The Food of Scotland

by Helen Gaffney

Way out on the western reaches of Skye the pungent reek of peat permeates the air, as smoke drifts out of the doors and windows of the crofter's cottage, a two-room dwelling made of granite, its low thatched roof weighed down with stones to keep it from being torn away by savage Atlantic gales. Besides the cottage is a mound of peat. The smallholding seems barely large enough to support a patch of vegetables, a row or two of oats or barley. Sheep, goats and shaggy Highland cattle, glowering under their long fringes like angry Norse warriors, graze on nearby moorland and in the bare hills and mountains that sweep down to the deep sea lochs.

It is difficult to believe that this ancient way of life still prevails in parts of the Inner Hebrides, further west on Lewis and Harris, North and South Uist, in mainland outposts in Ross & Cromarty and Sutherland, on the Orkney and Shetland islands and elsewhere. The crofting system is a harsh one, where tenants work small patches of land, keep some livestock and supplement these activities with fishing and gathering shellfish and seaweed. Not surprisingly, the mainly self-sufficient diet in such communities is a simple and frugal one. Every house has its own girnel, the oatmeal barrel out of which are made the staple oatcakes and bannocks so loved by the Scots. Filling soups and porridges, mutton, salt fish, herring and mackerel, are supplemented with occasional delicacies from the sea including prawns and salmon. Milk from goats, sheep or cows is made into butter and simple cheeses, such as crowdie, a soft-curd cheese produced domestically by draining curds from the whey in muslin bags.

Whisky used to be produced illicitly throughout the Highlands and Islands, using primitive distilling equipment and craft to outwit the Revenue men. If the tell-tale wisp of smoke no longer rises from the glens, it is probable that in places like Skye, Lewis and Harris and other remote outposts, shebeens are still a feature of local life: small thatched drinking huts secluded from the community, where men gather to drink informally, untroubled by either the elements or their womenfolk, to the vehement disapproval of the powerful religious sects which still dominate life here.

Only a tiny percentage of the population lives in these remote parts of Britain and even in the furthest parts, change has come. Fishing communities in the Shetland Islands have been altered by the arrival of North Sea oilmen and their money; throughout the Highlands and Islands few people today cook over open fires, in iron cauldrons or on girdles. Yet come down from the Highlands: take single-lane roads down to Inverness, then across to Aberdeen and Dundee; or skirt alongside Loch Ness to Fort William, then down to the banks of the Clyde, across to elegant Edinburgh. Here in the Lowlands, or in the southern uplands and the lush rolling Border counties, one finds an unyielding pride - even a romance - in traditions firmly rooted in this harsh, majestic land.

The haggis, for example, is generally considered the national dish of Scotland (though the Scots readily agree that they did not invent it). It is nothing more than overgrown sausage, variations of which are common to any whose diet is one of necessity, of whatever nationality, for it utilises those parts of an animal which in better times might otherwise be discarded, including the stomach bag and pluck. It is a frugal feast, the sort of warming, spicy meal to satisfy the appetite of husky bearded Highlanders who have spent a day or days out in the cold. Yet, immortalised by Robert Burns, it is loved and eaten by Scots from all areas and social backgrounds and not just on Hogmanay or at Burns' suppers.

Other foods, too, reflect origins in a harsher, less accommodating world than today. If the haggis was originally a food of hard times, mealie pudding or skirlie are even more frugal, for both are simply beef suet, onions, oatmeal and seasonings - in short, haggis without even the offal (the former is stuffed into a casing, the latter fried in a pan). Scottish soups are filling hearty fare, the sort of one-pot meals that once were cooked in iron cauldrons over open turf fires: Scotch broth made with fatty mutton and pearl barley, cock-a-leekie made from an old boiling fowl, Cullen skink (Finnan haddock and potato soup), simple kale brose, lentil broth and many others. Similarly, a tradition of girdle baking remains, in homes and in village and town bakeries, where such favourites as drop scones, potato scones, oatmeal scones and bannocks are prepared and often delivered by van, together with breads, cakes, tea cakes and shortbreads to more remote areas.

Baking in Scotland is a tradition which has always been highly valued and baked goods form an important part of meals. No Scottish breakfast is complete without its morning roll, a yeasted bap, preferably warm from the oven, soft and doughy, dusted with a light cover of flour. At midday, many an appetite is satisfied with a simple Scottish lunch of 'pie and a pint'. Bridies, particularly from Forfar are another lunchtime favourite, filling shortcrust pasties stuffed with steak, onions and gravy.

The Scot's love of baked goods, however, is most evident at tea-time and particularly at that favourite meal, high tea. This is the main evening meal, eaten as early as five or six o'clock and consisting of such savouries as fish and chips; sausage, egg and tomato; kippers, Finnan haddock or Smokies; cold meats such as the favourite 'beef ham'; pies or bridies. These are followed by an equally substantial array of Dundee cake, gingerbread, bannocks, Border and other tarts, cream cakes, marzipans, truffles, sponge cakes and that favourite Scottish speciality, shortbread, in all its many guises (petticoat tails, oatmeal shortbread, Ayrshire shortbread, Balmoral shortbread and many others). Bread, butter and jam is consumed throughout this meal, together with pots of strong tea, drunk with plenty of milk and sugar. We should not forget, after all, that the favourite British institution, the tea room, was first established in Glasgow by a Miss Cranston at the turn of the twentieth century.

