The Commonwealth Games are coming to Glasgow in 2014 and more than 2 million meals will have to be prepared for athletes, officials, staff and spectators. However, Ah hae ma doots that the 100 plus tonnes of fruit and veg that are being ordered will necessarily go doon a treat.
Save the Children co-ordinator, Malcolm Clark, has been reported as saying that there should be a junk food ban. Many will respond: Ach, away an’ bile yer heid.
Rural Affairs Secretary, Richard Lochhead said:
There will be unprecedented opportunities to showcase the magnificent produce Scotland has to offer.
There will be a Food and Drink AGM in Perth, so close to Andrew Fairlie’s eponymous restaurant at The Gleneagles Hotel. However, I don’t think his signature lobster dish- its shell smoked in whisky, as if you didn’t know, will be featured in the biodegradable cardboard takeaway dishes of the Games themselves. Nor do I see Celtic Fish and Game and all things feathered and sustainable being up there in the hot desires of Rab C Nesbitt and Co.
Candia was once a student at a Scottish University, in the gloaming of time and so she can recall seeing some graffiti sprayed on the exterior of the students’ refectory and it read:
You Are What You Eat
And that is a very frightening concept.
Just over a week ago now, I was contemplating a journey north and felt compelled to express in verse my anticipation of the culinary delights of Alba.
I’m returning to the land of shortbread-
(Petticoat Tails, the Peek Frean Custard Cream)-
where, for many years I had ingested
more Jammie Dodgers than in sweet-toothed dream;
Lorne sausage, Stovies, Co-op jam
stirred into semolina, mutton pies,
mince n’ tatties, neeps, pan peeces, flaccid Spam,
school custard, tablet- then, to appetise,
Black Bun. If I felt a wee bit faddy;
Barr’s Irn Bru, a Paterson oatcake
with a Loch Fyne kipper; a Finnan haddie
gar’d me grue. Bottles of ginger would slake
my thirst and, if I was in a paddy,
you could shut me up wi’ a soor green ploom.
On Fridays we had something Ruskolined,
Cock-a-Leekie, Clootie Dumpling, sheep’s womb,
Tunnock’s wafers, Lees’ Snowballs, but now weaned
off those pokes of chips, black pudding slices,
I spread my Low Fat Flora very thin.
Childhood diet no longer entices,
yet I am what I ate- there’s nae denying
the place the skillet had in all our hearts.
Arteries were clogged through constant frying
by strangers to the culinary arts.
But Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled don’t shrink
fae food wae names like bannock, Cullen Skink.
© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012