The Best Meal: The Worst Meal

Six months or so ago I issued an invitation to all of you who have provided guest reviews over the years. The call was to contribute articles recalling your best ever, or worst ever, dining experience, or both. It would appear that many of you have, ahem, forgotten. But a single response was received. Since it was from boyhood chum, The Flying Scotsman, it goes without saying that it was quirky. He joined forces with his pal from university days, TJ from Belfast.

What do the best and worst meals have in common? Yes, you guessed-

TINNED STEW

The Flying Scotsman

Back in the summer of 1968, I was 13 going on 14. So was my good friend Andy.

“Why don’t we go on a caper? We could hitch hike to England.” “To England?” Andy gasped. “It’ll take a week, more or less, there and back. I’ll ask Mum & Dad,” I said, “and you do the same.” To their credit, they all agreed. It was a different era, a different time.

I think my Dad gave us a lift from Fife to Penicuik, to get us started, and we worked our way, slowly, down the A702, pitching our basic tent in fields by the roadside. By day 3 we reached Lockerbie, but thought we’d better start for home, given our rate of progress. In Moffat, we bought a tin of Fray Bentos stew – not the pie, just the stew - and a packet of Smash (you remember “For mash get Smash”?).

Off we set, along the A701, the road becoming ever steeper. We’d never heard of the Devil’s Beef Tub but, up there is where we were headed, with our backpacks. After five miles or so, we found, at last, a field with running water. It was the Annan, a gurgling stream. We lit a small fire and emptied the stew into one billy can, Smash mixed with River Annan into the other. Heat thoroughly and serve. Each billy held half the stew and half the mash, garnished with charcoal embers from the fire, and eaten with a spoon. I can’t recall the taste, but the warmth and comfort it gave two wee lads has never been forgotten. And the charcoal bits in the white mash. Yum. Sitting around the fire, the sky turned starry black. In the tent, we slept like tops.

The next day, we found it was only 100 yards to the top of the Tub, a 3 minute walk, whereupon a Scottish & Newcastle lorry, rattling empty after its deliveries, responded to our waggling thumbs. “I’m headed to Edinburgh,” the driver said. “Edinburgh is perfect, thanks.” Turned out, Andy had a Granny near the Meadows, so, on the way back to the brewery, the driver dropped us right outside her house. The Best Ever Lift, and the Best Ever Tinned Stew & Mash.

TJ

July, 1988. My brother Michael and I set out on an adventure. We were going to cycle across the north coast of Scotland, catch a ferry to the Outer Hebrides, ride down through Lewis, Harris, North & South Uist, rejoin the mainland, and make our way back home to Belfast. Many memorable adventures were to come, but our most 'unforgettable' meal was on an unplanned detour. Simply because we found ourselves close to Scrabster and its ferry to Stromness, we acted on a whim and headed for Orkney.

The crossing took 90 minutes, some of it spent in the convivial company of Bobby McCrae, a kilted piper and fiddler from Tain. He was a little the worse for wear but keen to extol the virtues of Tain's most famous product. I suspect he had, recently, over-enjoyed some of the very same. After half an hour, he somewhat vaguely announced that he had to "go and make some music somewhere."

By this time, my brother and I had not slept for 36 hours. On arrival in Stromness, we made our way to the local campsite, set up our tent (which, in strong winds, suddenly looked alarmingly flimsy) and cycled into town in search of sustenance. There was nowhere open to buy a meal. As we scoured the town, desperation set in, until we found a small general store with an eccentric array of goods on display.

Fresh food was there none. The best we could do was to purchase a couple of tins of ‘Irish Stew’. On the labels, it looked very appetising. Then, there was a surprise - a small but impressive range of wine. Our eyes were caught by one familiar label, Tyrrell's Long Flat Red, a Cabernet/Malbec/Syrah from Hunter Valley. Okay, not a connoisseur's tipple, but for two hungry, thirsty, exhausted cyclists it took on the aura of ambrosia.

Back at the campsite, we unpacked the primus stove and Billy can. The contents of the tins did not, in any way, resemble the promise of the labels. Our Irish Stew was an amorphous grey mass of gristle and inexplicable lumps of something purporting to be potato. Perhaps a carrot had been involved at some point in this concoction's production. It was quickly renamed Rat Stew and was obnoxious not only to look at. No matter. It was hot, it was filling, but, for us, the meal's saving grace was the intoxicating taste of The Long Flat Red.

Ahead of us, on our journey, lay the glory of St Magnus' Cathedral, the stones at Callanish, the rocket range on Benbecula and the machair of the Uists, but when I think back, the first thing that often comes to mind is The Rat Stew of Stromness.

L once had a summer job canning the stuff. She shudders at the memories.

 

 

On a much loftier level, many congratulations to Craig, Vikki and team at The Wee Restaurant, North Queensferry, winners of the Restaurant of the Year at The Courier Food and Drink Awards this week. Well deserved. If you've never visited, book now.

 

 

It's always tricky to keep up the weekly restaurant reviews, not least because the bloody Editor of Tom's Food! pays no expenses. I haven't received any guest reviews for a long time. To my regulars, please keep them coming.

To anyone who hasn't contributed before, I would welcome well written pieces around 600 - 800 words. I need you to follow the normal format of Tom Eats!, namely to include the price ranges and to use our scoring system. Include a picture of yourself and any pictures you may have of the venue. We'd love to hear from you.