oil, with a turn every 5 minutes or so under a cartouche. We prep shallots, garlic, herbs and make a salsa verde, or vierge in French.

Dessert we take a few of the peaches and make individual crumbles, referring to the pâtissier’s1 bible for the only recipe of the day. Everything else is done from memory rough and ready, scratch, and I’m in my element. We steam some green beans in the residual heat of the simmering artichokes. There is some stock already prepared along with breadcrumbs for later. Everything we are doing is made with the intention of reheating as necessary.

I forgot to mention the visit to the cheese counter, merely a top up in the chef’s eyes, there is a small mountain in his fridge. Fresh parmesan appears for the stuffed artichokes with the breadcrumbs, and I nibble on the chunks that break away from the grater. Something else I’ve not done before, the small blocks we get in the UK from the supermarket just don’t compare, I’d never be nibbling on the breakaway pieces.

My wife appears promptly around 12:15, for the 12:30 sitting. We’ve still not done anything with the fish. I’m given a lesson in filleting both the sardines and then the maigre. The sardines are a bit stinky, fiddly and the itch is scratched, we drench in a little seasoned flour, fry in butter and oil.....there is a theme coming through here. More oil, more butter!

Places are being set and the crockery is pulled down from the shelf, I’m encouraged to sit with my wife and enjoy a glass of wine as the sardines are placed beside a pre-prepared gazpacho soup. Something we wouldn’t normally make, cold soup! Probably wouldn’t make again either albeit it was tasty!

I’m back up again to cook the maigre fillet, similar approach, flour, oil, butter. This time we serve with a stuffed artichoke, and the green salad.

Whilst this is going on he discusses the confit duck2, one of my favourite things about the food from France especially if it’s part of a cassoulet. Here he just pan-fried it to give it colour and then served with the potatoes and green beans.

There’s the crumble, and a cheese course to follow. We are utterly stuffed by the end, overstaying the finish time as we talk about life, politics and the state of the world.

I don’t think I’ll cook an artichoke again! It’s a lot of effort for what you get at the end of the day. As for the fish counter, the butcher’s, it gets easier every time I go. What I took from the many lessons here was that it takes time to build relationships. You show up, week after week, and you tell them what you’re planning to cook.

I really enjoyed my time in the Atelier, leaning into something I enjoy. The time flew by as I added another layer to my thoughts about food, myself and the skills I have. The more visible outcome, a meal for two, from a wonderful chef who made this happen.

It’s a 7am alarm start this morning, just so we can get a coffee in bed, a semi slow breakfast and a bit of journaling in. Destination St Émilion today, sans les garçons (without the boys). There isn’t really that much time if we are to catch the 9:40, the line goes on to Sarlat, St Émilion is our stop on the way. We’ve been to Sarlat on a previous holiday and it’s one of those moments where the geography of the land suddenly clicks into place.

Bordeaux station is bigger than we realise compared to our trip to Arcachon the other day. We promptly discover the platform we need today is further away. My Phone buzzing with the news we need platform 12. It’s a bit of a rabbit warren of tunnels which are under repair making finding it a little more difficult. Grateful for the 10 mins grace we have by leaving a little earlier. The train is there ready to be boarded.

Another cruise liner in the distance as I look out the window, I thought yesterday’s was big, and for some reason I’m fascinated. There is no way the boat would get in via the bridge the train crosses. It must come in the other way... I pause and hold that thought for another day. The rolling views are to be watched as we start to pass vineyard after vineyard.

There isn’t an actual train station in St Émilion, it’s about a 20-minute walk from the closest station and fewer trains than I thought there would be. So we need to think about the day carefully, long walk or the village straight away. We are there early and I’m keen to enjoy the tranquillity that comes with it. This place is a tourist trap.

We follow the small crowd that alights the train, all heading the same way. Eventually spreading out into a line of folk heading along the path that skirts the main road into town. A human chain, a snake of folk if looked at from above, excited with the thrill of being there.

A snippet in time, the walk up to St Émilion1

The place is quaint, but expensive. It’s nice to explore to look at the work. I dream about painting again and wonder could I be that good. We walk up and down the streets forgoing the usual breakfast number two. Knowing we’ve planned a good lunch. We’d booked the night before, scanning the rough guide and picking according to the menu.

We came across a place in the cloisters at the top of the village, offering a picnic basket with a little sausage, cheese, baguette and a bottle of Crémant (the local version of bubbly). Their speciality and it felt geared to the many tourists including ourselves that frequent such places and although it sounded romantic we’d chosen somewhere else.

We checked the Cloisters out anyway as part of our rambling, a lovely shop and in a very old building. Beautiful gardens, bike hire and a golf buggy if you want to explore the vineyards. A bar and a courtyard. Folk queuing for their baskets. I think we’d made the right choice. Time to find out, just round the corner perched on the hill.

Chai Pascal, a lovely place, made to feel so welcome and so gracious to help us with our French as we navigated the menu.

Our Choices as follows:

For Starter

• La Truite fumée maison, gaufre sarrasin & crème aux herbes. (Home-smoked trout, buckwheat waffle & herb cream)

Main

• La Burratina, tartare de tomates fraîches, croûtons, pesto & jambon de Bayonne de la Maison Ospital (Burrata, fresh tomato tartare, croutons, pesto & Bayonne ham)

• Le Pressé d’Agneau du Limousin & risotto de sarrasin, vierge balsamique, amandes (Pressed lamb & buckwheat risotto, balsamic sauce, almonds)

Dessert

• Le Chocolat (sphère trois chocolats, crumble) - chocolate ball with crumble

No picture for the starter which is a shame as it was beautiful. We decided to share and probably should have gone for one each. Just not sure where the whole meal was going at this point.

My wife took the Burrata on, and I the lamb. I definitely want to try a recreation of the lamb in some shape or form next time I do a roast and have some leftovers. It felt like it had been cooked very slowly and pressed into a shape and then re-fired to order. The buckwheat risotto was just the right side of creamy and a revelation as a way to cook this grain.

And we shared dessert... wow, I’ll be dreaming about it for years to come.

A fantastic meal and one to remember, just the sort of place you want to put in your pocket and place on the corner of every holiday location and given the money swilling around the village we felt we’d picked well without being ripped off.

I’d not bought a train ticket for the way back yet, I didn’t want to worry about locking us in for a time and wasn’t sure how flexible the ticket would be. There seemed to be a choice of 2:48 or 5-ish. A big gap if you haven’t got something to do to put the time in.

We made the 2:48 train back to Bordeaux. With a crazy dial on the ticket machine that needed navigating. Once I’d cracked it I gave the folks behind me a lesson.

Not wanting to end the day and our freedom from the boys we took up a colleague’s recommendation to drop into the Bar du Vin. She was right, wonderful wine including some at €3 a glass that were local and very decent.

A wonderful little Carrefour supermarket nearby, perfect for the folk who need to top up on the way home. I needed an onion, a pepper, some fresh bread, a couple of extras to bolster the pottage I was planning on making when we got back to the appartement.

There’s something we’ve always done as a family, wherever we are, dinner round the table. The good, the bad and the ugly, shared over whatever’s on the plates. Tonight it’s the pottage, pulled together from odds and ends, the overnight chicken finally delivering on its promise. It’s got chicken in it, so the boys empty their bowls without complaint.

We swap the day’s highlights across the table, theirs and ours. A village for the mind, food for the soul. St Émilion - a tourist trap worth every minute. A wonderful day.

The Chicken Pottage

What happens when you refuse to be defeated by chicken legs. As promised in my last post, where dinner was a bit of a let down, I decided to rescue the half-eaten legs and slow cook them overnight.

The overnight low-and-slow had done its work. The walk to the oven like those old commercials with the smell of gravy wafting out the window and down the street. I lifted the foil and was pleased to find meat dropping off the bone, a lovely stock that would be perfect for a light evening tea after possibly a heavy lunch. I pulled the meat from the bones, more than you’d think from four already eaten legs, and set it aside.

Soften a diced onion, a pepper, a carrot and a pepper in a little oil until they’re soft and starting to catch some colour. A few herbs or a little spice, a teaspoon of harissa. Add a tin of chopped tomatoes. Pour over the stock from the casserole dish. Let everything simmer together for a bit. Add the pulled chicken back in and leave it to do its thing on a low heat whilst you crack on with the side items.

Served with a fresh baguette and the last of the market cheese on the board alongside. A rest day mistake that turned into a great little easy meal.

One thing the photographs reminded me of: I'd picked up a jar of tomate au Marmande from the supermarket, a local tomato sauce from just south of Bordeaux, thicker and richer than a standard tin. At home a tin of chopped tomatoes does the same job, but if you ever spot a Marmande sauce, it's worth it.

We read for a little bit and then I write for a little bit, over that second coffee the machine affords. The boys have the ability to sleep a little longer as young adults are prone to do and all is good in the world.

The plan this morning is to hit the Sunday market, a walk along the river until we reach it. A few provisions maybe. It’s around 11 at this point and as we turn the corner onto the main river walk it’s in full swing, with joggers, cyclists and walkers, folk with their baskets full, some carrying bread. There’s a huge river boat, with folk leaving their luggage to be boarded. I’ve seen huge seafaring cruise ships before and marvelled at their height and size. Here, though, on the banks of a city river, the scale is more accentuated. I’m fascinated by the journey these boats take, how it actually got past the bridges. Several floors high, 20 apartments long, a restaurant just above eye level and another below. White tablecloths and wine glasses all good to go. I make a mental note to look up its destination — Viking Cruises, as it turns out.

We hit the market barely 10 minutes into our stride, disappointed it wasn’t longer, but excited at the prospect of it being on our doorstep.

The first thing that hits us is the peony stall, and I’m surprised the table isn’t buckling under the weight of how many he’s got there. I’ve got my new video camera out, a tiny handheld affair with a gimbal head that I’m still struggling to figure out, sometimes pointing at the sky, trying to avoid filming people who wouldn’t appreciate it, at the same time trying to catch that little bit of France and the excitement that a food market can bring. Oh my, look at the cherries, the peaches... oh and the cheeses.

OK, let’s not go crazy. What do we actually need, how many meals, what’s the plan? Whilst we pause a second, I clock the guy just boning chickens, there and then as folk need them. He just sells fresh organic chicken; with a tinge of yellow skin the legs look amazing, and by my reckoning I could cook them the same way I cooked the tuna steaks. A bang-in-the-oven affair with the rest of the potatoes and there’s a meal for four. Dinner sorted.

Then there’s lunch and ancillary items, not to overdo it, which I’m prone to in the excitement.

We head to the veg stall. They’re friendly, it’s the kind of stall where you point at what you want, wiggle your head, trying one’s best to get the pronunciation right, and the best part: they let me. All the stalls seemed to let me, and it was appreciated. We come away with a few peaches, a bag of apricots, cherries, a couple of onions, some mushrooms.

The cheese stall presented the hardest temptation to avoid, and unlike other markets we’ve been to they sold small pieces, so we could get a few. A Tomme and a goats’ cheese. Somewhere along the way we also picked up charcuterie and a jar of fig jam.

At the bread stall I took the opportunity to offload the shrapnel my wallet had managed to build up, counting it out exactly in loose change beforehand. She doesn’t even bother counting it, but friendly. I love this market.

Lunch back at the appartement, we really didn’t need to know about fig jam and cheese! And we’re all set for an afternoon exploring the old streets of Bordeaux.

Market Day and Bordeaux Meander (1 minute)1

We come back hungry, and I’ve got these chicken legs to get through. Perhaps not the best idea on reflection. I throw them in the casserole dish and cook them for the same amount of time I would at home, and they still don’t look done. The pressure is mounting as the boys start to chew on their elbows. The pre-dinner snacks long since finished. I need five more minutes at least. In the end, I go for it. The chicken, although cooked (I think), is tough and not what I imagined organic oven-cooked chicken to be. Folk seem happy at the table, but there is lots of meat left on the bone, pushed to the sides of their respective plates. More bread is consumed and I’m a bit disappointed, to be honest.

Rather than be defeated, I keep the bones, place them back in the casserole dish, cover with tin foil, put the oven on low. Which I know it does as deep down I don’t think the temperature was right on the original cooking. I leave the chicken pieces to stew overnight. We wake to a glorious smell and on peeling back the tinfoil I feel relieved to have this amazing stock and enough meat to pull something together akin to a chicken pottage.

That’s for another post!, the pottage can wait. Monday…Day 4 has other plans, a train, a village and the house of wine…until next time. Thanks for joining me on my week in Bordeaux.

Thanks for joining me on my week in Bordeaux. For those who missed it, Day 1 is here, we found ourselves on the east bank exploring the Darwin Centre, the old barracks turned bakery, brewery and skate park, before the city pulled us back for the evening.

Today though we head out to the coast. Early start, bikes, and the Dune du Pilat.

I’d booked the train and the bikes the week before from home, even got buy-in that we could catch the 8:03 am. So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that we’d need to be up at 6 am, out of the apartment before 7:20 am, in order to make two tram connections. Somehow it still landed as news to at least one member of the party. There was an acceptance though, a quiet one, that this was how we were rolling today.

Arcachon bound. Cycling to the Dune du Pilat as part of the adventure. My plan to get there just as things were opening up and make the most of the day. So the 8:03 was key, an hour later and things just get that bit busier. We left the flat in a swirl, Google as our guide. The street we are staying on, a long straight street, in the distance easy to see if the trams are passing by. One went by, adding to my travel anxiety. With two trams to catch before making the station, I wish I’d thought about this a bit more. When we got to the platform, the next tram’s clock was counting down from eight minutes. Time to check the buses across the street, nope. Just no way to defeat the lack of movement.

Luck would have it that the travel gods were with us. The longest eight minutes ever at the first stop, and a few more minutes at the second. We made the train with five minutes to spare.

The boys, closing their eyes and catching a few winks as the vineyards and houses whisked by. Myself too excited to let the views go. This was just perfect for me. An hour or so and we were there, ready for a little stroll to find breakfast before the bike shop opened for the day.