Scottish foods, however, are not all simply hearty and filling (important though such bulk is to appetites whetted by hard labour in this most northern part of Britain). There are other, more sophisticated influences in the traditions of this rich and varied nation, too. The Scottish aristocracy, in their castles and mansions which once dominated the countryside, were long at odds with the English, even after the Act of Union (1707); thus rather than aping the court in London, as the landed elite gentry in both Wales and Ireland tended to do, the proud Scots went their own way. The Auld Alliance with France against the English left its mark on the Scottish kitchen: it is curious to find that here, for example, a leg of lamb is a gigot (pronounced jigget), a plate is an ashet (from assiette), and collops are escalopes.

Some of the greatest British dishes are Scottish specialities, particularly those made from produce native to these lands north of Hadrian's Wall. Scotland is famous for some of the finest shooting and fishing estates in the world, providing both sport for those who can afford it (or who can poach it), as well as good eating for those fortunate to come across such specialities either in shops or restaurants. Red grouse, the finest of all game birds, is most highly prized and the 'Glorious Twelfth' (12 August, the start of the shooting season) is an exciting day for Scottish sportsmen and gastronomes alike. A grouse shoot is a formal affair, with paid beaters who startle the birds from their nests in the moorland heather. The bagging of red grouse and other wild fowl such as ptarmigan, blackcock and capercaillie may be an expensive and exclusive sport, but the birds themselves are delicacies, worth all the fuss, especially when prepared in the Scottish manner, stuffed with native rowanberries or cranberries, then simply roasted. Partridge, wild duck, pheasant and snipe are all shot in Scotland during their respective seasons and enjoyed either roasted or braised.

Deer continue to roam wild in the forests of the Highlands (they are also being farmed commercially). Venison, not surprisingly, is an old Scottish favourite, particularly on Highland estates such as Blair Castle, home of the Duke of Atholl and on other aristocratic estates. The tradition of the hunt here is well-established: Mary Queen of Scots, for example, was 'entertained' to a hunt in the Atholl forest in 1564. Prime cuts such as the haunch or saddle of venison are most often roasted, while less tender cuts of this rich, deep-red lean meat are often devilled, stewed or braised. Even the pluck of venison is highly prized: it is used to make an extra-special venison haggis.

To sportsmen, Scotland's salmon and trout rivers are equally highly-esteemed. The Tay, the Dee in Aberdeenshire, the Spey, the Tweed and many others are all well-stocked with salmon, sea-trout and brown trout and throughout Scotland it is common to see anglers in their waders and oil-skins deftly whipping their flexible rods and wet and dry flies with pin-point accuracy into deep pools and fast-running eddies. Salmon fishing, however, is not mere sport for anglers: it is an important commercial livelihood for fishermen on both the east and west coasts.

Both wild and (increasingly) farmed salmon are smoked to produce another famous Scottish delicacy valued around the world. As in everything, there is smoked salmon and there is smoked salmon. In the Summer Isles, salmon is first cured in a spicy, aromatic brine flavoured with juniper berries, molasses and rum, followed by gentle smoking over shavings from whisky casks and juniper wood for eight to twelve hours.

Such craftsmanship in the preservation of fish and meats by smoking and pickling is not uncommon, for the skills are important ones long valued by the Scots. Mutton hams were once popular and are still available, while the Scots maintain a keen taste for 'beef hams'. Regional fish curing and smoking has resulted in Loch Fyne kippers, Finnan haddock and Eyemouth pales (both are similar lightly-cured, undyed haddock fillets that have been cold smoked), and the Arbroath Smokie.

Fishing remains an important Scottish industry. Great catches of herring, haddock, mackerel, halibut, sole, cod, plaice and other fish continue to be landed at busy Aberdeen and elsewhere and fish remains an essential staple here, even more so perhaps than in other parts of Britain. Herrings in oatmeal is a national favourite (this same method is an equally effective way of preparing mackerel and other oily fish), while haddock, whiting and cod are poached, baked, made into fish pies and eaten in any number of ways. Never ones to waste anything, the Scots even make use of the heads of large fish such as cod, cleaned and stuffed with fish liver and oatmeal. This dish is known, rather dubiously perhaps, as crappit heads.

Scottish beef and lamb have also gained fame throughout the world. In days past such fine produce was sent down south to Smithfield Market in London and other markets, rather than eaten regularly as part of the native diet. This, however, is no longer true today. In private homes, as well as in country houses, restaurants and hotels, the finest produce and products of Scotland take pride of place. The foods of the past might reflect hard and unyielding origins but today the basic produce of Scotland is being used to create new but inarguably Scottish dishes that are excellent and refined. Thus, Aberdeen Angus steaks are served in sauces made from rare malt whiskies, while native shellfish such as lobsters, Dublin Bay prawns, crab and scallops are turned into rich, elegant creations by inventive Scottish chefs. Such foods, born in a more affluent and modern world which sees greater numbers of both Scottish and 'foreign' visitors touring the country every year, contrast strikingly with crappit heads, skirlie or even haggis.

Scotland is a large and varied country and contrasts are encountered throughout. The lush affluent meadowlands of the Borders are opposite in character to the high, bare hills of the Grampians; the seaside cries from bustling holiday towns such as St Andrews echo against the silent isolation of towns in the Speyside whisky region, with their drab grey-stone houses and occasional general stores and bars, all overlooked by brooding copper-green pagoda roofs. The scarcely intelligible (to outsiders) La'land speech of Ayrshire and Glasgow contrasts sharply with the gentle, rolling burr of the Highlands. There could scarcely be two more different cities than Glasgow and Edinburgh. Yet striking though the contrasts are, throughout Scotland one senses a common national pride, an awareness and value of natural riches and resources and a fierce determination to celebrate a majestic heritage, come what may.