The hamlet of Tyndrum, although just 55 miles
north of Glasgow, is well into the Highlands and surrounded by Munros. It
straddles both the A82 trunk road and the West Highland Way footpath, drawing
its economic lifeblood from all who stop by - which includes me.
I had made the mistake of choosing porridge for
breakfast and was desperate for coffee to wash it down. I found it in the Real
Food Cafe where, as I was savouring a surprisingly decent cappuccino, I heard a
woman behind me place her order in broad Scottish:”Two portions of cheesy chips
with buttered rolls and two cans of Fanta please.” Knowing the Scots’
reputation for unhealthy diets I was unsurprised until, getting up to leave, I
turned and saw that the Scot in question was a sari-clad woman of Indian
descent. Things have really changed in Scotland: cappuccino never used to be
available except at Valvona & Crolla’s Edinburgh deli.
There is a long way to go before the reign of
beige food is overthrown in the tourist cafes of Scotland. The Real Food Cafe
may be heading in the right direction but the best efforts of its barrista were
overshadowed by the kitchen’s main activity - the frying of fish and chips. I
should have realised that not much had changed when, at a stopover in the
border town of Gretna Green, I was offered the choice of chips or boiled potatoes
with my ravioli. The sign there which welcomes travellers from England to
Scotland ought to incorporate a warning of Enhanced Levels of Carbohydrate.
Of course there are outposts of gastronomic excellence
one of which, the Loch Fyne Oyster Bar, we drove past while on a coach
excursion to the coastal resort of Dunoon, our driver informing us, en
passant, that the oysters were so good that they are sent daily to
Claridges in London. There was also a micro-brewery attached. “Perhaps there’s
an outlet in Dunoon” said a fellow traveller, turning to glimpse the
disappearing venue.
But Dunoon which, like most British coastal
resorts, has seen better times boasts neither oyster bars nor real ale pubs.
As I tramped the streets looking for the best place to lunch I came across a
small group of young women evidently with the same dilemma. One of them was peering into a window “Is it
one of those ‘old man’ pubs?” asked another. I could not have described it
better myself.
I found help in an unlikely place - the
community centre on the high street - where a travelling exhibition of Robert
Mapplethorpe’s photographs was showing. It wasn’t busy so the lady curator had
time to talk to me about the work, the benefactor (Anthony D’Offay), public
reaction to the show and the perversity of those who pronounce the name Maplethorpe.
She seemed like a woman whose judgment I could trust so I asked her if
there was a decent pub in town. She denounced them all as ‘old man’ pubs - with
the exception of the newly refurbished Braes, up the hill and beside the church.
She was right: there I feasted on goat’s cheese salad, washed down with a crisp
sauvignon blanc. In fact it was so nouvelle
cuisine I had practically to beg for a piece of bread to accompany
it.
Back in Tyndrum I resolved the dinner-dilemma
by wandering in to Paddy’s Rock and Roll Bar. The joint was jumping - alive
with beery hikers, bemused Japanese, a party of wary French tourists and
several locals - and with a soundtrack of juke-box favourites stitching them
all together. There was also steak on the menu - and good steak is one thing Scotland
can produce.
I fell into conversation with a local couple and
learned that Paddy had absconded and the bar was being run, on behalf of the
receivers, by a jolly Jamaican chap and a couple of young women from somewhere
in Eastern Europe. A few drinks later and Tyndrum, it seemed, was a more
interesting place than it might first appear.
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