Breakfast in the Halle, a market hall with fresh produce, the bustle of setting up for the day and the smell of coffee wafting through the air. I’d brought the chopping board, the Joseph Joseph picnic one, with the knife tucked neatly into the corner. I always take it, rarely use it, and on the one occasion I’ve left it at home it’s been the very thing I’ve needed. The idea being to buy picnic ingredients for the Dune. Then what did we do? We bought pre-made baguettes!

A tiny coffee despite asking for a grande. It packed more of a punch than it had any right to given the size of the cup, and we were ready to find our steeds for the day.

My wife and I on continental-style, upright and proper, very European, the boys on mountain bikes. We headed out, the four of us on the Vélodyssée, which I believe hugs the full coastal length of France, along the Atlantic from top to bottom. We were there for this tiny little stretch of it. Picturesque homes and dreamy sandscapes, the kind of place where you find yourself thinking, in another life, that could be us. Mostly second homes by the look of them, boarded up and waiting for a summer that hadn’t quite started yet. We watched the buses go past with standing room only, and with the wind in our faces we were glad to be doing it under our own steam.

The Dune itself is something else. You round a corner and suddenly there it is. A mountain of sand pushing up against the treeline like it’s trying to reclaim the forest. The boys were already ahead, racing each other up the face of it. Standing at the top, you get the full picture: Atlantic on one side, a sea of pine on the other, and somewhere in the middle of it all, one of them turned to the other and shouted Lisan al-Gaib, in relation to being rightful leader of the Fremen. The reference to Dune wasn’t lost on us. The heat, the sand, and the general sense of having arrived somewhere unworldly.

We had our picnic down by the sea, away from the crowds at the top. Soaking up the view and the air. The boys keen to race me. I can’t remember the last time we did a 100 meter dash. They still want to take me on despite knowing they are way faster. We all have go in some shape or form, finishing with a race between Mum and Dad. A moment that I would have liked to capture in a little bottle and every now and then take a small whiff to take me back there.

Archacon - Dune du Pilat1 (Cycle - Route)

We got back to Bordeaux to find that the trams had stopped for the Pride march. An excuse for the boys to jump on the eScooters. No complaints for us, we were happy to walk a little and find somewhere to have a break.

Somehow we found a picture house bar just off the square, the kind of place you’d walk past without a second glance. Inside it was cool and unhurried, the sort of bar where the clientele are either in the know or killing twenty minutes before a show, and nobody is trying to make you feel like you’ve arrived anywhere special. It took us about five minutes to realise we were somewhere that felt exactly like the Film House in Edinburgh. High brow in a low-key kind of way. A very fine glass of Bordeaux.

We got the boys to join us at the Italian across the square for dinner. I kept it simple, asked for a glass of wine, a local Bordeaux, the kind of thing I knew I’d be happy with. For some reason, he decided to ask me if I might like something more expensive. Politely I said no, I’m fine, I’ll just stick with my choice. He turned on his heels, didn’t bother asking my wife what she would like, or the boys. What came back was not a glass. It was a bottle. A full bottle of the wine that I’d asked for, placed on the table with something close to a ceremony. My wife wasn’t drinking and the boys won’t touch the stuff. This was going to get unpleasant for no reason other than he wasn’t listening. Very politely I informed him I just wanted a glass, again he turned on his heels with the look of someone who’s swallowed a wasp. This time I had to pull him back: please take my sons’ order and my wife’s.

Four drinks did eventually come, and the glass of wine that did arrive was very palatable. We only saw that waiter through the corner of our eye for the rest of the meal, serving some other poor pilgrims. It definitely cemented the idea of avoiding an Italian restaurant in a French city, although I did have a very nice lasagne!

No recipe this week….but reaching back into the archive….a nod to Lasagne can be found here.

Top tips for the Dune du Pilat day

Book the train tickets in advance, there’s a discount for it, and the 8:03 was tight enough without queuing at a machine on the morning.

Shop around for bike hire before you go. We used Vélos d’Albret, which had an Arcachon branch and came in at a fraction of the price compared to other places near the sea front. Worth booking ahead rather than turning up and taking whatever’s in front of you.

Go prepared for sand in your shoes. It’s beautiful, but there are a fair few steps and the climb up is harder going than it looks from the bottom.

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It’s Sunday and a time to pause, the last couple of days have been full on. My first coffee had in bed, I scan through some Substacks. The work emails are a no-no...a temptation, but given it’s the weekend there is very little to be gained by opening the apps playing the game of email roulette. I find a couple of lessons learned writing on substack posts. Showing up and the day-by-day grind beats inspiration. I clock a 1000 words for the summer daily challenge. And as I write this I realise I probably do write a 1000 words a day, just not on any subject I really want to explore or that I can share other than to the recipient on whose project, programme, task I’m working for....those are the breaks and that’s what pays for the holidays!

So enough of that, here I am in an Airbnb in Bordeaux. A short two-hour flight from Edinburgh to a local airport. A break for the four of us. Two boys who have had a full-on year of study and agreed to come with the old fogeys. Perhaps it’s something to do with the fact we are paying, or perhaps they genuinely don’t mind being with us. Probably a bit of both, truth be told.

I’m trying to shake that feeling of being the grumpy dad, trying to shake that feeling that money doesn’t grow on trees, and for the here and now, in this moment, to be a little carefree. As long as they don’t order full-blown steaks on the menu, they can have what they want.

A half day at work on Thursday, to catch the 5pm flight out. As transfers go, it was smooth, the flight left on time. The queue for the cattle-class passport control was a little slow, and as is the way with these budget airlines we end up going through the barn and have to walk back to the main terminal. The boy orders us an Uber and it’s there in less than five minutes. Twenty-five minutes or so later, we’re greeted by our host, who scribbles so fast on a map of things and places to go that my head reels. In amongst the directions, we are told the places to be wary of pickpockets and a street to completely avoid. I hear the mention of a market a couple of times and when she finishes, my brain looking for the key words that associate with food, I politely ask her to repeat the piece about the market again.

It’s about 9:30pm by the time she leaves, we have enough time to catch the local Carrefour, for the essential breakfast and water supplies. The timing and the transfer as travel days goes has been a good one.

I’d given the steer we should leave the apartment by about 9:30. The student wasn’t too happy, realising he’d need to be up about 8:30. I tried to avoid the confrontational chat about us coming all this way and staying in bed all morning was not really what I had in mind. To be fair, I didn’t want to rush about like a loon either. At the same time there was an exciting place to be explored. We did make it out by 10, hit by a wall of heat, I was glad to be out early just to get our bearings. We got our 7-day travel passes and amazingly it covered the river crossing as well. We took the next boat and made it to a place called the Darwin Eco System, a cross between an arts centre and an industrial park. On closer inspection, a bakery, a brewery, a chocolatier, skate park by day, large open night club for the evening. A disused army barracks and set of warehouses re-purposed for the community. An onslaught of images and things presented in a different way to blow the mind. With every corner I tried to take a mental image of the space we’d found ourselves in. Breakfast number two had to be the pain au raisin. Too hot for coffee we were just happy to be meandering and enjoying the vibe.

On the east side of the river, we walked through the trees, an element of shade in a heat we weren’t used to. The odd runner coming by, both impressed and amazed that they would choose to run in this heat. The boys tried out the local battery-powered scooters in a quiet part of the park. They seemed to be available on every corner of most streets in the city, where they would become a regular feature of transportation for them.

I’d been given a tip-off for lunch of a bistro, in the Saint-Pierre district, Michel’s, a 10-minute walk away from the place we’d found ourselves in. The power of Google Maps and the streets full of shade, it felt like a plan. We were squeezed into a table for four, and in that space between being given a menu we knew we wouldn’t enjoy it. Plumes of French cigarettes and elbow-to-elbow proximity, we asked to go inside, hoping it would be cool. It wasn’t, but it was smoke-free. The waiter took our order after scolding us about slowing him down by trying to speak French. He promptly got us drinks and a Woozoo fan that got the air moving. Three salades du jour and a shredded duck burger later we were happy.

The boys wanted to hit a couple of shops, and we were ready for a little space, so we agreed to meet back at the apartment for a 6:30 exit. We were going to go get a few food supplies from the large supermarché we wanted to try. A meander up the west side of the river, an outdoor shop in the Hangars that blew my mind. I end up at the fish counter, thinking why not spend the money on fish that I would have spent on a meal out. I bought four chunks of tuna, later wishing I’d bought two given the size and then halfing each to make four. I laid them out in a casserole dish. Meanwhile diced a fennel, a pepper (things we’d crazily brought from home rather than go off), a little olive oil, softened them in a large frying pan, added a tin of tomatoes, some herbs that had been kindly left, added a jar of butter beans, then poured over the top and placed in the oven for 30 mins. Armed with a bag of those prepared potatoes that no matter how long you roast them for don’t seem to take on any colour. Anyhow, it worked, four folk fed and watered.

One of the boys was desperate to get us into a sky bar for the evening, fortunately for the tired legs there was one not too far away. Unfortunately we were refused. A football top and a pair of Crocs can do that (neither of them mine!). We ended up at the Halles de Bacalan for a beer. The vibe much different from the time my wife and I were there passing through on a camping trip where it was chucking down with rain. Tonight folk were jostling for seats and outside enjoying the late evening sun.

We walked back to the apartment, not really wanting the day to end, savouring the warmth of the evening air and that feeling of making the most of a day in a new place. Asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Top tips

Get the 7-day TBM pass. Best money we spent all week. Unlimited tram and bus, and the bit that actually surprised me — it covers the river boat crossing too, so you’re not faffing about with separate tickets every time you fancy the other bank. Sort yours here.

Make the trip over to Darwin. It’s an old army barracks turned arts centre, brewery, bakery and skate park, and it’s worth every minute of the walk and the heat to get there. More on it here if you want the fuller picture before you go.

1. Music for the short video from #Uppbeat (free for Creators!) https://uppbeat.io/t/pryces/all-of-my

It’s a Monday1, which is a reset point in itself. Today, however, is perfectly timed to be the day after the solstice and, sadly, the days start to get shorter.

I feel like I’ve been in a fog since returning from Bordeaux at the start of June. Living at my son’s flat in Glasgow, painting and removing the four student years he spent there in order to get it on the market and reclaim my soul. It’s been a silent debt ticking away each month against the mortgage. A decision we made pre-redundancy. To put the money into a property rather than someone else’s pension fund. Put it into our own. I’m not so sure it was the right thing now, after taxes and fees and everything else that goes with it. I’m worried about selling. With every lick of paint I’m trying to remove that concern.

I’ve not run since the week before Bordeaux2, and I’m feeling it. Albeit going up and down a ladder, painting skirting boards comes with its own requirement of muscle fitness. Yesterday’s big push has taken its toll and, although I’m awake early to face into the day, my body is wondering what this nonsense is and screaming at me to take the easy way out. Deep down though I’d like to head into 2027 a little lighter, driven by a need to enter retirement healthy, not trying to get healthy when I retire. By the shortest day, surely I could do that: eat better, take better care of myself, and lean into the recipe books to help.

Which leads me to my recent find: a book called The Plagiarist in the Kitchen, a lifetime of culinary thefts by Jonathan Meades. A recipe book with a difference, with a preface that makes the claim it’s an anti-cookbook, an explicit paean to the avoidance of culinary originality. The book just felt different and, for obvious research purposes, I was interested in the premise. Could it help me get past my imposter syndrome of posting recipes that align to my way of living but that can’t possibly have come from my own noggin, given that I’m an IT project manager trying to get by in a world driven by bits and bytes?

There is a footnote on every page, a list of instructions, perhaps to oneself, perhaps the author talking to himself.

‘Cook to please yourself as you might write or paint, dance or sing to please yourself’ and then ‘Create your own thefts’.

I like both lines. The first is easy to interpret. The second less so, and there is an ethos of Austin Kleon about it, author of Steal Like an Artist, which also appeals.

I stopped writing my cookbook many moons ago. Resistance kicking my backside. I wondered how much I was stealing, an imposter finding himself in a sea of better writers, photographers and cooks, wondering what he was doing. Maybe I’ll write morning pages. Maybe I’ll arrange the edit using a sketching tool. Maybe I’ll write about my adventures instead of the original plan. Maybe I’ll start tomorrow. Even this is an avoidance of writing up the week in Bordeaux3 that I planned to put on Substack.

Monday. The solstice done. The days are going to get shorter but the list, somehow, longer. The ripples forming in the great sea that is my imagination. It’s time to dive back in and see what’s lurking under the surface, bit by bit, remembering there is the day job, and that small matter of time at the desktop. I have little of it at the moment. This a small moment of reflection from the pool, starting where I am, slowly moving forward.

I wake to the wind howling around the house, a struggle to get up on a Tuesday morning. The first thing I do is peek through the curtain to check our new van is still there, and that the nearby tree hasn’t blown over onto it. It’s on the other side of the street, on the corner that doesn’t need a parking permit between 11:45 and 12:30, lest we forget. A strange twist, due to the restrictions on our side, I’ve taken a commuter’s space whilst we sort the paperwork. The registration is so new that it isn’t showing up on the council register yet.

I have one of those moments of doubt. Why would anyone want to read about a new van? Why would anyone care? Why am I trying to squeeze a Substack post into my day?

Something drives me to mark the moment anyway. Like all moments feel precious now. A slow, inevitable countdown is happening, and I feel the need to point at it, even if it’s just for one like-minded soul who doesn’t mind my rambles. The last van we had, we said we'd keep for three years as an experiment. That was a good twelve years ago. The adventures and the beauty of having a pseudo-home on our backs are too hard to relinquish. A number of iPhones have come and gone in that time, and our children have grown into young adults. We talked about a different model, something a little bigger, perhaps with a toilet, but instead stayed true to a similar style. Timing-wise, a new chapter just for the two of us rather than the four. We are still in the mindset that it might only be for the next five years as we edge towards the end of the working world and drive off into the sunset.

These vans don't come cheap, and this is where the lifestyle choice comes in. There was a time when you could at least argue the economics, camping in a van versus other forms of travel, breaking even on the outlay over the years. In a post-COVID era, I'm not sure that case holds anymore. The cost has doubled, and so has the number of camper vans on the road. A sign that perhaps we are not that crazy. That the freedom to roam makes sense.

