Scotland is famous for many things – tartan, whisky and beautiful scenery to name a few, but a modern invention has brought it fame and shame in equal measure. News reports on Scotland’s abysmal health record are almost always sprinkled with references to that culinary legend, the deep-fried Mars Bar.

So what is it about deep-fried food that makes it so special, so delicious? In Scotland every town has its chippy, serving fish, sausages and even haggis as ‘singles’ or ‘suppers’ (that means served with chips). For decades, the deep-fried pizza has been a permanent fixture – delighting Scots and horrifying more health conscious onlookers. So wrong, and yet so right.

Rewind to 1995 when the deep-fried Mars Bar was first spotted in the Haven Fish Bar in Stonehaven on Scotland’s north-east coast. Now called The Carron, it has been serving them ever since, and the huge ‘Home of the deep fried Mars bar’ banner outside suggests that they are not embarrassed by the ignominy it has brought the nation as a whole.

In truth, despite their worldwide fame, they are not actually that common (and Scots don’t live off them). They can be easily found in tourist traps like Edinburgh’s Royal Mile but in 2004, The Lancet (yes, The Lancet) surveyed the availability of said treats and only found them in 22% of chip shops. I’m not sure what that proves. In other areas, inventive souls riffed on the idea, most famously The Reiver Fish Bar in Duns which has diversified into deep-fried Cadbury’s Creme Eggs. Oy.

So, the million dollar question - what does a deep-fried Mars Bar taste like? I chose a ‘single’ - you can order it with chips, but that’s just wrong - and it was freshly made to order. It looks more or less as you’d expect, like a Mars bar in batter - not particularly pleasing to the eye. However, the batter is crispy and light, encasing the sweet hot goo inside which runs out on first bite. It’s sweet and savoury, crispy and gooey – in short, a taste sensation.

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Posted by Anne on June 07, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (1)

I have to admit that I am completely stumped by this place, despite my best efforts to delve under the surface. Internet searches have found nothing – simply more people asking the same questions as myself, and trying to tease out answers from the owners has been unfruitful as they remain eerily aloof. The place in question is Enis’s Cafe in Waterloo, London.

Enis’s sits squarely in an area of London that would at first glance appear unremarkable. As one of the main routes into South London the roads are clogged with buses and covered in tumble weeds of litter from the nearby train station. However, a closer inspection reveals an area that is well worth a visit should you be passing through or find yourself with a slow connection at Waterloo station. There is the Hole in the Wall pub under the arches of the station, Caprini’s Italian restaurant with original fittings that remind me of my Polish granny’s house, the fantastically named “Fishcoteque” fish and chip shop and then there is the strange coffee hatch on Alaska Street...

This coffee hatch was my introduction to Enis’s. Like a moth to a flame I have been drawn towards this tiny hatch for years, not realising that it was just the tip of an iceberg. The street it sits on is dark and gloomy due to the train line that runs overhead. At night the yellow light shines out of the hatch and peering in you are met with a most marvellous sight, for here is a tiny kitchen that is entirely covered in aluminium foil. Part fairy grotto, part Warholian Factory the effect is breath taking. Tins of spam nestle into their silver background next to tomatoes and on the wall is an intriguing notice announcing “Enis’s SOS... the elixir of life”.

One day whilst peering in and getting random strangers to acknowledge the greatness of this unassuming place, a man appeared on the serving side of the hatch. I asked if I could take some photos of the inside and he said I was welcome to. He then enquired if I had ever been to the cafe round the front as this hatch was just for quick snacks and beverages. I followed his pointy finger and found myself in an astonishing interior. Long and thin, the cafe is filled with a mish-mash of furniture – some 1950s Formica tables and a long breakfast bar down one side with plastic bar stools. The window is painted with slogans in Coca-Cola font talking again of “Enis’s SOS”. But perhaps the most impressive features are the walls and breakfast bar which are covered in swirly hand-painted patterns in pastel and wax crayon. On the surfaces there are unusual trinkets, pictures of Elvis and collages made from magazines. At the end of the room is a large sign saying “£100” next to some odd-looking jars of stuff.

