October 25, 2012
Most catch-up conversations for abroad students begin the same way: Tell me anything, tell me everything! I left the U.S. in early September and am, by now, well acquainted with the drill. Relatives, friends, Spectator editors, they all ask, “How is Edinburgh?” and leave it at that. They don’t specify a subject and wait for whatever you want to tell, hoping that living in a foreign city is as intriguing as it sounds.
When I was asked to write this column about my experiences so far in Scotland, then, I thought of, give or take, a hundred things I could—and probably should—talk about. Like climbing post card-perfect Arthur’s Seat, twice. Living with four girls from four different countries. Traveling to the Scottish Highlands, finding the Loch Ness Monster (that is to say, a duck), meeting a pack of trained sheepdogs, almost stealing a sheepdog puppy and learning how to box from a Scottish trainer who blasts Swedish Eurodance remixes and screams things like, “Grab his face!”
But, even as the list of potential topics grew and grew in my mind, I already knew: I’m not going to write about any such things. Because if I’m ever given the choice of what to talk or write about, it’s always, always going to be food. After all, since arriving in the UK, I’ve put more labor hours into my food blog Dourmet than all of my (whopping three) classes combined. (A “wee” joke, professors! Can’t a “lassie” kid?)
Right about now, perhaps you’re re-reading the first paragraph of this article, feeling a bit confused. Where in the world am I again? Scotland? Like, Great Britain? Yes. And yes. But wait—what kind of sham food blogger am I to pick a place with a notorious cuisine? Why didn’t I pick Italy and spend four months “researching” bruschetta and gelato?
For starters: language. Indeed, I’m that American stereotype who speaks only one, because Spanish wasn’t exactly my calling in high school, and the other language I took in college, Latin, is officially (deservedly) dead.
More importantly, though, I spent most of my life idealizing the idea of living in London—which means, of course, that when the time came to apply to programs, the only place that felt right was some Scottish city that no one can pronounce (Neil Edwards, I’m looking at you).
Obviously, I’m not studying abroad in Scotland for the food. (I mean, the national dish is sheep offal mixed with oatmeal and spices, boiled in a stomach lining.) Still though, I did travel here hoping—with every inch of my own stomach—that all the animosity surrounding British cuisine would turn out to be just…wrong.
Now two months in, I’m officially prepared to defend a most unpopular position: Scottish fare, in my opinion, is just “brilliant.” Here are a few reasons why:
1. Let’s start with the start of the day. A “proper” British breakfast simply can’t be beat! Now, I know breakfast is subjective. You have your cereal people, pancake people, toast people, just-a-piece-of-fruit people, roll-out-of-bed-and-into-lecture people. I’m convinced that all of them, with one trip to one of my favorite bistros here, could be converted from “continental” to the-way-it-was-always-meant-to-be. What does a British breakfast include? Eggs and bacon. And sausage. And black pudding. And baked beans. And grilled tomatoes. And sautéed mushrooms. And toast. The place I love leaves out the black pudding and includes a hash brown (and a potato scone!). No matter where you sample the staple, it’ll be a lot of food. You’ll feel a “wee” bit spoiled just looking at the plate, go on to eat every bite and absolutely love it.
2. If the British breakfast were to be beaten, though, it would be by Scottish porridge. Why, you wonder? Isn’t Scottish porridge just like American oatmeal? The Scottish resident in me feels morally obligated to answer: Absolutely not! But the American citizen in me feels required to admit: Between you and me, yeah. Both are oats cooked with water and/or milk. For me, what makes Scottish porridge stand out is the way the culture embraces it (plus porridge has a cuter name). Think of it like America and the hamburger. It’s all about the toppings, right? There’s a reason why Bobby Flay felt the need to create his own “Signature Burger” (“The Crunchbuger,” with potato chips)—because if you want to stand out when presenting a favorite national dish, you have to get creative with it. Such is the way with porridge. No longer just a spoonful of brown sugar or sprinkle of cinnamon. You could have honey, jam, cream, almonds, hazelnuts, sultanas, dried cranberries, dried cherries, fresh raspberries, sliced bananas and Nutella. You could have, basically, everything you ever wanted, and all in one little bowl.
3. Did someone say Nutella? On the other side of the Atlantic, this (in)famous chocolate-hazelnut spread is treated like the nectar of the Gods—as, of course, it should be. On my way to class every day, I pass by at least five options for Nutella-filled crepes. It’s a daily temptation and I embrace the fact that I have very little self-control. (Go-to add-ins are strawberries and/or bananas.) Crepes are just the start, though. In Edinburgh, Nutella is treated as innovatively as porridge, and I couldn’t be happier to “research” all the creations. Nutella hot chocolate. Nutella latte. Nutella mocha. Nutella milkshake. I used to hydrate myself purely on Earl Grey tea, but since moving here, that seems so very silly. There’s no Nutella in Earl Grey tea.
4. Shortbread, scones and croissants, oh my! I expected the shortbread, sure, but the café culture in Edinburgh completely surprised me—and continues to spoil me every day. Hot chocolate garnished with grated dark chocolate, served with homemade marshmallows. Icy smoothies made with fresh ginger and sweet passion fruit. Piping hot Americano that even inspires me to get off food blogs and do my homework. And, for every delicious drink, there’s an even better sweet treat. Caramel shortbread—shortbread layered with caramel and chocolate—is everywhere you look in Scotland (“cheers” to that!). Scones aren’t the poor, rock-like creatures I’ve encountered in the States; they’re crumbly, flaky, biscuit-like, dotted with dried fruit and smothered with jam and clotted cream. And the croissants? Handmade, buttery, showered with toasted almonds and powdered sugar. Plus, almost always, you can have them served warm with Nutella (see No. 3 above, I need not say more).
5. Who needs chicken fingers when you could have battered haddock? Who needs French fries when you could have chips? Who needs chips when you could have curry chips? Who needs pizza when you could have fried pizza? We all know that the American diet gets pounded in the gut daily for its terrible ways, but let’s be real here: The UK is just as sinful as the USA. In many ways, even more so (three words: Fried Mars Bars). Arteries be damned, in the middle of the night when I’m craving something other than the brown rice and natural muesli in my kitchen cupboard, I absolutely love that about this place.
All those reasons/my formal manifesto aside, let’s put it this way: My frequent shortbread fixings have satisfied me enough to—can I really admit this in print?—not miss fresh-out-of-the-oven Opus cookies. If that doesn’t convince you about the choice quality of the Scottish food scene, then nothing ever will.