This isn’t a post about a shiny new purchase, the material side doesn’t fit well with me, and so I’m not here to say look what I’ve got. But I do want to say this: invest in your lifestyle choice, whatever that looks like for you.

A lifestyle vote? A foundation piece for the life we want to choose. The ability to drive beyond the central belt on a Thursday evening, wake up somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and head into the hills. To escape the screens and the corporate machine, another PowerPoint slide explaining where a project is and replace it, even briefly, with two hobs going and eating outside with the breeze on our faces. The French Alps in summer. The lochs in autumn. Swivelling the front chairs and making a home for a few days.

In what might sound morbid, but feels more like clarity: in twelve years, I’ll be as old as my dad was when he died. It dawns on me as I come full circle on my thinking that twelve years is exactly how long we had the last van for, a blink of an eye and that old cliché that life is short rings in my ears.

That’s the clock I’m listening to. That’s why we bought it. The days are getting longer. The open road is calling, and I hope to bring you along on the adventures.

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I’ve not written for looks like 6 days, last Tuesday in fact, and I’m wondering where I lead off again. I wonder if knitting is like this. The needles wound around a piece of hard effort left in a corner for a few days. Can the knitter just kick off where they left off, or do they need a few runs before they can get going?

My brother-in-law got in touch to ask me if I wanted to go ski touring at the weekend. Short notice, the weather looks good, I’ve got all the equipment, I need a buddy kind of thing. I’m a hill walker, so no stranger to the Scottish mountains and a pair of walking boots. Putting a pair of skis on and walking up one is a different matter. Skiing down a hill that hasn’t been pisted is also another matter. So to say I was a little hesitant was an understatement. At the same time, Monday to Friday I’m at the PC putting the world to rights on a data transformation project. Desperate for the days to get longer and some open space.

A couple of texts back and forth about pace and nervousness, I popped round with my ski boots to check they fitted the touring bindings, discussing where we’d be going. The boots gave a solid reassuring click which cemented the idea that I was in.

Starting off from Edinburgh in the dark, my overnight oats in hand, I was waiting for that last stretch of road that was straight before eating and the slow climb into the hills. We hit a town called Blairgowrie, an offer of a stop. I wasn’t interested - I was keen to get into the mountains. Wondering when I’d get my first glimpse of the white stuff. As we passed through farms my driver pointed out last weekend this was all covered in snow. Now green and ready for spring, there was a sense of foreboding. He assured me though - he’d checked the cameras - there was snow higher up.

We got there about 8:30, guided into the car park. I’d only seen it in summer when it has an eerie, ghost town feel - just a few cars admiring the view before moving on. Today though, it was packed. Mountain enthusiasts from far and wide, all trying to get a few runs in before the snow disappears. A constant stream of cars, being guided in as if at a county show. Oddly reassuring.

First we checked out the canteen and comfort facilities. Just that bit early for the bacon rolls. The square sausage came out, the fat still bubbling away from the grill. So a square sausage it had to be and a coffee! It was time. Changing into my thermals in the middle of the car park. Putting my ski boots on for the first time in over a year was an effort in itself. As coach and mountain mentor, my brother-in-law insisted we do a few strides on a patch of snow. Just to get me into the motion of sliding rather than picking my foot up. I was keen to get going, but his wisdom made a lot of sense. It wasn’t too long before I hit an angle where I just couldn’t get purchase. A combination of the brain not used to the magic of aligning the ski flat rather than on its edge and my ski boot digging into my foot, preventing me from aligning at the required angle. I did that thing you’re not supposed to do - took the skis off and climbed to another section. Too far on to turn back, not that I wanted to, at some point you become committed, a tipping point so to speak and the day has you, the moment has you and the words start.

Back to picking up where I’d left off. I’d not skied for 12 months and my first run that day was on mountain snow that over the course of a few weeks had turned more into layers of crusty ice, that would give to the crampons and my weight but a far cry from something we might call powder. Skins off, crampons in my rucksack, my heart in my mouth. I pointed the skis down. I’m used to more resistance from snow, something to at least make turning a possibility. Today though, I needed that muscle memory from 12 months ago. Be, more confident, attack the hill, move the hips, bend the knees, think...you can do this. Shattered from the uphill, my body vibrating, I hit a patch of grass and came to a very abrupt stop and in slow motion collapsed in a heap. I dusted myself off, got back onto the horse and carried on.

All in all, we covered about 8km and 700m ascent, which doesn’t seem that much on paper. My watch went a little berserk on daily habits I busted through - something like 15x the stair record, 3x150 minute heart rate, 4x daily steps. What didn’t get tracked was the sense of freedom, that blue sky feeling and a day of forgetting that powerpoint report or that update that needs completing.

A few days later, and my body is still aching, muscles and joints put to their limit. It’s akin to those first days in the garden when the season starts. What started as a short stint of weeding and planting turns into a few days of aches and pains that one never knew they could have. In some way, it’s a comfort, a recognition for the effort that was put in. Kind of rewarding. In another way, it’s a sign of ageing, a lack of use perhaps, and I need to do better so I don’t feel like this again!

I share this in the hope that it gives someone the inspiration to start, re-start and keep going. Get back into something you love. Enjoy the air, enjoy the freedom. Click those needles, pick up the pencil and do it for you.

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It’s the final throes of winter here in Edinburgh, and the snowdrops are appearing. They seem to show up as if by magic when you thought all was lost. There are daffodils on the kitchen table, my wife’s favourite as she drives out the dark with a little colour. We’re both craving that switch of light, that period where we come out of winter.

A Saturday morning, with a few minutes to spare and a coffee planned later, I’ve got that niggle: where did I put those cookbook chapters I’d been writing? A long-term project of mine that redefines procrastination and hides in the shadows of slow productivity. I pull on that thought thread and realise it’s time to enter the digital attic. Pull down the virtual loft ladder, enter the dark, and do some kind of digital drive audit.

All I wanted to do was find the lost writing, those cookbook chapters I’d stopped writing when things got intense around here. Now I couldn’t even remember which folder they were in.

So, where to start? I began simply, just listing the drives and services one at a time. I’ve accumulated so much digital clutter over the years. Perhaps the curse of a guy with an IT career. With each new PC, I moved over photographs, files and recipes, creating backup folders here and a fresh start over there.

I pulled out the notebook and began to work through the places logically. It felt hard to get going and a little silly to write down the places where I stored the documents of my life. At the same time, a little cathartic. The job had been on my list for a while, and I was finally tackling one of those hidden organisation problems from above.

Once armed with the knowledge, there was a “then what?” moment. How do I dust over the attic? How do I clean it out? It can’t stay like that, just adding more chaos as the years go on, claiming that infinite space.

The desktop I run has two hard drives and a small SSD. There’s a NAS drive in the corner. An Amazon backup from years ago, when my storage service folded and Prime seemed to be the answer. Google Drive, I dabbled with as a way to work on Docs and Sheets. Then my smartphone, and of course, the much-needed iCloud swing space! Then, Microsoft OneDrive, which I use religiously to work between my desktop and laptop. Seven locations. I’d become comfortable with the overwhelm.

The audit showed me what I had. Now I needed to decide: where should things actually live?

My iPhone is my camera. Photos accumulate constantly. I’d been manually transferring them to avoid Apple’s lock-in, but it never kept up with the volume. It had never dawned on me that OneDrive might have a solution, just like Google does, to pull in the camera roll.

So I thought I’d try a tiny experiment and started there. I turned on camera roll sync in the OneDrive app and left it alone to do its thing. An hour or so, perhaps overnight, I had the photos on my PC in a year-date structure. I already had iCloud on the PC, so I’m no stranger to seeing them there in the drive structure, but somehow this felt slicker, and it kept the date timestamp. I liked it.

Once you enter the digital attic, you can get lost in there. Not quite like Narnia, though, like sorting real boxes, you can get lost in the nostalgia. The phone only had the last couple of years, so it was easy to avoid that temptation. I found a bunch of photos of recipes that interested me and then paused.

What am I doing here? Adding another bunch of recipes to all the other recipes I never touch, like some crazy collector. Falling into the trap of using another service, OneDrive in this case. The clean-up couldn’t just be about shifting boxes from one side of the attic to another. I needed a system that turned capturing into usage, not just better-organised hoarding.

Through this process, it also became apparent that I knew deep down why I stopped writing the book. I wanted to write about the here and now, that spark, that desire and the process for wanting to get better at cooking, a sort of coming out of the wintering period where I was facing into the change of appetite, which was also coinciding with the season of my life. The words of yesterday are somewhere in the note graveyard of old projects. And I know organising my drives is probably just another form of resistance. It still needs doing.

If I actually found them, I’d have to face them, organise them again. Whereas I want to do some work first on myself, in the here and now, not dusting off five-year-old work.

So finding them wasn’t the point anymore. The real problem, and I’ve been doing this for years, is the collecting. The things that I should turn into action, ideas, photos of recipes, tearing pages from magazines, storing them somewhere, and intending to do something with them. Never doing it. Another photo of a plate of food. Another recipe filed away.

Eventually, the boys will have to sort through this, if they get past the password, thousands of files, recipes I never cooked, and chapters I never finished. That can’t be the legacy. I want to change that.

Then I find the recipes I’d captured a few weeks ago! Part of trying to change my diet, keep up with the gym, and get more protein. Good intentions, and they’d already joined the pile of untouched files. Capture, store, forget. The pattern was still running.

Time to break it. I picked one recipe. Butter Chicken, high protein, 50 minutes start to finish. I’d make space for it this weekend. Actually cook it!

I could put the recipe here, but you don't need mine. You've already got a digital attic full of your own. Pick one this weekend. Cook it.

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Reading the news the night before, I wasn’t sure there was going to be a train this morning. A light dusting of snow on our road, nothing on the main artery. I got to the station early, 6:55am for a 7:30 departure. I could have made the 7 as I hit the steps on the concourse. I’m sure if I’d have booked the 7, I would have been there for the 6:30. Better to be early than late, I tell myself. The train left bang on time and straight off the bat breakfast was served. I’m at the age that I thought why not try first class, booked far enough in advance that the uplift wasn’t that much extra and I needed to work anyway. I’d brought my own egg sandwiches just in case, doubling up for lunch if needed. I’ve been on too many journeys over the years where the train has sat in the middle of nowhere waiting for something to clear on the line ahead. I hope as I type this I don’t jinx it.

Setting off in the pitch black, the dark gently gives way to the dawn and the rolling wintry countryside flies by and with it my thoughts get to meander. Reflecting on the new year and how quickly we are here at the 9th of January. It dawns on me it was my grandma’s birthday. My thoughts turn to the time she took my sister and I to Blackpool on the train. A huge treat she kept secret until the day of the departure. The journey just as special as the pick and mix we got to choose at Woolworths. All part of the journey.

Today’s treat: a full English and my rambling thoughts.

I didn’t partake in any thoughts about New Year’s resolutions this year. It’s been more about identity, thinking about the person I want to be. A person who is better at time management, making sure my body can see me through the next twenty years and making better use of the cookbooks for a healthy diet. Not sure the full English fits with that ideal, but I’ve never felt that starting a diet in mid-January is a good idea. And I’ve never had a full English on a train before!

On the cooking front... there isn’t a lot to report. It’s all been about the leftovers. The turkey saw us through that middle quiet week and at some point I cooked ham in the slow cooker which served us for New Year’s Eve. The rest saw us through this week. It’s been a serial number of Ready Steady Cook-type moments, beating sell-by dates on the cheese and generally making sure we don’t waste anything. The odd top-up of onions, sprouts and parsnips! My son worked the fruit and veg aisle at the local supermarket with tales of running out of parsnips which had folk fuming at him as though Christmas was ruined. I can safely say we managed.

Those who read my last post back in the kitchen will know I was looking forward to a book token, which I did indeed receive. In fact I got two!! So I spent a good couple of hours trying to pick the best book ever that covered everything I wanted, ever, in a book... I nearly walked away with nothing, so much was the pressure and so much choice, like a rabbit in the headlights. I’ve still got my eye on Helen Goh’s baking and meaning of life book... but I’ve not really done my Philip Khoury book from the previous year justice. I nearly bought Jeremy Lee’s book on cooking, but I’ve still not done the other books in my collection justice either... and so my thoughts rambled on as I stroked covers and ummed and ahhed over the choices. In the end, I plumped for a cookbook that aligns with a local farm, ‘Gloagburn’, that we frequent every so often. Full of great values around animal husbandry and fresh seasonal produce. I wish I’d brought it with me to mention some of the recipes.

As the train rolls into Newcastle, I’ve had too much coffee and text the WhatsApp group with the question... how many free coffees is safe? A prompt response comes back as 6! I think I’ve maxed out on two. Like Avengers assemble, my pals and I are gathering in London.

I’m furthest away so set off first. Northallerton and Sheffield, the others. They don’t need to leave till later. I share the picture of my breakfast, the snow out the door. They come back with jokes and various weather reports. The worries of Storm Goretti putting paid to this long overdue gathering were unwarranted. Then a tale of one train having no hot water, so no tea in first class. Then the trolley that goes by only being allowed to sell to the folks in 2nd class. Two different companies working on one train. Craziness.

There is something about a solo train trip that I love. I sometimes think I should just book a train to somewhere, nowhere in particular, and then come back the same way. The freedom it gives my mind.

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On my way back now, a slight hiccup at King’s Cross. The brakes faulted out and we need to swap trains at the last minute. Amazingly a train free on the next platform with all the seat reservations valid, and only delayed by 20 minutes. The 11:30 ambled out the station and within half an hour I’m seeing overflowing rivers and ponds.

I cast my mind to the japes and renewed friendship for making the effort. We explored Battersea Power Station1. An amazing conversion and feat of design. We took the chimney tour and learned about the building’s history. How coal was turned to electricity, powering Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament and beyond. They’ve left the dials and gauges in place around the building and it makes for a fascinating visit.

