Damn fine Scottish cuisine

Never having been a particular fan of the ’90s cult TV series Twin Peaks (I like a proper plot, me, I can’t be doing with all that existential angst and flashbackery), I have to say I warmed to its star, actor Kyle MacLachlan, during his recent visit to Scotland as part of the Dunhill golf shindig.

Taking the clue from his name, he is obviously of Scottish extraction and took it upon himself to defend the oftinsulted cuisine of his forefathers.

In particular haggis, which has actually been banned from entering the USA since the 1970s but which he cheerfully admits to having enjoyed on his visits back to Caledonia.

In his telly incarnation as the strange but upright Agent Cooper, which he is about to revisit in a new series of the surreal murder mystery, he was, of course, somewhat famous for his delight in a “damn fine cup of coffee” and his passion for cherry pie.

So it’s perhaps no surprise that he now takes a liberal and sensible view of what passes for fine food in this neck of the woods – making the best of the Scottish environment, to paraphrase his own words – moving on from his skit with Shrek’s Mike Myers that posited the theory that Scottish food was “based on a dare”.

“I know a deep-fried Mars bar won’t be good for you but, like anything fried, I think it will probably be tasty too. Maybe I’ll have one (during) this visit,” he is reported to have said.

Well, speaking as someone who has long stood up for the excellence of what is produced and grown here and taken issue with the cliche of Scots as a nation of salted and battered drunks whose idea of a green vegetable is a fousty chip, good for you Mr MacLachlan, I say.

I still reckon the deep-fried Mars bar is a bit like Nessie – a fun construct and cultural cliche that has taken on a life of its own, rather than anything that actually appears very often in the world most of us inhabit.

However, the occasional foray into such hidden fried depths will do no harm to those of us who also recognise that the Scottish food and drink industry is rapidly becoming the jewel in the crown of a country with a lot to boast about when it comes to quality of produce and excellence of execution – from the Fochabers Fish Bar to Andrew Fairlie.

And any nation that can come up with the notion of tablet ice cream and the tattie scone wrap has to have its finger on the pulse of public taste. Aches, pains and gnashing Auld age, as they say, disnae come itsel’ and at this time of year the concomitant aches, pains, wailing and gnashing of wallies seems to get worse, as we of a certain vintage morph further into the cast of Still Game the more the nights draw in.

I am driven to these nostalgic musings every so often, as you all know, but this week’s trigger occurred, strangely, while looking through a contemporary clothes catalogue.

There is an online company called Joe Brown (nothing to do with the cheery ’60s singer) that I have taken to patronising because it stocks unusual styles and patterns that help me hide the increasing multitude of gins and chins and the fact that I don’t have a waist any more.

In fact, one funky little tunic that I purchased some years back has regularly led me to being stopped in the street, complimented on it and asked where I got it.

I must say at this point that I am not being paid by Joe Brown’s for this unsolicited testimonial (other online frock shops are available), although a reward in funky little tunics wouldn’t go astray.

Any road up, I was leafing through the pages of the latest brochure this week, noting down one or two things that might be reasonable to ask for as (whisper it) Christmas presents and turned over to find the gents’ section.

This was full of colourful, hipsterish, hoodie-type stuff that the Other Half tends to find rather racy for his tastes.

However, there was one rather nice, slightly but not overly boho collarless shirt in a most acceptable dark blue that I thought would suit him to a T. If a shirt can suit you to a T. But you know what I mean.

“What about this lovely grandad shirt?” I asked, in all innocence.

“I’m too old,” he replied, without missing a beat.

Having pondered for many years whether it is technically possible to be pit oot of an open air restaurant (and boy, have we tried), that great philosophical question has now been replaced by the query – how old is too old for a grandad shirt.

Can a grandfather of 10 be too old for a grandad shirt? Or is it just something he wouldn’t be seen dead in?

Answers on a postcard. Or a Joe Brown’s order form.

I reckon the deep-fried Mars bar is a bit like Nessie

Picture: Getty Images. Twin Peaks star Kyle MacLachlan, who has sung the praises of Scottish cuisine on his visits here.