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Posted by Jasia on October 07, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (5)

I got a tip-off about this place (thanks Joe). Descriptions of a cafe lost in time off the M74 near the Scottish-English border. No name, no clear directions, just a cafe in Gretna that was like walking into someone's front room. Surprisingly we found it. As you enter Gretna the town (distinct from its famous neighbour, the wedding mecca of Gretna Green) there is a small building with "CAFE" painted on the gable end. There was a sign outside saying it was open, despite all appearances to the contrary. We walked into an empty room, as described, more front room than cafe. Starbucks it ain't. From the back shop a lady shuffled out. I was going to say an old lady but she wasn't that old. But middle aged would be flattering. Anyway, a lady of a certain age shuffled out, looking a bit stern. I asked if the cafe was open and she barked "Just and no more" explaining that she was "painting out the back". There was no invitation to sit but we did anyway, as I had gone slightly giddy with the strangeness of it all.

The decor, if that's the word, was "granny chic". There were odd assortments of nick-nacks for sale behind our heads, a random portrait of Edward VII and strangest of all a huge photo of a young boy hanging above the fireplace. Judging by the colours and hairstyle in the photo it must have been taken at least 30 years ago. Its size and prominence and the fact that there was a smaller version on the other side of the room led me to think that this poor boy who must have been close to the owner's heart met a terrible end. There was a whiff of tragedy about the whole scene.

The piece de resistance for this whole strange affair was Rupert the parrot, who patrolled his cage in the centre of the cafe with a confidence that suggested he was the guvnor. My son headed straight over to say hello and of course Rupert went straight for his fingers. Terrified, he ran away to eat his cake while the owner gave us his life story. He can talk but doesn't like to do it in public (yeah right). He only ever likes one person in a couple, either the man or the woman. "It can drive a wedge between you". And of course with health and safety he shouldn't be there at all. In high season he's out the back where he belongs.

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Posted by Anne on June 13, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (4)

Right in the pivotal centre of Soho, there is a time machine. Walk along Bateman Street until you see a café painted as the Italian Tricolore. You really can't miss it. It looks like it's closed, doesn't it? It probably isn't. Try the door. Is it open? Yes? Well, step right into 1955. Welcome to the Lorelei – one of the last survivors of 'real' Soho. The first thing you'll notice is that the decor is a curious mix of village hall and alpine hut. The second thing is the mural of the naked mermaid that takes up an entire wall. I've never seen the odd-looking light fittings switched on to illuminate it.

From the Formica tables, the lino floor, to the faux-leather banquettes round the walls, almost everything is as it was the day it opened. In the little kitchen area, the elderly proprietor quietly produces the best pizza in London – the genuine Italian flour for these is stacked up by the front door. Watching the vintage grey-green Cimbali coffee machine operated is akin to seeing Handel himself playing the organ. That's the sound of real coffee being made. Chips come cooked to order, always on an ancient glass plate. A little mound of hot golden matchsticks, sweet and crunchy.

How a place so comically un-modern still exists in the centre of this ever-changing city is a mystery. Need the loo? It's in an outhouse down the yard – primly segregated into 'gents' (hand written in gloss paint on a brick) and 'ladies'. Even the plumbing is original. There's never any piped music on – although the dusty old speaker still on the wall no doubt once pumped out Tommy Steele. You bring your own atmosphere. It's the eye in Soho's storm.

There's no need to book a table. The staff always seem a bit surprised when anybody walks in. At night, when the window is streaked with condensation you can watch people stop to scrutinise the menu, their faces yellow from its sodium light. They rarely come in, perhaps preferring the bright lights and familiarity of better-known restaurants. They don't know what they're missing. The world needs character as much as it needs wipe-clean convenience.

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Posted by Gareth on March 25, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (8)

Tunnock’s dominate the town of Uddingston, 7 miles south-east of Glasgow. For over 100 years the family firm has been pumping out their trademark Tea Cakes, Caramel Wafers and other delights for the pleasure of Scotland’s rotten-toothed populace. Tunnock’s products are such a part of Scottish heritage that they’ve followed ex-patriots round the world, winning them the sort of global following that most brands would kill for.

Established in 1890 by Thomas Tunnock, their products haven't changed much over the years, with their distinctive sunburst packaging and slightly wonky lettering. In a world that's constantly changing, there's something very reassuring about that. Traditionally, they’re a bit of an old-person’s snack, but that association with a trip to your granny's means that from an early age each bite of Tunnock’s is imbued with more than just sugary satisfaction. Thanks to this they have a loyal, almost cult following.