Followed by the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy immersive play. Some nice touches and some good performances, albeit it was lacking the story to thread it together. It wasn’t really about either of the tourist attractions. It was about catching up, over noodles, fish and chips. Perhaps a couple of beers and some thirty years on of friendship, the conversations turning to retirement and next steps.

To say I fell off the Substack wheel isn’t quite right. I deliberately chose to close the door for a while. I wasn’t sure for how long or what would happen next. I needed to find work. The emotional roller coaster of interviews, the waiting in between, and knockbacks took its toll. I made a conscious decision to focus and double down on that job hunt. I’d almost given up hope, come to the end of the road in the professional IT world, when someone from my past heard I was looking and reached out. Four more interviews over the course of a month, and the prep from all the other interviews, stops and starts came to the fore and success was had.

Time has been elusive in the last 6 months as I’ve been getting up to speed on the demands of a new role. Interaction in the community was minimal at best. The invites to read the newsletters I’d previously signed up for pile up at the door like the post that accumulates when you’re away on holiday.

I’m not quite sure when the last post was, I might take a look like a child peering from behind the sofa as Doctor Who takes on the Daleks. There is a sharp intake of breath as I discover it was July, a post about summer and warmth.

So here I am in that quiet period for the mind, when folk step off their respective wheels—for me it’s a welcome enforced furlough. I can’t remember the last time I took two weeks off at Christmas, and I have a list as long as my arm to sort through. I’m wondering if I can do enough organising around my systems that I could kick my Substack off again. Then there is the fear, the fear of starting. So rather than look at what came before, I’ve put my metaphorical trainers on, tying the knot, and starting.

I know there are rules that need to be followed, like only posting when the moon is three-quarters in the sky. Unless, of course, it’s a pink moon, and then anything goes to get maximum eyeballs on the page. I’m not looking to make friends with the algorithm. For me, in the here and now, the only rule I’m following is to write and enjoy the process.

So here’s what restarting looks like: Greg Lake playing, a piece of chocolate from the Advent calendar, and somehow thinking about what I was possibly eating when I closed the last Substack door on the kitchen. The last six months have been a bit of a blur. Super September passed me by, and the list of the best cookbooks this year is there to be cherished and pored over. I’ve got my eyes on a few—I hope the envelope that my mum has passed me will be the traditional book token, which I can spend guilt-free. The hardest part: whittling down to one... perhaps two from all the intel that I’ve been gathering.

So in this moment, the plan over the next few days is contentious—who is fighting over the oven and what will be the Christmas Day dessert. I’ve written before about the Montagues and the Capulets, the decision between a trifle or pudding. This year, a compromise: we are going to reach for Nigel’s pear and chocolate crumble. Something to take the residual heat from the oven after all the roasting.

Amazingly, the Sainsbury’s delivery had nothing missing, and we’ve avoided the mad trolley dash, booking our slot 6 weeks ago. We’ll be up short and sharp tomorrow morning, with the only thing left to tackle being the butcher and the fishmonger. Taking in our walking loop and a Christmas Eve breakfast out along the way—a treat we’ve managed to weave into a routine over the last few years.

So for now, I’m potentially opening that kitchen door once more, trying to invite the muse back in, with a view to welcoming 2026 with a little more creativity. I’ve been enjoying building the LEGO Christmas scene that sits on the sideboard, a slight tweak of an arm as I pass. Santa is giving us a cheery wave as he visits the house made of tiny bricks. Small rituals in amongst everything else. So from my kitchen to yours, wherever you are: happy Christmas. May your deliveries arrive complete, your ovens cooperate, and your book tokens stretch further than expected. See you in 2026.

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A little bit of a break since the last issue. A few reasons, a presentation for a 3rd stage interview on the future of data and AI. A clutch failure on our camper van the weekend before a mid-week crossing to Portsmouth. Most garages quote a two-week turnaround, and just wouldn’t entertain slotting the work in. The interview came to pass, and I didn't get the job! We did, however, get the clutch fixed, and we made the booked ferry with an hour to spare. We now know we can make the 11 pm in Portsmouth, leaving at 12 pm from Edinburgh.....My wife and I running like a Formula 1 team on changeovers! I wouldn't want to feel that pressure again though.

A short and sweet trip to the Loire Valley, Saumur, Tours and Blois. I booked the first campsite from the ferry port, and somehow I managed to book a night a month away! So much confusion when we tried to check in, and we were very lucky as the campsite was rammed. Unbeknownst to us, it was the retro cycle weekend. A gathering of cycling enthusiasts all taking part in dressing up, with the main stipulation being to have a bike made pre-1987. The main street next to the river is given over to a market-style event. Live music, stalls and generally an amazing atmosphere. Waking up on Saturday and seeing folk get ready, some with trumpets, old-fashioned horns, wine carriers. A great atmosphere and a little taste here:

Sadly, the 2nd night, we had to move on due to the availability of the pitches, so a slightly quieter affair on the outskirts of Tours. Then further on up the river (which was looking very low) to just beyond Blois and the easy cycling vicinity of Chambord. A beast of an absolutely majestic chateau.

The week flies by pottering about on our bikes, making use of the Velo Vertes where we can. We just love hitting the bakeries when we can, alongside the French supermarkets, which have the ability to overwhelm with their choice. Somehow, I always find a bookshop and the cookery section, albeit they are all in French, I can’t help but find my happy place!

Staying in a campervan means we need to shop often! A small fridge and just the two of us now, we eat simply. Below, I’ve shared my Ready Steady Cook approach to a rice medley that works for us.

🍳 From My Kitchen

Ready Steady Cook: Loire Valley Rice Medley

My kitchen this week is the table outside our campervan with a portable induction hob that I now plug in to avoid using the gas if we are not off-grid. This is my go-to "Ready Steady Cook" approach when there is limited fridge space, and the shopping is little and often. This one-pan wonder transforms a piece of fish or some sausage into something properly satisfying. The beauty lies in the rice pouches doing most of the heavy lifting flavour-wise, whilst the fresh vegetables add colour and substance. I've made this with all kinds of cheap fillets (imagine me pointing to some random piece of fish in pigeon French) to proper Toulouse sausages from the butcher’s counter. It's become our signature "small space, big flavour" meal.

Ingredients

• Olive oil

• 2 fish fillets or 2 Toulouse sausages

• 1 small onion, diced

• ½ courgette, quartered lengthways then sliced (save the other half for tomorrow!)

• 1 small tub of mushrooms, sliced

• 1 rice/grain pouch (Mediterranean or Spanish flavour works beautifully)

Method

Key thing to remember is that if you are cooking meat, this is covered first or if it’s fish, this goes in last. The foundation is the onions, courgettes, and mushrooms.

1. If using sausages: Chop into bite-sized pieces and start cooking these first in a splash of olive oil over medium heat until nicely browned.

2. The foundation: In the same pan, soften the diced onions in a little oil until translucent, about 3-4 minutes. This creates the flavour base.

3. Add the vegetables: Stir in the courgette slices and mushrooms. Cook for another 4-5 minutes until the courgettes start to soften and the mushrooms release their moisture.

4. The protein moment: If using fish, add the fillets now and stir through gently, watching for the colour to start changing as it cooks.

5. The finale: Add the rice pouch, breaking it up as you stir it through everything. The pre-cooked rice will absorb all those lovely pan juices and take on the flavours beautifully. Heat through for 2-3 minutes. There should be enough moisture in the pan for the pouch; however, you can always add a little splash of water.

Notes

The key to this dish is flexibility; use whatever vegetables you've managed to find at the local market. A handful of cherry tomatoes, a pepper instead of a courgette, or even some French beans work brilliantly. The rice pouch is your secret weapon here; it's already seasoned and just needs warming through whilst absorbing all the lovely flavours you've built up in the pan. Perfect for those evenings when you want something proper but don't have the space or energy for complicated cooking.

👨‍🍳 Whispers from the Grapevine, From One Kitchen to Another

To continue with the French theme this week, I was reminded of the book Blackberry Wine by Joanne Harris, a tale of whispers, and if memory serves me, the release of a bottle is described as an act that can unlock secrets, evoke forgotten memories, and transform the ordinary into the magical. A memory that has stuck with me since I read it a good twenty years ago. The release of summer and everything that went into the making of the wine that year, from the soil to the beams of light that caressed the grapes. It’s suddenly jumped up my re-read list as I write this, as has Chocolat, as I reach for the books from the shelves.

I also have a favourite French cookery book author. Stéphane Reynaud, a French chef, whose approach is rustic and the recipes are written in an easy, approachable style. My favourite book is the One Knife, One Pot, One Dish with the ethos that the recipes require just one pan or pot, can be prepared in just ten minutes, and then are left in the oven to bake. This book, over the years, has helped many a DIY project.

✍️ Scribbled Discoveries: Titbits of Note

1. Kerry Faber over on Dish Lister just dropped a great guide to what makes a good recipe. I should have read it in conjunction with mine above!

   Dish Lister

   Anatomy of a Great Recipe (Plus the Most Irresistible Corn Cookies)

   Hi! If you're new here, welcome to Dish Lister! This newsletter offers tested, trusted recipes, helpful kitchen tips, and curated recommendations designed to inspire and bring joy to both eating in and dining out. Whether you're a seasoned foodie or simply looking to try something new, there's always something delicious to discover here…

   Read more

   a year ago · 8 likes · 9 comments · Kerry Faber

2. The Bear Season 4, no spoilers please! What a wonderful programme with so many layers. If you have access to this on your streaming service, it’s a great watch.

3. I’m loving this weeks menu over at Rebecca’s Let’s get lost substack and I suddenly want to cook a steak and wish I brought back a whole bunch of cherries from the French market to try that sauce. The whole post is here.

   Let's Get Lost

   Like a Silent Earthquake

   To everyone new here, welcome. I’m Rebecca and this is the Let’s Get Lost newsletter. Many of you know me from my recipe websites, Of Batter and Dough and A Little and A Lot. This newsletter comes out every Saturday morning and includes stories and photos from our life on the road plus a weekly menu of new recipes inspired by the places we visit and the…

   Read more

   a year ago · 25 likes · 24 comments · Rebecca Blackwell

It’s been a whirlwind of a few weeks, and although I should have all the time in the world, it seems to disappear so quickly. Thank you for reading. I know time is precious, a thumbs up would make my day!

We're piggybacking on last week’s CERN trip and heading into the mountains. I may have got a bit carried away with this one and blown the email size limit, so please click through to read the full post online. If you enjoy what you read, I'd be grateful for a thumbs up!

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It's an agreed early start with the Uni boy, 6:30 am. A lie in for myself, at the expense of no coffee! Staying on the outskirts of Geneva due to our CERN visit, we are a good way out from the train station for a trip to Montreux.

He's up though, and we are ready. The tram came by just as we stepped through the sliding doors of the hotel. He sleepily asks if that is the one we need, shall we run? The stop is a good 300 metres away, my rucksack heavy with water and a few supplies. I’m cognisant that waiting for the next one will just create tension in the schedule of the day, and in a split decision, I say yes.

We make it, and for a few seconds there is that feeling that it might wait for 5 minutes, making us feel like idiots! Then gravity forces us into our seats, and despite our lungs’ complaints and our hearts pounding at the exertion so early in the morning, we acknowledge the success with a sleepy smile.

I'm ready for sustenance. The station has plenty of options, I ask him what he’d like and he tells me he won’t eat anyway. Something about it being so early! So we forgo (my coffee!) for the sake of making the next train. It’s 7:19, a gamble to find platform 5 for 7:23. More exertion! We sprint up the steps, and the train is there, ready. It says Brig, but no sign of Montreux. I put my faith in the system, and we jump on.

The sound of the doors locking is our queue to accept the decision has been made, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I see Montreux flash by on the list of destinations.

Within minutes, we’ve breached the invincible walls of the city, the lake there on our right. I’m torn between writing and watching the view roll by. In the distance, Mont Blanc covered in a coat of white. Closer, there are silhouettes of jagged teeth against the backdrop of the lake. A haze hovering above the water creating that feeling of picture postcard worthiness. The sun is shining, and the train just glides along as we sit in what feels like a luxury, even though it’s 2nd class. I could do with a sip of coffee just now!

An hour or so later, we reach Montreux and hit a perfect little bakery just across from the station offering supplies for the day and .....coffee. Not thimble expresso cups that the Europeans seem to like, but proper medium-sized cups that I like. A pain aux raisin that was definitely in the fit to be called a pain aux raisin category. Although the lady insisted it was called an Escargot, due to the resemblance of a snail’s shell and how it uncurls as you eat it.

We walk down to the shore and I take my coffee with Freddie. The statue is perfect as he looks out at the majesty of the lake. I keep hearing the words this could be heaven for everyone, and make a note to listen to that album again.

It’s time to catch the cog railway, I’m keen to make use of the mountains somehow. Yesterday was the boys’ day, our trip to CERN. Today is more of a nod to taking in the beauty of Switzerland, and my choice. Crack the height with one of the magical trains that sit in the mountains. Then walk across to a pickup point and get the train back down. Then get a boat.

The boy I'm surprised to see is slow, and a little intimidated by the height. I thought I’d be struggling to catch up. Perhaps my Munro walking has been doing me some good. The views are amazing, and I count myself as being blessed; the words this could be heaven for everyone indeed.

We miss the connection by about 5 minutes, which kills the boat sailing plan from Montreux to Lausanne. I take the positive that at no point did I rush the boy, and I did enjoy sitting on that midway bench watching the world go by. I helped a fellow walker who’d not packed enough water for the day. He was wearing an EESA cap and I a NASA cap, which made him smile.

Sitting in the shade of Caux station, we ate our picnic, glad that we’d bought provisions below. He fell asleep on the route down. I fought the urge, desperate to absorb all the views I could. With an easy connection to Lausanne, we wandered down to the lake, and we took an Ice Cream. Sitting at a little jetty, I told him to go paddle, cool his feet down.

Oh, how the years have flown by. Only yesterday, I would have been holding his hand, paddling by his side, but making sure he didn’t fall in. I wonder at what point he will start to take care of me and if he’ll reflect on these last couple of days. It’s been a long time since we spent this much time together.

