We're in Scotland this week, and I promised Henrik a bag of local food. He's expecting to be asked to cook a deep-fried haggis and chips supper, washed down with Irn Bru and proof strength alcohol, followed by the classic deep-fried Mars Bar. The obligatory street fight would no doubt follow. However, this is the Highlands, and we do things a bit differently. Henrik's bag of food contains 2 red grouse, black pudding, scallops, red-currants, turnip, parsnip, sweet potato, home-grown lettuce and home-grown nettles. Oh, and a Mars Bar. Well, we need something to get us going for the fighting.
If my memory doesn’t fail me, it was I who cooked last week too. And now, in Scotland, visiting Hazel’s parents, she’s given me a bag of Scottish food to cook in her mother’s kitchen. As I look at the ingredients, her dad announces that he has not eaten grouse in thirty-five years because he doesn’t like it, at which Hazel’s mother says ‘forty-two’ as that is how long they have been married. What do you say about my chances? Rather the colour of the scallops than of the lettuce.