The Roquefort Files

For Christmas I was given a day at Cook School by Martin Wishart. I didn’t know anything about Martin Wishart, so I looked him up. Turns out he’s a Michelin-starred chef specialising in French cuisine; he has one restaurant in Leith, another at Loch Lomond, and a cookery school down the road from my work. [...]

I made stock last weekend. According to my man Tony, what I actually made was a distant relative of demi-glace, but for the sake of argument, let’s call it stock. Over in Shawlands on the rainy Saturday, we found a good old fashioned butcher’s on Pollokshaws Road. I asked if he had any bones. He [...]

Off the back of a wonderful birthday present* from Ash, I resolved the other night to make tartiflette. I pottered in and out of the scullery as we blethered about one of Ash’s assignments, and at the end of a pleasant hour of culinary fiddling I emerged with a magnificent starch bomb. We ate it. [...]

On Sunday morning, in a small celebration of our first anniversary, I decided to make Ash and I some pain perdu – “lost bread” – for breakfast. This is the New Orleanian version of french toast, and although one might have surmised I would learn from my previous mistakes, one would be wholly incorrect. Devon [...]

On Sunday morning, impelled by some vague desire to both recapture lost youth and grow up a bit into the bargain, I made an executive decision to make some French toast. I bought some bacon, eggs, a none-less-healthy Mother’s Pride plain loaf and an Observer. The basic idea of a civilised, cooked breakfast avec lefty [...]