We head up into the old town via the Metro. Wow, another piece of brilliant modern engineering. It looks like Lausanne is going through a huge process of modernisation at the same time preserving the old. There are still steps to climb to make it to the Cathedral. I’m keen to go in, the organ is playing, and it’s amazing. The power of space, the light coming through the stained glass, its all very moving.

Thoughts transition to food and how to make it back to Geneva. We didn’t eat well the night before. Later than expected, the hunt for somewhere and the shock of the Swiss franc. Tonight we want to eat early, which is a challenge as I start to look things up, kitchens not opening until 6:30-7. I’m keen to be on a train back by then. Then we stumble across an Italian with a kitchen always open sign. There seems to be a wave of pre-dinner apéritifs going on. We order food before the next wave comes in. A pair of violinists take up residence across the way. They’re good. The clock strikes 6, and the shop across the way has a clock where soldiers come out of little doorways and disappear again. So much to take in, besides the food.

Our bellies full of pizza, glad that it’s downhill to the station, and we mosey on down knowing we made a good day of it. Coffee, with Freddie!

🍳 From My Kitchen

There are those times you don't really want to think too much about a cake, just something that needs turning out (still with love and care), but fail-safe and a crowd pleaser. For years, we've relied on this little number based on Annie Bell's Chocolate Cake. Rather than the two-tin sandwich approach, we place the cake mix into a rectangular tray bake tin. Reduced the sugar and the cocoa and used my own sour cream icing. Perfect for transportation, just don't forget it....like I did last night!

For the cake

• cocoa powder - 65g

• boiling water - 200ml

• bicarbonate of soda - ¾ teaspoon

• medium eggs - 4

• light muscovado sugar - 300g

• groundnut oil - 175g

• self-raising flour - 200g

1. Prepare the cocoa powder mix first by pouring boiling water onto the cocoa powder in a jug or medium bowl. Whisk until the lumps have gone.

2. Whisk the bicarb in and then leave to cool, whilst you prepare the tin (butter or oil the cake tin and line with baking paper) and the other ingredients.

3. Turn the oven on to your cake baking temperature, for us it’s 180°C with a fan. The recommended settings are 160°C fan/180°C electric/gas 4.

4. Whisk together the eggs and sugar until the volume increases.

5. Add the oil and then whisk in until combined.

6. Sift the flour into the mix and then fold through.

7. Stir in the cocoa solution.

8. Pour the mixture into the tin, a sharp tap on a work surface to bring up any air bubbles.

9. Bake the cake for 30 minutes until risen and firm to the touch.

10. Bring out the oven and leave it to cool

Chocolate Icing/Ganache

• milk chocolate - 200g, broken into pieces

• Sour cream - 150 ml pot

1. Set up a double boiler by placing a heatproof bowl over a saucepan with 2-3cm of simmering water (water shouldn't touch the bowl bottom).

2. Add the chopped chocolate to the bowl and stir occasionally until completely smooth and melted, about 5-10 minutes.

3. Remove from heat, let cool for 2-3 minutes, then gradually whisk in the sour cream until you achieve your desired icing consistency.

Note: Add the sour cream slowly whilst stirring to prevent the mixture from splitting, and ensure the chocolate isn't too hot when combining or it may curdle the cream.

Maltesers or Smarties can be used for further decoration or a birthday number, and a word of warning is not to do this too far in advance, as the Maltesers or Smarties might sweat.

👨‍🍳 Whispers from the Grapevine, From One Kitchen to Another

1. So the obvious whisper this week is from Annie Bell, with How to Cook. I've mentioned it before as the book I wished I'd been given when I was starting out so many moons ago. We actually have a couple of her books now. We first came across her work in a tea room called the 'Wee Blether', which offered all manner of sweet treats and had a shelf full of books to browse. There we discovered Annie Bell's Baking Bible, so when How to Cook came along, it was a no-brainer in terms of where I was with my cooking journey. So many essentials and a refreshing bible of old favourites.

2. If you’re interested in California cuisine, then you need to check out this substack from Betty. Regular mouth-watering (recipes) whispers from her kitchen, love this intro to her Newsletter:

Betty Eatz Newsletter

New or need help? Here's a short tour of the newsletter and California Cuisine.

Bright, fresh, seasonal, and delicious! The Betty Eatz Newsletter is all about California Cuisine. Every recipe reflects the fresh produce of our Golden State and the multi-ethnic, multi-cultural people that live here. It’s a beautiful mash-up of flavors…

Listen now

a year ago · 8 likes · Betty Williams

✍️ Scribbled Discoveries: Titbits of Note

Bit of a music theme this week with the titbits, in honour of having coffee with Freddie:

1. Made In Heaven

Given that I had coffee with Freddie, I was interested in the last music that was produced by Queen. I went down a bit of a rabbit hole with this one, Fascinating reading if you are pseudo Queen fan.

Taken from the album Made In Heaven. The fifteenth and final studio album by the British rock band Queen

2. Saoirse Ronan and the 50th Anniversary of Talking Heads first live performance

What better tune to take a voyage through the spectrum of human emotion with the fantastic Saoirse Ronan. The song was released in 1977 without a video, and it's nice to see it put right:

3. Billy Joel

My wife and I are working through a few Billy Joel gems at the BBC, A grey whistle test appearance, and his 100th appearance at Madison Square Gardens. Apologies if the link doesn’t work outside the UK.

Then I stumbled across this wonderful post about Billy Joel’s storytelling from D.K. Rose…..which reminded me of the time I played Angry Young Man at full pelt in the school hall, got locked out of the sound cupboard and couldn’t turn it off!

Whirligigs and Moonbeams by D.K. Rose

Storytelling

We’ve been playing Billy Joel on repeat at my house the past several days. Why, you ask? Besides the obvious reason that he’s magnificent? Well, you see four days ago I received a notification. Our tickets to his upcoming show have been cancelled. My disappointment quickly turned to concern because the original date of the show had already been postpone…

Read more

a year ago · 5 likes · 1 comment · D.K. Rose

Once again, apologies for breaking the email newsletter length, and hopefully, the Substack gods will be merciful.

A young physicist in the wings, a school trip cancelled by COVID, a tale of disappointment that I'm sure many folks can relate to.  The weekend past, I had a chance to put it right.  A long overdue father-son trip to CERN in which I can't decide who took whom! My 21-year-old, who arranged the backstage tour with a Glasgow University Professor, or the bank of dad, who provided the funding. Either way, I was delighted to be there. 

I knew that CERN was the home to the Large Hadron Collider, a tunnel built some 100m underground and with a circumference of 27km, which is a pretty big deal.  Armed with a 35-year-old GCSE in physics and a love of science fiction, I couldn't wait to visit.

I just thought we’d be heading into the usual kind of science visitor centre that I’ve been to over the years.  Instead, a newly opened gateway to science provides three exhibition areas: Discover CERN, Our Universe and the Quantum World.  Alongside a show that I thought would be a cinematic feature.  Instead, more like the Royal Institution Christmas lectures that we have here in the UK. A presenter leads us through the process of splitting atoms, cooling titanium to become a superconductor using liquid nitrogen. A miniature train that not only levitated, but levitated upside down.  OK, on some level still fairly science museum territory, however, a great centre for learning.

Then we met the professor at 4 pm, who gave us CERN lanyards (I'd made it!) and our visitor passes.  We then crossed the road in the baking heat to the other side of the complex.  Through the security gates where my education continued, and from this point, more from a professional point of view.  Whilst my son grasped the physics, I would ask questions about operations, data, planning and projects.

My takeaways and reflection from a data strategy perspective - food for thought:

Data is at an unimaginable scale, the ultimate real-time data governance challenge:

My understanding is that bunches of protons are accelerated through CERN's complex of accelerators, gaining energy at each stage until they reach the LHC itself. In the LHC, particles collide approximately 1 billion times per second, generating about one petabyte of collision data per second.

For every 30 million collision events, only around 1,200 are deemed worth saving. The other 29,998,800 collision events are discarded forever in real-time!

These split-second algorithmic decisions on which data to keep cannot be reversed. The selected events are stored in Tier 0 systems at CERN before being distributed to Tier 1 sites globally for analysis and long-term storage.

Thinking about storage costs, this is like being asked to store roughly 200,000 DVDs per second - and although I'm horrified about throwing data away, I can understand why!

The wind beneath the wings, data behind the data and the control room

The bunches of protons are known as the beam.  The beam and the site are monitored 24/7, 365 days a year.  Control room operators make sure the accelerator is running as efficiently as possible. They monitor things like beam density, speed, and position.  Adjust focusing and alignment magnets, as well as making sure the vacuum systems aren't leaking and importantly, the radiation valves are securely closed.  An oversimplification on my part. What struck me was the way in which the information, along with the plan for the day, is projected onto the wall of the control room.  Green is good!

The luxury of planned obsolescence

They are due to shut down the collider for three years, part of a regular cycle of renewal and maintenance.  Necessary upgrades where in some part the latest technology will have already missed its opportunity to be included.  Decisions were made months ago due to funding or the technology available at the time of the process.  New chips, detector components already in build, ready for day one of the shutdown.  The mind boggles at the planning involved and the collaboration between nations.

As someone who's spent 25+ years managing data projects, running weekend implementations around backup cycles and Monday morning service heartbeats, I was envious. When did you last have three years to rebuild your core systems properly? 

Recently, as a technology platform owner, I lived in the "keep the lights on" space. Implementing changes in tiny weekend windows, always conscious of that Monday morning business resumption.   I'm sure again I'm oversimplifying CERN's world, we didn't get into the nitty gritty of general software and systems integration.  I just enjoy thinking about the wisdom in a patient, methodical approach to transformation.

Every legacy system migration I've ever managed has been constrained by the tyranny of uptime and usually an understandable deadline. 

The origin of the internet - could it be like stepping into Narnia

With every turn, we learned something new. The history of CERN, founded in 1954 and built on principles of collaboration between nations, unfolded before us. My favourite moment was a beautiful presentation built around the original Synchrocyclotron - CERN's first particle accelerator.

We were shown a timeline of key moments in CERN's history, then entered a darkened room with futuristic floor lighting. A video presentation came alive, augmented by the original machine used for experiments in the early days. When they finished with this colossal beast, they had to let it cool down for years. Too massive to move, they simply built offices around it, turning it into a centrepiece of history preserved in place.

Another building, another corridor. When my interest in software became evident, the professor stopped at what could be any door in this hive of fabulous minds. However, this door, this particular one, is special; behind it lies the office where Tim Berners-Lee invented the World Wide Web with his CERN colleagues, changing the world forever.

.....and as to the decision on who took whom.  He's definitely taken me on a journey in more ways than one.  As I stood by his side and listened to how he discussed quarks, photons and neutrons in the same sentence, I felt incredibly proud.

🍳 From My Kitchen

In terms of food, we could have gone to the Big Bang Café with meals like Falafel Quantum Field Salad and The Gourmet Orbit. Instead, we got a 10-minute bus ride up to the next little town in France, Saint-Genis-Pouilly, where we found somewhere making the most amazing poke bowls. I appreciate that poke bowls aren't very French, but we were just trying to buck the trend of the expensive Swiss franc. That and the bowls were made to order, and although they followed a fairly fast-food set recipe, they were made with fresh ingredients. A Mediterranean Hawaiian feel that was absolutely spot on. You can find them at @mahana_poke if you're ever in the area.

Flexible Couscous Salad

This couscous salad came about from wanting to recreate that fresh, made-to-order feeling I experienced at Mahana Poke in France. It's become my go-to template for using up bits and pieces in the fridge whilst creating something that feels intentional rather than like leftovers. The beauty lies in its adaptability - think of it as a foundation recipe that welcomes whatever seasonal vegetables or roasted remnants you have lurking about.

I've started deliberately cooking extra roasted aubergine or butternut squash from other meals, knowing they'll find their way into salads like this throughout the week. It's a simple trick that transforms meal planning from a chore into a series of connected, practical choices.

Serves: 4 as a light lunch or side dish
Preparation time: 15 minutes
Cooking time: 10 minutes

Base Ingredients

• 1 small onion, diced

• 1 pepper, diced (any colour)

• 2-3 dried apricots, diced

• 1 tomato, chopped (optional)

• A little oil for softening

• 200g couscous

• 1 tsp bouillon powder (optional)

• 300ml boiling water

The Salad Builders

• Crumbled feta cheese (or a tin of sardines/mackerel)

• Extra virgin olive oil

• Bistro salad bag (or mixed leaves)

• A few radishes, chopped

• Leftover roasted vegetables (aubergine, butternut squash, courgettes)

• Balsamic vinegar for drizzling

Method

1. Gently soften the diced onion, pepper, and apricots in a little oil for 5-10 minutes.

2. Add the chopped tomato if using and cook for another minute or two.

3. In a large bowl, mix the couscous with bouillon powder if using. Then tip into the softened onion mixture, and then add in the boiling water.

4. Stir everything together, cover tightly. Leave for 5 minutes to absorb.

5. Fluff with a fork, a drizzle of olive oil, and allow to cool slightly.

6. You can fold through the crumbled feta (or flaked sardines/mackerel) and a good glug of olive oil if you are going to eat all in one sitting, or add this later.

7. Serve alongside your chosen salad leaves with a light drizzle of balsamic vinegar, chopped radishes, and whatever roasted vegetables you have on hand.

Notes

This is deliberately flexible - swap the apricots for dates or sultanas, try different cheese (goat's cheese works beautifully), or add toasted nuts for crunch. The sardines/mackerel option gives you a lovely protein boost and works particularly well if you want something more substantial. The couscous will keep happily in the fridge for a few days and tastes great served cold, making it perfect for packed lunches or quick midweek meals. The key is having that warm, flavoured couscous as your base, then building around what's seasonal or what needs using up. Perfect for those moments when you want something fresh and satisfying without the faff of a complicated recipe.

👨‍🍳 Whispers from the Grapevine, From One Kitchen to Another

Not recipes I've tried this week, but those I've made a mental note to pass on.

1. Roasted Herby Courgettes by [Melissa Norman](https://substack.com/@yesyoucaneatthis)

I shared this on notes this week and couldn't let it slip by without giving it another mention. I'm keen to try and get some Yellow courgettes in order to give this a try along with the butter bean dip.

