The company assembled
Aug. 23rd, 2025 05:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustAlthough we had crossed the Pentland Firth in the teeth of Storm Floris, it was J. who had the best story to tell. Driving up from Dunkeld, she had – perhaps unwisely – plotted a course on minor roads, and, coming through Ballater, had found the road barred by a fallen tree. Since she had barely passed a sign warning of forestry working, and a man in a big truck doing just that, she got out of the car, to examine the tree more closely, and then to seek help; but when she turned to face the way she had come, she saw that another tree had fallen silently behind her, and she was now trapped. The trunk was supported high enough on the canopy of leaves that she was able to crawl underneath, and to call for help, and help did come – though I was so impressed by the story thus far that I don’t recall what form it took.
A full day later, by the time we arrived, she was pretty much recovered. As the week passed, it began to sink in just how narrowly she had escaped, but for now she was very much ready to party: which is just as well, as we were headed into Aberdeen to celebrate D.’s birthday at Amuse by Kevin Dalgliesh. I find this a silly name, but it was a very fancy restaurant, all low lights gleaming on multiple wine glasses and folded napkins, attentive staff, an amuse-gueule of a tiny cluster of mushrooms, deep-fried, crispy with salt and pepper and melting with mushroom ketchup, a highlight of the meal. Well worth the effort of chewing, although my tooth was troublesome enough that I gave up on the excellent bread.
The most popular choice of starter was beetroot, which is still deeply fashionable: but what do you drink with beetroot? My recommendation would have been chianti, but there wasn’t any, and D. (who as our driver wasn’t actually drinking) selected a Portuguese red, which was much praised, especially by those who had lamb as a main course. I had a glass of gris de gris (from the Camargue, I think) chosen to accompany a fish course, and that worked too. The beetroot was a long finger of vegetable, stacked with other things: slivers of apple, sour cream, glace cherries – yes, really – and a server came round with what looked like a parmesan grater, to sprinkle horseradish on it. This was fun, but less might have been more.
I went the two-starters route, and my ‘main’ course was a single scallop and a courgette blossom stuffed with a fine, light mousse, the two of them nestled in their pretty frilly dish on top of a selection of vegetable (peas, beans, a bit of carrot) in a deeply savoury sauce: I was frustrated not to be able to sop it up with the bread, and just managed not to lick the plate. I considered the cheese course, but was deterred by the promise of ‘cheeses of the world’:durham_rambler went for it, so I know the options included brie, and a red leicester from Wales, and a Scottish aged gouda… and I am sure they were all very nice, but it’s a bit anonymous, isn’t it? Instead I had the chocolate dessert (it was called CHOCOLATE) with a glass of maury. Back in ‘less is more’ territory here: I was reminded of a café gourmand I had been served in Saint Malo, whose chocolate shell shattered to release such a huge quantity of mixed sweeties that it took two of us, and a second round of coffee, just to reduce it to a quantity I could take away with me. On this occasion you ate down through a scoop of pleasant but not striking ice cream (malt, allegedly) to a generous scattering of crunchy things – nuts and cinder toffee and suchlike – and only then reached a thick sediment of creamy chocolate. It was good chocolate, but I couldn’t finish it. I would have been happier with a smaller quantity of darker chocolate, and so would the maury - which was delicious.
Despite all this, I slept very well.
A full day later, by the time we arrived, she was pretty much recovered. As the week passed, it began to sink in just how narrowly she had escaped, but for now she was very much ready to party: which is just as well, as we were headed into Aberdeen to celebrate D.’s birthday at Amuse by Kevin Dalgliesh. I find this a silly name, but it was a very fancy restaurant, all low lights gleaming on multiple wine glasses and folded napkins, attentive staff, an amuse-gueule of a tiny cluster of mushrooms, deep-fried, crispy with salt and pepper and melting with mushroom ketchup, a highlight of the meal. Well worth the effort of chewing, although my tooth was troublesome enough that I gave up on the excellent bread.
The most popular choice of starter was beetroot, which is still deeply fashionable: but what do you drink with beetroot? My recommendation would have been chianti, but there wasn’t any, and D. (who as our driver wasn’t actually drinking) selected a Portuguese red, which was much praised, especially by those who had lamb as a main course. I had a glass of gris de gris (from the Camargue, I think) chosen to accompany a fish course, and that worked too. The beetroot was a long finger of vegetable, stacked with other things: slivers of apple, sour cream, glace cherries – yes, really – and a server came round with what looked like a parmesan grater, to sprinkle horseradish on it. This was fun, but less might have been more.
I went the two-starters route, and my ‘main’ course was a single scallop and a courgette blossom stuffed with a fine, light mousse, the two of them nestled in their pretty frilly dish on top of a selection of vegetable (peas, beans, a bit of carrot) in a deeply savoury sauce: I was frustrated not to be able to sop it up with the bread, and just managed not to lick the plate. I considered the cheese course, but was deterred by the promise of ‘cheeses of the world’:
durham_rambler went for it, so I know the options included brie, and a red leicester from Wales, and a Scottish aged gouda… and I am sure they were all very nice, but it’s a bit anonymous, isn’t it? Instead I had the chocolate dessert (it was called CHOCOLATE) with a glass of maury. Back in ‘less is more’ territory here: I was reminded of a café gourmand I had been served in Saint Malo, whose chocolate shell shattered to release such a huge quantity of mixed sweeties that it took two of us, and a second round of coffee, just to reduce it to a quantity I could take away with me. On this occasion you ate down through a scoop of pleasant but not striking ice cream (malt, allegedly) to a generous scattering of crunchy things – nuts and cinder toffee and suchlike – and only then reached a thick sediment of creamy chocolate. It was good chocolate, but I couldn’t finish it. I would have been happier with a smaller quantity of darker chocolate, and so would the maury - which was delicious.Despite all this, I slept very well.
