Plenty to savour on trip back in time
Solid hearty food brings back memories for Anna
Mother’s Day, with its sickly rose gold wash of gin puns and gushing declarations, is not my favourite.
My own mum hated anything that might gather dust and discouraged us from buying saccharine geegaws or making love tokens from Dairylea boxes.
I am happy to accept a bunch of tulips but otherwise I share her dislike of this manufactured celebration.
However, and it’s a big however, I’m always up for a splendid lunch. Of course, such trips are on hold amid the Coronavirus lockdown but should my children choose to spoil me rotten once the health crisis has subsided, I have found the perfect venue.
The Kinneuchar Inn, in the East Neuk village of Kilconquhar, is way off most beaten tracks. Driving there from Perth involved dodging potholes, being stared down by a hawk and wondering if the sat nav was punishing me for some slight in a previous life.
It’s small, with 32 covers in the dining room, a dinky bar and private dining area hiding in the back. It has been renovated, thoroughly and tastefully, to showcase the building’s simple charm.
In the kitchen is James Ferguson, who comes to Fife with a stellar London CV. His partner, Alethea Palmer, is front of house.
What they are doing is not fancy. There is not a pomegranate seed, edible flower or tiny mint leaf in sight. Instead there is a hefty pork chop, a duck paté, a magnificent chicken and ham pie that serves two. Cabbage is the only cooked vegetable on offer.
It’s the kind of food my own mother made in the 1970s, the plain Scottish diet with an occasional flourish of Good Housekeeping magazine.
Not that Mum served deep-fried eel with aioli, my starter of choice, when I was growing up in Maryhill. The fish is strong at Kinneuchar, much of it landed along the Fife coast. But I was brought up to order something I’d never had before so I reluctantly passed on the celeriac soup and smoked trout.
I would have struggled to identify the brown lumps as eel. It was definitely some kind of waterbased life form. Not as flaky as white fish, fluffier than a scallop. Hot oil gave it a crunchy exterior while the aioli gave it garlic’s helping hand. Carb Boy, who has a less adventurous palate, preferred mussels with nduja. Another strong choice – fat Orkney molluscs in a terracotta broth with shards of leek and tiny nubs of spicy sausage. It was one of the only vaguely fashionable dishes on the menu but I won’t hold that against it.
His roast hake was also well played. Hake, treated properly, can hold its own against the more expensive white fish.
This chunky fillet had the crispy, salty skin that sets off a pearly flake to perfection. A pile of chickpeas, rainbow chard and anchovies made a substantial and toothsome accompaniment and