Yes! You Can Eat This

A roasted, herby courgette dish with main character energy

If you like what you read, please click the heart or leave a comment it helps this recipe fly off into the internet universe and reach more people who need some food joy in their life. Or send it to a loved one who can’t eat dairy or gluten to brighten up their day…

Read more

a year ago · 20 likes · 9 comments · Melissa Norman

2. Gooseberry, Almond and Spelt Cake by Diana Henry

There seems to be a two-week window where you can get Gooseberries! I think that window is now judging by the two bushes in the back garden, ready to unload. I blinked this time last year, and the berries were gone! This year I've got a Heath Robinson kind of netting thing going on!! The berries are still intact, and I'm hatching a plan to use the recipe from Diana's ‘A Change of Appetite’ cookbook. The recipe is up on the Telegraph website behind a paywall. I think if you provide an email address, you can get 7 days to browse.

This is a beautiful book that just exudes a new way of thinking, a way of trying to cook differently.

✍️ Scribbled Discoveries: Titbits of Note

1. Poke - is Hawaiian in origin

It is amazing how food travels, a small French town took me to another place, a journey if you like. I thought poke, came about from poking around in the bowl…but on looking this up for research….. The word "poke" (pronounced "poh-kay") means "to slice" or "to cut" in Hawaiian. The traditional version was quite simple - just cubed raw fish (usually ahi tuna) with basic seasonings. Roots in ancient Polynesian cuisine - originally made by Hawaiian fishermen who would season cuts of fish with sea salt, seaweed, and crushed kukui nuts.

2. BBC Food Chain - AI in the Food Industry

Latest podcast for the BBC Food Chain radio 4 programme.

This episode offers a fascinating glimpse into how AI is quietly transforming the food industry from farm to fork. The main protagonists - Chef Matan Zakan, Chef Robotics CEO Rajat Bagheria, ZEST co-founder Dini McGrath, and AI industry thought leader Tamsin Deasey Weinsten - weave a narrative of augmentation rather than replacement:

• Chef Matan Zakan uses it to spark creativity whilst maintaining that human sensory expertise remains irreplaceable

• Rajat Bagheria emphasises collaborative robots working alongside humans to solve labour shortages

• Dini McGrath reveals how AI preserves human judgement about food safety whilst optimising waste streams

• Tamsin Deasey Weinsten explains how AI enables humans to focus on higher-value work whilst machines handle data-intensive tasks

Yet beneath this reassuring narrative lies an unmistakable sense that we're witnessing the early stages of something more transformative. I can't help feeling we're approaching a tipping point. The technology is rapidly evolving from simple automation to sophisticated AI that understands food manipulation and flavour science. This episode captures that fascinating tension between present augmentation and future possibility, making it essential listening for understanding where food and technology intersect.

3. Longest Day….nearly but not quite

Our longest day is approaching fast. Last week we had to put the heating on, and today, as I write this, all the windows are open. It's a hard season to navigate, and the term weather whiplash keeps bouncing around in my head. I'm minded that the strawberries are in full swing, so make sure to look up a Pick Your Own farm if you can. Or if you are the foraging kind, then the elderflowers are in full swing. I made a mental note to come back to this recipe from Mark Diacono on Elderflower Cordial from last year.

Mark Diacono's Abundance

Elderflower, a very large sheet of aluminium, Roy Scheider and an excellent martini

Somewhere high in the sky, someone is wobbling a very large sheet of aluminium. Mid-morning, the weight of the air changed and everything switched focus: the gentle swish of the upper branches and birdsong brought to the fore, and everything else quietened…

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2 years ago · 55 likes · 41 comments · Mark Diacono

Week 3….. Thanks for reading this far, and many many thanks to those folk who’ve mentioned they like the new format, it helps with the perseverance!

This week’s post I bring to you from the highlands of Scotland. The tangent starts just off a lay-by on the A86 close to Roybridge. I slept okay, although I was amazed at how much the temperature dropped during the night. Driving up the night before, a dream without the usual traffic that needs to be waded through. Straight over the Forth Bridge with no lane changers. The main Perth roundabout was empty.

Although it's about 4.45 am, I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself. The sky is amazing and just the kind of day I'd hoped for, given the craziness of the hour and my choice of bed.

Today's hike takes in Aonach Mor and Aonach Beag, a good 10 miles, and I'm keen to beat the rain forecast for the afternoon. Two of Britain's highest mountains.

A 45 or so minute drive sees me at the car park for the adventure. I woke some campers in their van. They have risked the no overnight camping sign, something I wasn't willing to do for fear of being moved on. I'm kind of envious when I think about how many times I was shaken in the night on that layby. No matter, I'm here and I saved the three and a half drive before the walk, and the car park is fairly empty.

It's easy to get going, the light is changing fast, and I'm keen to get into a nice place for breakfast.

I make it to the glen, Steall Falls, and I'm amazed at the lack of water in the river bed. There's been little rain for weeks, and great for tackling those hills that suffer from being boggy. Just a little further, past the single tents, wild campers still in their slumber and a little more height.

Breakfast, just after 7 am or so, a little more climbing, the aim is to pause and take in the awe, the beauty that this planet offers .......thank you for sharing with me! Coffee from the flask, amazing views and overnight oats. It's going to be a beautiful day.

Overall, this was a tough hike, and the views of Ben Nevis, Scotland's tallest mountain, were amazing. Typically covered in cloud, but not today. The same for the hills that I was traversing. I would not thank you for the descent on Aonach Mor again. Brutal on the knees! A good day, the car park was full to bursting on my return. Tourists are hitting the glen and admiring the falls, unaware of the majestic mountains that lie just around the corner.

🍳 From My Kitchen

Snickers Oat Bars

A box of Celebrations has been lurking in our cupboard for a while. What I thought was a whole tub was actually the leftovers. You know how it is, there are always those few that aren't the family favourite. For some reason, in this house, it's the Snickers bar, whilst everything else disappears. Rather than dig into them myself, I decided to experiment with melting them down into a flapjack-style creation.

The Snickers didn't melt as cooperatively as I'd hoped - the nougat needed a little persuasion with the back of a spoon! The end result was brilliant: robust, satisfying bars perfect for packed lunches or, in my case, fuel for a Highland adventure. These kept me going beautifully during my recent hike up Aonach Mor, with a few pieces in a Tupperware tub rattling about, they held together well.

Serves: Makes up to 24 bars
Preparation time: 15 minutes
Baking Time: 20 minutes

Ingredients

• 100g Snickers bites (or chopped regular Snickers bars)

• 100g butter

• 3 tablespoons clear honey

• 75g demerara sugar

• 400g whole rolled oats

• 150g self-raising stoneground wholemeal flour

• 2 ripe bananas

• 200g buttermilk

• 2 eggs, beaten

Method

1. Preheat your oven to 180°C (160°C fan). Line a 21 x 31cm tray bake tin with non-stick baking parchment.

2. Gently heat the butter, Snickers, honey and sugar in a saucepan until melted. Encourage the snickers to melt with the back of a wooden spoon to break down properly.

3. In a large bowl, combine the oats with the flour. This creates your dry base.

4. Mash the bananas thoroughly and stir together with the buttermilk and lightly beaten eggs until well combined.

5. Pour both the melted butter mixture and the banana mixture into the oats, stirring everything together until you have a cohesive mixture.

6. Pour the mixture into your prepared tin and smooth over. Bake for 20 minutes until golden brown and firm to the touch.

7. Allow to cool completely in the tin before lifting out using the parchment. Cut into bars once fully cooled.

Notes

These bars will keep in an airtight container for up to 3 days, or can be frozen for longer storage. I've also baked similar recipes using a large Swiss roll tin (25cm x 38cm) - obviously, you get a flatter style flapjack rather than a cake bar, which some folk prefer. I think the chunkier ones are easier to eat on the go. Perfect for when you need portable energy that actually tastes like a treat rather than virtuous cardboard! Lastly, you could swap natural yoghurt for the buttermilk. I was just using up something else we had knocking around in the fridge.

👨‍🍳 Whispers from the Grapevine, From One Kitchen to Another

It's that time of year here for us in the Northern Hemisphere when things start appearing in abundance. I'm thinking strawberries and courgettes, not together, but maybe the first course, a salad featuring courgettes and then a dessert obviously featuring strawberries. I've got Sarah Raven's Garden Cookbook as a way of keeping me right on the seasons, and so the whispers are from her this week if you are looking for a bit of inspiration.

1. Courgette and Lemon Salad

Also featured in her book Sarah Raven's Garden Cookbook1

2. Baked Vanilla and Lemon Cheesecake with Marinated Strawberries

✍️ Scribbled Discoveries: Titbits of Note

1. Nights Out At Home

I've just finished reading Nights Out At Home2, which was very entertaining and enlightening. Tales of being a food critic interspersed with tales of converting his favourite restaurant recipes to those he could make at home. I was about to file it in the amusing food reading bucket. Then I remembered my memo to self about the link to the pictures that he has on his website... which in turn reminded me that I wanted to tackle a couple of his sauces: Salsa Verde, Anchovy sauce and the thick vinaigrette. Along with the Sweet Soy Braised Pork and the Greggs-influenced Steak Pie.

My recommendation though: if you love humour in your food writing, this is for you.

2. The butter board - seriously, it's a thing!

I'm a fan of a cheese board, but butter? I think I’m very, very late to this party, given the dates on the substack posts.

I've stumbled across a craze where you spread butter across a board and then sprinkle your favourite toppings. I'm not convinced... but love Dennis Lee's take on it.

Food is Stupid

The butter board for clowns

Hi, clowns…

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4 years ago · 27 likes · 8 comments · Dennis Lee

And then, Desiree’s piece….made me smile

If I show up at your house and you’re making me clean your countertops with scraps of bread that I then have to eat, I am going to calmly and silently walk out of your home, get in my car, and drive away.

3. Run/Weed - The Art of Combining Seemingly Unrelated Activities

This week, Linda McLaughlin posted one of her reflections from writing in the wild. Thoughts on combining running with garden maintenance, and it struck a chord. As someone who tries to keep a regular 5k run habit, I need to stretch and cool down properly. Perhaps sorting a few bits in the garden would help. There's something deeply satisfying about those moments when two passions intersect - whether it's running home with plant pots in hand or, in my case, carrying energy bars up Scottish mountains. Linda's post about 'winning back the garden from determined invaders' resonated. Her question, "What seemingly unrelated activities do you love to combine?" got me thinking about how food and adventure constantly weave together in my own life.

Writing in the Wild

Run/Weed

Tell me you’re a runner who gardens without telling me you’re a runner who gardens…

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a year ago · 5 likes · 3 comments · Linda McLachlan

2

Nights Out At Home

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/210459259-nights-out-at-home

From that point, there have been some random postings and mainly I've been trying to think how I can add some value from my writing, how I can do better at documenting what I eat more intentionally alongside sharing the little nuggets of information (not necessarily about food), the titbits along the way. It's been on my mind, my to-do list for a while, shall we say...and I've finally created a format for this newsletter that feels right….for this moment anyway!!

While I managed a good run at the tail end of last year, the lengthening days and warming weather now call me outdoors rather than to my PC. The gardens, hills, and lochs beckon. Yet simultaneously, I find myself drawn to my kitchen, eager to share the abundance of seasonal ingredients that spring and summer bring to our tables.

I needed to find a way to reduce the friction in my writing process while maintaining a steady heartbeat for these posts. The solution arrived in the form of a simple but versatile structure:

From My Kitchen: A recipe I've created or adapted, sometimes short and sweet, sometimes a little longer, with the story behind it

Whispers from the Grapevine: Recipes from others that have caught my attention, the culinary secrets shared from one kitchen to another

Scribbled Discoveries: Interesting titbits I've noted down along the journey. I listen to a variety of podcasts that provoke ideas, better time management, better writing, tools, books, techniques, or simply thought-provoking food for thought. Secretly, it's my catch-all section for the miscellany that I think might be useful (but don't tell anyone.....unless you really must share/restack, and then I'd be really grateful!)

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Think of this as a tiny experiment: Season 1, ten episodes, to see how we get on. Every Friday, starting this week, you'll receive a new issue following this format.

I hope you'll join me on this more structured journey through food, writing, and the occasional Scottish adventure.

🍳 From My Kitchen

This coleslaw is my go-to for impromptu gatherings or when I need something fresh along with the BBQ or a round of cheese and charcuterie. Perfect for those times you just need an extra salad on the side. It's deliberately flexible - use what you have, adjust the quantities to taste, and don't worry about precision, this is rustic at its best. I've found it's lovely and crunchy on day one, and then the leftovers improve after a day in the fridge when the flavours have had time to mingle.

The two minor variations below came from one large red cabbage, showing how you can adapt based on what's in your kitchen and your mood. The food processor with a grater blade makes light work and will give you a more refined salad, great for sandwiches....but much more washing up. Then there's the box grater approach, it really just depends on your mood!

Serves: 4-6 as a side dish
Preparation time: 15 minutes or so
No cooking required!

Base Ingredients

• 1 small red cabbage (or half a large one per batch)

• 1-2 carrots, peeled

• Good quality mayonnaise (about 2 tbsp)

• Extra virgin olive oil (a generous glug)

Version/batch 1: The Classic with a Twist

• Apple, cored, grated (into the lemon juice)

• Fresh lemon, squeezed

• A handful of raisins or sultanas (optional)

• 1 tbsp wholegrain French mustard

• 2 carrots, grated or finely processed

• Red cabbage, grated or finely processed

• 2 tbsp good-quality mayonnaise

• A good glug of extra virgin olive oil

Version/batch 2: The Fridge-Rescue Edition

• Red cabbage, chopped finely with a knife (which tends to give chunkier pieces)

• 1 carrot, grated (all that was left after my son discovered poke bowls this week!)

