Welcome to Romantic Roslin Glen

Hello you. Welcome to the two year anniversary of this wee blog dedicated to the sensual pleasures of Scotland.

For me it would not be a celebration unless I indulged in some kind of enjoyable excess, so I invite you to the following photo heavy tribute to the many beauties of Roslin Glen and the River North Esk.

The splendour begins not long after we leave the village of Roslin, the name for which is formed of two Celtic words, Ross - a rocky outcrop and Linn - a waterfall.

Looking now through all the layers of springtime green, it is difficult to imagine a time when these fields would have been stained with blood. On February 24 1303, Scottish and English forces clashed here for the 3rd battle of Roslin, an event when saw a Scottish victory but also horrendous casualties.

Today the sun is out and as we meander the path between fields and forest we think “this is nice,” because it is. Open space, clear air - a pleasant country walk.

But when we take the turn to follow the river walk, everything changes. Suddenly get a view of the valley that stops us in awe because we didn’t expect this kind of romantic scene.

Once we can move again we thump down worn stone steps, stopping half way to follow a butterfly from blossom to blossom with our camera.

Our route, referred to in the guidebook as The Riddle of Roslin, directs us along the river trail, but it is impossible to resist a detour to see the remains of what the local information boards call Maiden Castle.

It is thought that sometime during the late bronze age and the iron age, between 1000 BCE and 200 AD, this ridge above the river was home to a large family group. This was not a castle as we might think of it, but simple roundhouses and some minor defences of stone banks and deep ditches. With the surrounding forests and the fish-rich river for food, a family could have thrived here.

Today, if it weren’t for the information boards to advise us of the history of this place, we would walk unaware through the ghosts of our bronze age ancestors. We are always trying to revive our pasts, while nature feels no such need to cling. She moves on, grows over, lives today.

Finally we begin to explore the banks of the river, which are bulging with green and fresh stems and the pristine white petals of wood sorrel.

The river is high and slow from spring rains and moves gently past banks that are so thick with plants it is as if life is something that can be purged in one great heave.

Nearby old trees take a humble back seat to all the countless new shoots. They allow the wind to stir their branches, whisks inside an infinite bowl. At the water’s edge their roots wrap like fat baby knuckles around plates of ancient glacier stone.

I tell you, there is no way to photograph all of this. Everywhere around us, birdsong bounces back and forth like a room full of grandfather clocks, time reduced to a ball that no one can catch.

We walk for a long time, trying to follow the book but often veering onto this path or that, just letting ourselves wander, to spread out and discover.

Like when we come to he place where rust-coloured rocks overhang the trail and remind us of scenes of the grand canyon. High above us we can see small caves and we long to look in.

This desire intensifies a short while later when we look across the river to see Wallace’s Cave, named for Scotland’s national hero, who took part in the Battle of Roslin.

With no way to get to the other side and explore, we will have to make do with this video from BreatheScotland.

The cave is also associated with Hawthornden Castle, which stands across the river, somewhere beyond the clutter of tree branches.

Hawthornden Castle was built in 1638 by poet William Drummond. A little research has brought me to the brink of jealous delirium as I have learned that part of the castle is now used as a retreat for writers and artists.

Each year the Hawthornden Castle Fellowship offers five writers a place here for a month of seclusion. It’s alright if you need a moment to let the idea sink in. We have time.

Somehow we are nearing the end of our walk. Already? Well believe it or not, we have been away for hours.

We’ve taken so many detours and stopped so many times to try and memorise the exact undertone of sweetness in the air, that by the time we have journeyed through the last of the forest trails and are making our way up the stairs and through the archway leading to Rosslyn Castle, we are well and truly knackered.

The castle was built after the battle of Roslin, but much of it was destroyed by fire in 1447. The only part that is still inhabitable is the five storey house that was built as part of later restorations. If you are feeling particularly burdened by cash, you can even stay here.

For the moment let’s set aside plans to visit the famous wee Rosslyn Chapel. We’ll wait until the construction work for the new visitor’s entrance is finished, and hope that visitors will once again be able to at least get close to the outside of the chapel without having to shell out the £7.70 entrance fee.

Thank you for reading. Over the past two years I have so enjoyed sharing my  adventures on this wee patch of the internet. I enjoy all manner of enthusiasm and supportive comments. You are welcome for cake anytime. Let’s have a seat just here and enjoy a bit of sun, shall we?

A touch of Italy in Perthshire

There are ways to will spring to arrive in Scotland. One way is to turn the consumption of ice cream into an event. Yesterday we did just that when we hopped in the car and drove more than an hour to Perthshire.

Down a beautiful country road between Perth and Dunkeld, a bright pink and white sign advertises a café and ice cream parlour built in a converted farm building.

The ice cream in Scotland is staggeringly good. Plentiful rain makes for rich grass for the cows and this translates into the high quality of the milk and subsequently, the ice cream.

