Me that nowadays rarely ventures further than the nearest eatery has twice been a dirty stop-out.
One, an overnighter suggested by my loon who, like me, adores lobster. Sadly, it’s a pucklie years since I’ve managed to indulge masellie.
I’ve tried buying those vacuum-packed North Atlantic critters from Lidl but, even armed with a hammer, retrieving just a teeny gob of pink flesh defies me. I end up losin’ the rag and smashin’ away ’til the shell’s pulp.
And, if you can actually find a restaurant in Aberdeen which sells them, you need a second mortgage for the bill.
However, just doon the coast in bonnie Johnshaven, they seem to have the delicacy loupin’ oot o’ the sea. You can almost smell them when you stand on the shore.
Boy, did I go my dinger at the meal in The Anchor Hotel on Friday, then buying more to take home from The Lobster Shop on Saturday. Just £23 for two dressed halves. If only more places in the Neest would sell and serve this scrumptious harvest of the North Sea, instead of most of it being shipped doon sooth.
My other awayday was to Perth for a special lunch none of the diners thought we’d see. After being diagnosed with leukaemia almost a year ago, a dear old friend was given only a 10 to 20% chance of survival. However, after months of intensive chemotherapy, he’s now in remission – and looking better than ever.
Another pal from Edinburgh – who’s recently beaten breast and bowel cancer – travelled north, and we met for lunch near his home. Boy, how we laughed and, yes, cried. I presumed he’d now have a totally different perspective on life, appreciating every tiny rain drop. “Nope,” sez he, “I’m still a grumpy al’ sod.”
A Michelin-starred railway snack
On the train home, a couple opposite spent the journey demolishing the typical Scottish travel nosh: sausage rolls, sandwiches, crisps, Mars bars.
I suddenly remembered that family across from me on the train from Edinburgh a few years back – a Chinese couple and two teenagers. Soon out of Waverley, the mum, like Mary Poppins unpacking that bottomless bag, slowly, deliberately, passed round plates and cutlery. Man, wis I agog.
Then a much bigger plate and – I kid you not – oot emerged a huge, cooked fish. Gently onto the plate, then, with the utmost careful dexterity, she proceeded to fillet it, perfect portions placed on to each dish. Bones on a napkin to the side.
A whole trout or halibut? I wis dribblin’.
After she’d passed round four little packs of salad and a bottle of dressing, they viewed the passing landscape, silently nibbling their Michelin-starred, nutritionally perfect, finesse-delivered, railway snack.
I wanted to stand up and applaud. But bet they were a’ thinkin’: “Wish that nosey wifie would stop starin’ at us!” On my next train journey, if I have a hammer… and a lobster.
Moreen Simpson is a former assistant editor of the Evening Express and The Press & Journal, and started her journalism career in 1970
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