• Half a Chinese lettuce that was languishing in the fridge

• Zest from one lemon (I saved the juice for the recipe in Whispers below)

• 2 tbsp good-quality mayonnaise

• A good glug of extra virgin olive oil

Method

1. For Version 1: Start by squeezing lemon juice into your bowl, then grate the cored apple either directly into the bowl from the box grater or promptly transfer from the food processor and then toss to coat. This prevents browning.

2. Add your cabbage and carrot (either processed or hand-chopped, depending on your texture preference).

3. Add remaining ingredients and mix thoroughly.

4. Taste and adjust seasoning - add more mayo if you prefer it creamier, more oil for richness, or even a splash of vinegar if you like more tang.

5. If possible, refrigerate for at least an hour before serving to allow flavours to develop.

Notes

The beauty of this coleslaw is its adaptability. Consider it a template rather than a strict recipe. It keeps well for 2-3 days in the fridge and often tastes better on day two when the flavours have melded. Perfect alongside a peanut butter and goat's cheese open sandwich.

👨‍🍳 Whispers from the Grapevine, From One Kitchen to Another

Grilled radishes with dates, apple and radish tops

Back at the start of May, Elizabeth Pizzinato shared a recipe for a grilled radish salad. Just what we needed and something I'd never tried before. I thought I'd give it a go. The supermarket radishes didn't come with leaves, so I improvised with a little spinach, and I added a fennel twist. A lovely, quick dressing, definitely check it out here:

Delicious Bits

Overachievers

“Thanks for your compliment, but I have to say they didn’t taste like hot cross buns OR cinnamon rolls…

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a year ago · 23 likes · 20 comments · Elizabeth Pizzinato

7 UPF free recipes, a family meal plan - BBC Food

I'm always on the hunt for recipes that my boys could tackle. Also, the opportunity to share recipes that are designed to help folks cook. Here is a whole meal plan for the week! UPF-free family meal plan

✍️ Scribbled Discoveries: Titbits of Note

1. 8 Strategies for good eaters:

Along the same lines of family eating, and more of a way of life if you have children to feed. Kerry Faber shared 8 Strategies. Great practical advice that every parent should read with regard to growing good eaters.

Dish Lister

8 Strategies I've Used to Raise Kids Who Eat (Almost) Everything

Hi! If you're new here, welcome to Dish Lister! This newsletter offers curated recommendations, kitchen wisdom, and inspiring recipes designed to bring joy to both eating in and dining out. Whether you're a seasoned foodie or simply looking to try something new, there's always something delicious to discover. Subscribe today and add a little inspiration…

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a year ago · 44 likes · 40 comments · Kerry Faber

2. Kitchen Table - Emily Cuddeford and Rachel Morgan

I'm a bit behind on sharing this. I recently attended a book talk arranged by Topping and Co. A local bookseller here in Edinburgh. Emily and Rachel talked about the drivers behind their debut book, 'Kitchen Table'. They are the owners of the '12 Triangles' chain here in Edinburgh, a bunch of bakeries that offer the most fabulous bread. I thought we were going to be offered a book on Sourdough and Croissants. To my delight, it's the opposite, a book of stories, methods and sustainability. The recipes are more than a list of instructions, a way of living and making good, honest, simple food. I was truly inspired by their hour of discussion. I can definitely recommend their spiced chicken thighs with potatoes. Then there is the House loaf, a slow fermentation approach with a tiny bit of yeast and a schedule to work around the busy day.

3. Relaunch of a Substack - The Black Butter Club

This dropped into my mailbox today, a lovely read, about learning to cook and memories.....Who doesn't want to be part of a secret society of the senses?

"This is our very own secret society of the senses. Of slow delights, satiation, old techniques, and new ideas. It’s a homecooked recipe, from years spent in professional kitchens, that doesn’t neglect to mention the fragrance of sweet peas outside the open window. It’s an opportunity to explore flavour and food from perspectives we are often deprived of, with voices from around the world contributing in their own techniques, flavours, and stories." - Sam Cooper

The Black Butter Club

The Black Butter Club

Seasonal Writings on Flavour, Fermentation & Other Curious Pursuits…

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a year ago · 56 likes · 22 comments · Sam Cooper

That’s a rap! Thank you for joining me on this inaugural journey. I'd love to hear what resonates with you, what you'd like to see more of, and any culinary discoveries you're excited to share. Feel free to reply and let me know your thoughts!

Great excitement in the house for a long weekend, the sort where you plan a quick getaway to beat the traffic. Keen to make a 3-hour journey and meet the campsite check-in time by 8pm. We were just waiting on the final remote meeting to conclude so we could jump in the van with the bikes on the back and the usual walking gear.

Barely 300m down the road, we drove over a pothole and then started to hear a clunking sound with every kind of bump in the road. Yet on the straight and narrow, not a whisper. I pulled in, checked it wasn't the bike rack, and that I'd not done something stupid. Checked the underside to see if the exhaust was in a bad way. Nothing. Checked inside, we are use to the odd pan rattling. Drove a bit further, windows down, definitely something wrong. I felt precious minutes slipping away as I pulled in again. The thoughts running through my head of whether I should even be driving now versus would the van even make the 3-hour trip. At this point, it had gone 4, and in my head I thought the last thing the garage wants at this time of day is me turning up. However, it needed to be done and the decision to phone our local garage was made. See if they could squeeze us in if we pulled up on spec.

I'd been given a heads-up about one of the coiled springs being corroded at the MOT in February. Something I'd shrugged off and would fix in the summer. I'd hardly done any miles in it, and to be honest, it had slipped my mind. Then one of the guys sticks his hands up the side and immediately finds the problem....a coiled spring! But not the one we'd been alerted to! We were given the signal that the guys would get it on the ramp now and would have it sorted in the morning. So, leaving the fridge full and our bedding, we were given the optimistic signals that the trip would still be on.

Bikes off, a few toiletries, etc, an hour and a half later we arrived home wondering what we were going to do with ourselves and that promise of fish and chips at our favourite stop on the A9 was blown.

Friday morning, and the hours rolled by. Tried to strike a balance of not pestering the garage to let them do their thing versus getting an update. 10:30am arrived, and essentially, I caved and called. I was assured they were on the case and they'd give me a call to update me shortly. Noon came and nothing. I decided to nip to the library1, a book I'd reserved had come in, so on my bike I popped into the garage as I was passing, as you do....not pestering at all! I found them working on it, and slightly annoyed with myself for bothering them on the job. I'd also gone to see if I could get our lunch out of the fridge. Not possible, given it was a couple of feet in the air.

Just as I was sitting down for a cup of coffee, the call came in, like the Bat signal! I left my coffee to go cold, and we ended up getting down the road for 3pm. Thankfully missing the slow traffic that usually appears on the bridge of a Friday evening when folks are heading north......and we made it to Bruar perfectly timed for a fish supper.

Arrived at the Roy Bridge campsite just before 7. The smell of BBQ thick in the air with the backdrop sounds of air beds being pumped up.

Saturday morning, and I come to about 5:45am, a chorus of sound I don't think I've heard the like of before, despite my many years of camping. A cacophony of life embracing the day. It's like the orchestra is warming up at the start of a performance, at the same time, the performance is live, never to be repeated again. Beautiful sounds with distinct voices.

I remember that there was an App (Mermaid) that could tell me what I was hearing. I download it, plug in my details and then press record. The names of birds are reeled off in quick succession. I'm filled with wonder and awe, and what a way to embrace the day.

This was the recording, not sure it does the sound justice, you might need to turn up the speakers!

Also wasn’t sure at the time if I could get the recording back so did a seperate voice recording: a minute of highland bird song!

It's an early start for us, we want to cover off some hills (Munros2) whilst the weather holds. The sky is broody and grey, anything might happen. The Easains are calling.

The car park is empty, distinctly different from the blue sky day a fortnight ago, where we left from the same spot for different hills. A sign that nobody wants to be caught in the rain? We try and cut some of the time out by cycling a mile down the track, we have the bikes anyway, why not use them? They will be welcome for our return, a warm down on the achy muscles that are likely.

The hike is hard, our muscles aching, visibility poor, albeit we can see snow in the gullies, the last signs of winter. We made it to the top mostly in the dry, even managing our two-day-old smoked mackerel rolls that had been sitting in the fridge since Thursday.

With no campsite booked for the night, we were undecided on where to head. The plan was to get up to Skye with time on our hands and not needing to be back home until Wednesday. No matter which website we checked, we couldn't get a predicted Sunny day. Midway on the journey, I pulled into a lay-by where we formulated a plan. The kind of plan where one person would like to carry on and the other is thinking this is crazy, heading into the rain, which is forecast for the west in the next few days versus the chance of some sun in the east.

So, with the re-plan in place, we headed back to Roy Bridge with the intent of tackling the short single Munro close by and then we would head east.

Directly across the road, I also spotted a local brewery shop. The kind that you have to screech the brakes on if you didn’t know about it. Normally, I’d keep driving. In this case, already stopped and were changing our plans, so it was no biggie to pop in and say hello. Discovered a beautiful crisp lager that I wish I hadn't!

Sunday morning, we head off in the rain, and it's uphill from the off. We'd been led to believe that it was an easy Munro to tick off! The track is mean, geared up for 4x4's with chunky boulders. It takes us an hour and thirty minutes to get to the bothy. Then a boggy and wet adventure ensues, it's a steep one, and just adds to the fact that these mountains are hard. Visibility is poor, but the egg sandwiches we brought have never tasted as good! The cycle back, only 30 minutes, with mud on our faces and wet boots, we are pleased with our achievement. It was not an easy Munro!

Afterwards, a cup of tea, a piece of halva flapjack at the van, its time for a change of tack. We head east. Back on ourselves and a little south to the campsite we know really well at Blair Athol. A pivot point and an attempt for us to dry out and get ourselves ready for a couple of hills on the east side of the Cairngorms.

Monday, again another cycle in, we'd thought (I thought) we could cycle round the back, do the walk in reverse, so to speak. Another not-so-nice track, undulating and bumpy. The walk is long, and a little boggy in places. Thankful for some of the sights on the way. Loch Nan Eun for example:

Reserves mentally needing to be tapped into with the steep inclines. Busier on the hill though, these couple of Munros seemed to be a little more popular. We though, are the only folk doing them in reverse! Need to dig deeper to do the 2nd one and come back on ourselves. Moments of dry, moments of wet, very atmospheric views. The cycle back is okay as we pass through beautiful farm land, and the weather is starting to brighten.

We hit Braemar just after 6, damp and bedraggled. The campsite warden had already shut up shop. Fortunately, on-site and just a phone call away. A warm shower and a lamb stew put us right, and the promise of a sunny day for our last full day.

Woken to the sound of a pheasant, and a level of brightness through the canvas we'd not seen for the last few days. Camping aligns the body’s rhythm to the ebb and flow of the sunset and sunrise, and despite my body longing to lie in some more, getting up was a must to make the most of the day. Even so, it takes a while to come too. The body complains that it's not ready to go yet. Still healing to be done. Today however, might be that day, a crack in the clouds and the sun might be making an appearance. After three days of damp and wet it's welcome. We've a long day ahead if we can get past a certain river.

The drive down to the Linn of Dee in itself is beautiful, we pass a herd of wild deer almost invisible against the bracken. The trees are soaking up the sun and, in return, glow with a green that only comes from ancient pine forests. The cycle has its moments of difficulty as we go through the track made for the management of the land rather than the casual bike and hiker. We make it to the ford, the place that the book is quite adamant shouldn't be attempted if the river is in spate. We are pleased to find we've made a good call season-wise and are able to cycle through the river even though I'd packed a towel in case we had to wade across. It's all good. We leave our bikes on the edge of the forest just as the track ends and becomes a path. I can see some folk have cycled on, but for me, the pain of cycling the path versus the reward of walking it wins. Compared to the last few days, this path is a joy. Long and gradual, if it wasn't for the aching muscles from the previous days, we'd be skipping up. It's a beast of a hill though, rather than sharp and steep. It's a gradual incline, giving one a chance to breathe in the awe-inspiring landscape. We pause at the top for a change, eat our lunch in the sun and absorb the moment of achievement of covering 6 munros in 4 days.

Tuesday evening, and it’s the chef’s night off. Braemar offers a few places to get a bite to eat. A local pub offering a good selection of food. I went for the highlander burger. Angus beef, haggis, bacon and a whisky sauce. The kind where the layers are stacked high and the soft bun is unable to support the weight. My wife tackles the chicken supreme.

We’ve made it to Wednesday, and unfortunately, the journey home.

The morning is calm and relaxed, with no rush or demands required. We steal a moment in the rising sun. That pheasant is squaking in the background. A number of the self-catering huts are empty on the hill overlooking the glen. We borrow a bench on one of their picnic tables and listen to the day waking. The air is a mixture of cool and that feeling of warmth as the sun touches your skin. Today is our drive back home, and we are in no hurry to get to any car park or a layby that generally starts a long day’s hike. Our bodies wouldn't thank us for it anyway. Happy that they finally get that rest. Although each bend, task, and the lifting of the bikes on the back of the van test the muscles that just want to be left alone. They have done their bit over the last few days, covering 100km of hard mountainous terrain. It's time to breathe.

The smell of bacon wafts in the air, and we hatch a plan to visit the Glenshee ski centre on the road back down for breakfast number two!

On the last day, it always seems to take longer to pack up the van and move. Perhaps it's the brain asking to stay. But as a wise old lady used to say nice to get away, but always good to get back home.

1

The book I fetched from the library: a change of appetite - where health meets delicious by Diana Henry. I have to say at the end of each walk I was too tired to read it! Flicking through and reading the introduction, as we head into May I can really relate to trying to eat differently.

2

A Munro is a Scottish mountain that's over 3,000 feet (914 meters) tall and is recognised by the Scottish Mountaineering Club. The list is named after Sir Hugh Munro, who compiled the first catalogue of Scottish mountains over that height in 1891. Munro-bagging: the act of climbing these mountains with a view of completing the list. I’d be lost without this book by Paul and Helen Webster.

I don't ever want someone to read my work and think a machine wrote it! Which could be construed as odd, when I can happily display a computer-generated image. My intention, though, is to supplement the writing. I love seeing how something I've written manifests itself from a probability engine in order to light pixels on a screen.