The Stewart Tower Dairy is the kind of place that can make a day trip feel like a holiday. This is due to the obvious nature of their business; it is first and foremost a farm, with wide fields stretching out to the horizon, a tractor waiting in the yard and hay bales stacked in an outbuilding across the road.

A bit of family friendly charm comes in the addition of small pens containing a group of mischievous goats, who hop onto boulders and even a feeding trough between nibbles of hay.

Despite being just on the cusp of the lunch hour, miles from a main town on a weekday, there were already several cars in the parking lot when we arrived. Within 15 minutes of taking our seats in the café three more groups joined the growing throng of the hungry.

After years of dessert-eating practice, I have come to understand that I cannot dive straight into the sugar. The trick is to have a little something savoury before you begin your homage to glucose gluttony. Queue a lovely bowl of leek and sweet potato soup and some homemade herby scones.

Now that we can prove to our mothers that we’ve eaten our vegetables, let us move on to the main event.

Using milk from their herd of Holstein cows, the ice cream at Stewart Tower Dairy is inspired by Italian gelato, which is frozen quickly in a batch freezer and mixed while it freezes, giving it a smoother texture than ice cream that has been frozen assembly-line style.

When you enter the building you immediately find yourself looking through a wide window into a room where one of these machines is at work. (Don’t lick the glass - they don’t like that).

Their website lists more than 40 flavours of ice cream, 16 flavours of frozen yoghurt and 13 flavours of fruit ices. A small rotating selection of these is on display in the café.

Alas neither the chilli chocolate nor banoffee were available during our visit, so I went for a double scoop combo of rum raisin and creamy hazelnut. Of the two the creamy hazelnut was particularly glorious, not too sweet and also wonderfully smooth.

The menu also lists a selection of more dramatic ice cream desserts, and my beloved went for the Chunky Toffee Fudge: vanilla and toffee ice cream, clotted cream, fudge cubes, covered in toffee sauce and finished with fresh whipped cream and a toffee finger.

The toffee cubes and sauce made this much sweeter and I loved the addition of the clotted cream. However, one of the biggest pleasures of this ice cream is the texture, so in some ways all the little extras are in danger of hindering the experience. On the other hand, you can’t have an ice cream parlour without the option of those great 1950s sundae-style desserts.

Before you leave make time for a wee wander around their farm shop, which has everything from local eggs to made-in-Scotland jams and salad dressings. Next to the door is a freezer highlighting the Stewart Tower Dairy's other passion of ice cream cakes. If our car had a mini-freezer I would have had to take this one home:

I still regret not being able to sample every other flavour which taunted me with obvious deliciousness, particularly the strawberry cheesecake and the raspberry and white chocolate. I can’t imagine visiting Perthshire in the future without stopping here for ice cream. Somehow I will manage to work my way through the entire selection, even if it takes me years.

Our ice cream adventure has obviously tricked spring into showing its face, because today the sun shone strong between banks of high cloud and the breeze had lost its icy edge.

So I’m dying to know, if you had a larger selection to choose from, which one would you not be able to resist?

A rainy day visit to Craigie's Farm Shop

The cold and damp have crept in and are hugging the world around Edinburgh. With the rain lashing and the last of the leaves clinging precariously to their branches, I want to go somewhere I can feel warm and surrounded by a sense of bounty.

Because Craigie’s Farm is located between Edinburgh and South Queensferry, tucked away up a narrow road, I hadn’t expected it to be as busy as it is. But with the weather so dark and gloomy, it seems there are many others who felt the need to escape.

The first thing I notice are the wooden crates and wheel barrows that are piled high with root vegetables and apples. There are huge leeks and carrots, ropes of garlic and massive sacks of potatoes. It is like a shrine to the harvest.

Inside looks like a mini supermarket, complete with meat counter, cheese, eggs, preserves and bread. But here you can buy things like local rabbit, pheasant, homemade sausages, breaded veal schnitzel, and beef strips marinated in Mexican spices.

There is one section dedicated to Craigie’s own jam kitchen range. The shelves are loaded with selections of marmalades (thick cut, three fruits, grapefruit), vinegars (raspberry, blackberry, redcurrant), chutneys (Beetroot and Horseradish, green bean relish, plum chutney, green tomato and chilli), jellies (mint and apple, Scottish grape, Rowan berry) and of course - jams (blackcurrant, gooseberry & elderflower, rhubarb and ginger, and the shop’s most popular, raspberry).

Foodie Hint: Plan your arrival at Craigie’s for 11.45 am. Lunch will just be starting and if you are very lucky there will be steak pie on offer with roasted potatoes sprinkled with rosemary and seasonal veggies including the sweetest butternut squash, which will wash together with the steak pie gravy with such perfection that you will be able to do nothing else but smile vacantly at those around you.

There are no paintings on the walls of the Craigie’s Farm Café. Talking to Kirsteen, who owns Craigie’s with her husband John and their family, I learn that the lack of artwork is a purposeful omission in order to focus people’s attention out of the huge picture windows that look out over the farm and beyond to the Firth of Forth.

As you sit there with your lunch or your coffee, you cannot help but feel wrapped in the landscape.

If the weather was better I would delight in walking some of the nearby trails around the farm. Dog owners can even treat their beloved pet to a meal at the “canine café.”

Shops like Craigie’s are my favourite places to treat myself. You can feel the time and energy that has gone into all the products and the food that is served, and even into creating the atmosphere of continual attachment to the natural world. I would go there again (and again and again) just to eat lunch and take it all in.

I just had to take home a couple of items from the jam kitchen: a bottle of raspberry vinegar and a jar of raspberry jam. Sampled on some good sourdough bread, the jam is the finest raspberry jam I have ever eaten. Honestly, if I think about it too much I may swoon. I have yet to try the vinegar but I've opened the lid to have a sniff and it is heavenly.

Farm shops and local produce of all kinds are featured in the new edition of The Larder, which I shall be picking up this week. Do you have a favourite farm shop or farmers’ market in Scotland? What do you think are Scotland’s greatest strengths when it comes to food?

Royal Highland Show 2010

“Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners,” says the announcer, and a wave of applause sweeps through the audience that surrounds the arena. Bonzo the bull’s handler grins as he is congratulated by a member of Royal Highland and Agricultural Society.

Bonzo himself, whose team of British Limousins have taken first place in a mixed breed event, seems nonplussed. Later Bonzo will be seen napping in his pen while a huge fan endeavours to keep the champion cool.

I am sitting in my living room, still trying to decide between my favourite moments of the Royal Highland Show, which started on Thursday and finishes tomorrow. This was my first year visiting “the greatest show on earth” and despite reading about it beforehand I didn’t really know what to expect. Where I grew up every town had an autumn fair that included livestock events and baking contests, so I figured it would be like that, only bigger.

Not just bigger. It is enormous. It is so huge that despite having a map I still managed to get lost. Twice.

From fencing to fire pits, tractors to giant spare tyres, everywhere I went there were farming folks with serious expressions scrutinizing this bit of field equipment or that particular high speed drill. The smiles pasted on the salesmen’s faces revealed their hope that this would be the next big sale.

When I first arrived I headed straight towards the sheep pens, as my blogger friend Brenda had asked me to take a photo of the winning Bluefaced Leicesters. I have never seen so many different breeds of sheep in one area before, let alone so many that were beautifully groomed instead of their fleeces being flecked with mud.

For some time I was distracted by this charming fellow. Behold the incredible texture, colour and curl of his horns.

Eventually I found them, their red and blue ribbons posted above their pen. Here you are Brenda: the prize-winning Bluefaced Leicester ram. He seems shocked by his sudden rise to fame.

In the land of food, the name of the game seemed to be meat. Carved meat, meat on a roll, meat made into sausages, meat sold in packs at the food hall, demonstrations on how to best cut and cook meat.

However there was also plenty of cheese, seafood, and heaps of other goodies on offer in the main food tent, which was so busy it was a trial just to get through the place, let alone sample anything.

I did manage to buy myself a small block of Loch Arthur Creamery’s award winning Criffel cheese, which is velvety smooth and flavourful and goes perfectly with oatcakes.

But my foodie highlight of the day was far from the food hall, way on the west side of the event grounds. Traditional Arbroath smokies were being made right there, smoke pluming through the burlap that covered the fish, which were hanging on poles in stout wooden barrels.

Of course I had to have one, thus marking off one more thing on my Scottish “to do” list, as this was my very first Arbroath Smokie ever. Oh it was goood…moist and flaky and rich: the perfect outdoor event food because it is wholesome but also feels like a special treat.

No matter where I wandered, I kept being drawn back towards the arena where the cows and bulls were being shown. The size of the bulls is shocking and they are incredible to watch, their deeply muscled forms lumbering behind their handlers as they are led past the judges. Perhaps it is because I am a Taurus, but these bulls were my favourite animals of the day. And of course, no trip to a Scottish agricultural show would be complete without the iconic Hielan’ Coos.

Now it’s time for the weird photo of the day! I had the zoom lens on my camera and snapped one of the judges who happened to be carrying around toothpaste and a toothbrush in his sock. Caption ideas anyone?

I took nearly 200 photos today but I shall show you just one more. It is not the strongest photo but I think it is my favourite. The Clydsdale owners were all getting their horses ready to show, brushing their hair and adding adornments to their manes and tails, and I got this shot of a woman tending to her horse. She was tidying the hair in front of his eyes and speaking tenderly to him, while he nibbled gently on the back of her hand.

Such a simple, precious communication, which to me signifies the depth of concern the farmers take with the animals in their care.

As a participant, winning a ribbon is wonderful because it means accolades from your peers and positive advertising for your business. But a ribbon won on a single day demonstrates only a fragment of the time, effort and love that has gone into ensuring that animal’s health and wellbeing. They don’t make a ribbon big or shiny enough for that.

Want to learn more about The Royal Highland Show? Visit the Web site and become a friend for free to be added to their mailing list.