My paintbrush of sorts. My imagery choice is an effort to improve the thoughts I've already created. Sometimes a photograph won’t do, and I lost the bravery to draw and paint so long ago. I chose a tool I know I can wield.

I believe it comes down to finding the right balance of time and energy. As someone who painted watercolours in my youth, I still have my Windsor and Newton set from my A-Level days in the 80s. So I have deep respect for artists. My mum is a beautiful artist with a gift and an eye that could never be replaced.

In no way am I trying to replace artists; instead, I use computer-generated imagery to supplement my writing and capture how I feel in the moment. There's genuine skill in prompt engineering – tweaking and refining until the image matches a vision. Other times, I'll choose photographs that tell their own story. These images travel their own journey: from the real world through a CMOS sensor, processed from RAW and then into JPEGs, then cropped and edited to complement my posts. It's all part of the creative process, just using different tools.

I sometimes ask myself why bother to write now, where is my personal line, and at what point do I cross it? Once I was working with AI on a section of writing, to find within a few prompts a whole section of paragraphs had been produced. The whole thing in a matter of seconds. I felt sick, my palms sweaty....this isn't what I wanted, it didn't feel authentic. The words weren't mine, and really, what have I learned through the process? So upset was I in that moment, at the same time marvelled at how easy things could be.

However, even to read those words, my ideas would be skewed and shaped in a way that didn't feel original, and definitely not my own voice. So I filed it somewhere, perhaps I got a cup of tea. Stared out the window and fought the urge to give up. Watched the blackbird on the lawn jumping from place to place across the lawn, and then started again. A different prompt, a different deal, something I could control, something that was mine.

So I use AI as a thought partner, to think deeper, to bounce ideas back and forth. Almost a conversation as odd as it sounds. There is no contest of intellect, I'm in command, and then I have the power of knowledge at my fingertips. A research partner who doesn't argue back or go in a huff if I ask the same question again in a different way.

Ultimately, there's my actual writing, which I don't want to come across as rubbish or slapdash. I know there are rules to be followed. The tools that were used to box me in, to give me a grade, and in some way, it demotivated me from expressing myself. I was labelled and badged. I could blame it on the education system, which I was obviously a product of. An overstretched teacher in a classroom full of kids who were not interested in learning. My essays would get submitted, they'd get returned some with lines scratched through and other times a good, bad or indifferent marking. That was the calibration engine between those who were naturally gifted and those who could get better with help. Now I feel empowered, I’ve been armed with a friend who is solely here for me. I have someone I can bounce back and forth with. When I say someone, in the same sense, I used to think there were small people inside the record player singing. Think of a mini ABBA inside the box, taking a chance on me!

This time I have a different teacher, someone under the guise of a set of algorithms that I can ask, How can I make this better? What am I missing? Where can I learn more? How do I grow?

Deep inside, I know what I want to convey, and I've always been very introspective and needed time to process ideas. Writing has been hard for me over the years, and now I feel I have an editor to spot those gotchas, so I then control and enforce my voice.

I understand that the use of AI can create strong feelings, and the debate is never likely to go away. I feel it's something we all need to learn to live with and strike our balance and tolerance.

My stance: It's a tool that is going to aid me on my travels, and I wanted to be clear that my Substack isn't AI-free. I use it just like other technologies. It's there in the background supporting me as I try and navigate time and energy. My passion and moral compass as a life learner won't let it be anything else. It is not the voice or the creator behind the ideas here.

I hope you'll stay, subscribe and read more and that there is an integrity to the ideas produced here.

The Small Print - an AI policy:

As someone who has a background in technology, using AI will very much be part of my process in producing this Substack.

Images - Where I use AI, I'm not trying to produce real-world imagery; it's more a reflection, a montage of ideas to share my feelings on a piece. Where I have a photograph from someone else, I will clearly indicate so. Otherwise, the image will be my own.

Writing - there are many stages to the process of writing, typically the original thoughts, bouncing of ideas, and having a research partner. I typically draft and then ask for what's missing, and then redraft again. I'll ask the AI tool for grammar checks and flow, and proofreading. I’ll ask for an analysis and any gaps for my consideration.

My core writing remains human-generated.

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This was written after watching a post from - Substack Writers at Work. What’s your Substack’s AI policy? And why you need one… A great conversation with Matthew Long who writes Beyond the Bookshelf and Rosana Francescato who writes Flower Child.

Recently, each day that I rise, there is a familiar kink in my back, a subtle reminder that I'm getting older. I'm not the young cook who once flipped pancakes with reckless abandon. The jeans that fit perfectly last September now feel slightly restrictive around my waist! I caught a glimpse of myself in the barber's mirror, tried to push my tongue up to the top of my mouth to hide the weight around my neck, and wondered when that happened. The long hours at the computer, or maybe just the comfort eating that accompanies the darker months over Winter.

As the spring equinox passes, I sense a shift in my mood, a stirring to do better, move more. The van needs washing to remove winter's grimy signature. The lawn (more accurately described as a collection of moss at this point) requires attention. The fruit trees purchased just before lockdown as root stock have been silently requesting pruning. Perhaps I should have done it last year, and then I read it's better to catch them in the growth period so as not to cause disease. The north-facing back door shows the battle scars of another Scottish winter, and there is a painting job to do. Free and worthwhile movement as the days grow longer, and a chance to get mobile again.

It dawns on me that we've entered a new quarter. In my previous working life in the business world, I'd have approached this with structured enthusiasm, closing one twelve-week year, beginning another. I'm not where I want to be, yet I'm exactly where my actions and habits have led me. The kitchen, once my creative escape from corporate responsibilities, for the moment, has now become the arena where my next chapter will unfold!

There comes a point in every cook's journey when the body starts sending different signals than it did in our twenties. The realisation that perhaps those second helpings of chocolate puddle pudding might need balancing out with something a little healthier.

This isn't a diet post, though whenever we discuss eating with intention, that loaded word inevitably surfaces. Our diet is simply what we eat, we're always "on" one, which makes the phrase "going on a diet" rather curious. Distilling it down, what it really means is restricting or removing certain elements to achieve a specific outcome. I don't want to restrict myself, but I do want to be mindful, and I'm keen to have a balanced, healthy diet.

I recently listened to a fascinating BBC Radio 4 Food Programme about exercise and weight management (an episode I've now listened to three times, first drifting in and out of sleep with my bedside radio, again in January when discussion of diets feels most relevant and wrong given it's winter, and finally in the car last weekend thinking my wife might appreciate its insights). It articulates something profound: exercise and weight loss aren't the symbiotic partners we've been led to believe. They're separate journeys that occasionally intersect.

We need movement for countless health benefits, but remarkably, we burn roughly the same calories daily regardless of activity levels. The programme reveals that sedentary office workers burn the same number of calories as the Hadza hunter-gatherers, despite walking 10+ miles daily. The true difference lies in what we consume and how our bodies process it.

As I try to work on the "Health and Happiness" section of my slow productivity master piece of a book, I'm realising it represents more than just kitchen wisdom accumulated over decades. It's becoming a manifesto of sorts for me, one that recognises how simple acts of cooking and mindfully choosing what we prepare can make profound differences to our health, happiness, and the world around us.

I find myself drawn toward a more flexitarian approach, which I've discussed previously, not abandoning meat entirely but embracing a more plant-forward way of eating. With twenty-one meal opportunities each week, there's ample room to experiment and evolve!

It's easier said than done, this last month we've had a full house, my eldest son returning from university and with his brother, the gym bro's, the constant need for protein that no amount of pulses will satiate their appetites. Along with trying to keep to a schedule where we all eat a meal at the table once a day. The battle is constant, a full meal the other day, was concluded with a ‘can I have some toast to finish off?’!

In the midst of family chaos, I sometimes lose sight of how our kitchen table remains our constant point of connection. These seasons change quickly, soon he'll be back at university, and we'll find ourselves missing these noisy, demanding moments and the unity of having the four of us at the table. I'm trying to strike a balance between cooking for the gym bros and shaping our diet to better serve what my wife and I need now and for our future selves. Meals that support our wellbeing, help us stay active, and embrace the joyful balance that comes with my cooking experience over the years.

This week I've been tucking into a couple of recipes from the Fast 800 Cookbook1 for my lunch, the one place I can make changes without fear of retribution! Shakshuka adaptation below, and a Bacon, Broccoli, tomato and mushroom fry up. With a view to changing my lunch time intake away from the soup or salad with a ‘cheese toastie on the side’! I need to stop hoovering up the crust ends that nobody wants under the pretence that the ends don't count! This is my attempt to try and turn back time!

With that in mind, here are a couple of the recipes I've leaned into this week:

Batch Cook Shakshuka

Shakshuka is a brilliantly versatile dish where eggs are gently poached in a richly spiced tomato and pepper sauce. The eggs cook directly in the aromatic base for 3-4 minutes, but the base itself takes 20 mins or so to pull together and isn't something I'd like to do every day. So bulking this up gives multiple quick, nutritious meals throughout the week; you only need to bring it to a bubbling temperature and add a couple of eggs when

Ingredients

• 2 tbsp olive oil

• 2 large red onions, peeled and finely chopped

• 3 peppers (any colours), deseeded and thinly sliced

• 3-4 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed

• 2 tsp ground cumin

• 1-2 tsp hot smoked paprika (adjust to taste)

• 2 × 400g cans chopped tomatoes

• 1 × 400g tin mixed pulses, drained and rinsed

• 2 tbsp tomato purée

• Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Per Serving (add when ready to eat)

• 2 medium eggs ....so 8 eggs if you eat this over the next 4 days!

• Small handful fresh coriander or flat-leaf parsley, leaves roughly chopped (optional)

Method

1. Heat the oil in a large deep sauté pan or shallow casserole. Add the onions and peppers and gently fry for 5-10 minutes, or until softened, stirring occasionally.

2. Add the garlic, cumin and paprika and cook for 30-40 seconds, stirring continuously to prevent burning.

3. Pour the tomatoes into the pan, add the tomato purée, a good pinch of sea salt and plenty of black pepper.

4. Bring to a simmer and cook for about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally.

5. Add the drained mixed pulses and simmer for another 2-3 minutes until the sauce has thickened slightly and the pulses are heated through.

6. For immediate serving (one portion): Transfer about a quarter of the vegetable mixture to a small lidded frying pan. Bring to a steady bubble and then make two holes in the mixture, break an egg into each one. Cover with a lid and cook gently for 3-5 minutes, or until the egg whites are set but the yolks remain runny.

7. For batch cooking: Allow the remaining mixture to cool completely. Divide into three equal portions and store in airtight containers in the refrigerator for up to 4 days or freeze for up to 3 months.

To serve a stored portion:

1. Heat a portion of the tomato and pulse base in a small frying pan until simmering.

2. Make two holes in the mixture and break an egg into each one.

3. Cover with a lid and cook gently for 3-5 minutes until the eggs are cooked to your liking.

4. Sprinkle with fresh herbs before serving if desired.

Serving suggestions:

• Serve with toasted sourdough or pitta bread for dipping

• Add crumbled feta cheese on top for extra richness

• Include a dollop of Greek yoghurt on the side

• For extra heat, add a sprinkle of chilli flakes or a drizzle of hot sauce

Purple Sprouting Broccoli Sauté for One

A speedy breakfast, brunch or lunch that celebrates seasonal purple sprouting broccoli. This hearty dish makes good use of the entire vegetable - stems, leaves and all - paired with chickpeas for added protein and fibre.

Ingredients (Serves 1)

• 100g purple sprouting broccoli, chopped (stems, leaves and all)

• 1⁄2 tbsp olive or rapeseed oil

• 2 rashers smoked back bacon, trimmed of fat and cut into pieces

• 50g chestnut mushrooms, sliced

• 5-6 cherry tomatoes, halved

• 1⁄2 tin chickpeas (approximately 120g), drained and rinsed

• Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Method

1. Prepare the broccoli using one of these methods:

• Using a steamer: Set up a steamer or place a steamer basket in a saucepan with a small amount of water. Bring to the boil. Add the chopped purple sprouting broccoli and steam for 3 minutes.

• Without a steamer: Fill a saucepan with about 2cm of water and bring to a simmer. Add the broccoli, cover with a lid and cook for 2-3 minutes until just tender. Drain well.

• Quick microwave method: Place the broccoli in a microwave-safe bowl with 1 tablespoon of water, cover with a plate and microwave on high for 1-2 minutes until just tender.

2. Meanwhile, heat the oil in a non-stick frying pan over medium heat. Add the bacon and fry for 1 minute or so.

3. Add the mushrooms and tomatoes to the pan and cook for another minute, or until the mushrooms begin to brown.

4. Add the cooked broccoli and drained chickpeas to the pan. Cook for 1-2 minutes more, stirring gently to combine all ingredients while heating the chickpeas through.

5. Transfer to a plate, season with freshly ground black pepper and serve immediately.

Variations:

• For a vegetarian version, omit the bacon and add a sprinkle of smoked paprika for a similar flavour profile

• A poached or fried egg on top makes this even more substantial

• Add a pinch of chilli flakes for a morning kick

• In autumn, substitute purple sprouting broccoli with cavolo nero or kale

• This dish takes advantage of purple sprouting broccoli when it's at its seasonal best, typically from late winter through early spring in the UK.

What I’m Reading/Listening to this week:

This is Happiness, Niall Williams: A beautifully written tale that will take you back in time just as electricity is brought to a small remote village in Ireland. Evocative fiction. Good Reads Link

How to Eat, Dr Andrew Jenkinson: Off the back of the Radio 4 podcast, one of the experts brought in to explain what was happening around the weight loss piece. I’m continuing my knowledge gather. Good Reads Link

Nights Out at Home, Jay Ranor: Long overdue read from my Christmas pile, funny anecdotes around re-engineered restaurant favourites to make at home. Unless you have a small brigade of folk! Good Reads Link

Shout Outs:

A couple of shoutouts this week for , and Melissa - who inspired me to ship and carry on posting!

Share Scribble and Scran, the journal

The Fast 800 Cookbook - Dr Clare Bailey - Great selection of recipes

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