In Uddingston, their “Daylight” bakeries loom large on one side of the main street, while the Tunnock’s Tea Rooms nestle among a row of shops on the other. The Tea Rooms are a delight for any Tunnock’s lover, or indeed anyone with a sweet tooth. As well as a range of rare Tunnock’s biscuits (Wafer Crème, Coconut Meringue, Florida Wafer – all delicious) there are spectacular cakes, pies and loaves. At the back there is a café, not the most attractive of places, but still a cheap and cheerful place to refuel.

While you eat/shop, there are constant reminders of the glory of Tunnock’s. The staff have a caramel wafer shaped patch sewn onto their aprons, the counter is covered in miniature Tunnock’s vans, the walls lined with old adverts and then there are the window displays – oh boy, the window displays. Inhabiting the windows is a family of anthropomorphic creatures with bodies made from Caramel Logs, Tea Cakes and other Tunnock's paraphernalia. They are fantastically bizarre - a sign of genius, or madness. It's hard to tell which.

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Posted by Anne on January 22, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (7)

Even if you have never crossed the threshold of Katz’s in person, there is still a good chance you will be familiar with the slightly beaten décor of this fantastic old deli. The simple furniture, or rather one table and two chairs in particular, is famous for co-starring in probably the most famous ‘non-sex’ scene in cinematic history. Today a cardboard sign dangles from the ceiling pointing to the spot where Meg Ryan faced Billy Crystal and writhed in faux sexual ecstasy to confound his character’s scepticism that she could successfully simulate an orgasm. The scene became an instant classic and helped catapult ‘When Harry met Sally’ into movie folklore. Sadly during my visit nobody was 'having what she was having’ so the room remained frustratingly moan free. Indeed visitors seemed particularly keen not to occupy the infamous seats, perhaps fearful they would be obliged to provide an impersonation, and circled around the spot like it was the site of a car wreck. When a couple did finally sit at the table they were soon in the glare of camera flashes as tourists spotted a chance to snap the location complete with stand-ins.

Despite the allure of the Hollywood connection, Katz’s remains a staunchly old school deli. Aside from a nice sideline in t-shirts the sole purpose of this cavernous eating emporium is to fill the bellies of hungry New Yorkers to breaking point. For overseas visitors there is always a strong suspicion that non-American notions of what constitutes large are deemed to be only worthy of diminutive status Stateside. At Katz’s the portion sizes try to squeeze another ‘ex’ in excessive and the main ingredient is meat; lots and lots and lots of meat. I should perhaps warn any faint hearted vegetarians to discontinue reading now because Katz’s is a temple where people pay homage to salad dodging. Its menu is a lentil free list, a bible for beef, a catalogue of carbohydrates, where the only concession to greenery is a side order of pickles and coleslaw. However if you like the sound of a Reuben sandwich (toasted sandwich made with corned beef, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and Russian dressing) or a Philly Cheesesteak (thinly sliced pieces of steak and melted cheese on a long roll), then please read on.

For those seeking an archetypal New York experience a lunchtime visit to Katz’s will be highly rewarding. Here, everything the movies have ever told you comes true. Upon entry the deli crackles with energy and attitude. As banter fires off in all directions so the room is filled with a symphony of American accents which range from first generation Hispanic to full on ‘Tony Soprano’. The temptation to say ‘eh, alrightalready’ with a theatrical shoulder shrug is hard to resist and the conversation seems to have only one volume setting - loud. As orders are barked out, a legion of workers zip around, making their own ballet out of what appears to be chaos. At the door you are given a blank ticket and pointed in the direction of a long counter which runs nearly the entire length of the shop. Behind it an army of white capped men await your order with dangerous looking knives in hand. The list of coronary clogging culinary delights is daunting, and while seasoned regulars issue their requests with practiced confidence, the patience of the cutters seems easily tested by hesitant virgins. Indeed, getting served in Katz’s is half the fun as the servers seem to take a disinterest in customers which would please even the surliest of Parisian waiters. Fortunately there is a row of inviting beer taps situated at the one end of the counter so it’s not a bad idea to partake of a brew and take your time deciding. In fairness the bark of the employees is worse than their bite and they are actually quite happy to explain the dishes or provide a sample of the meat. Whatever you order is marked on your ticket for payment upon departure. Given the size of the portions your exit could be somewhat delayed by the demands of your digestion.

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Posted by Maurice on September 26, 2007 | Permalink

Of all the seaside towns in all the world, the biggest rock shop has to be in one of them, and it’s Great Yarmouth. It’s only fitting that a resort so unashamed of its dedication to traditional leisure and pleasure throws healthy eating to the wind and gets down to the serious business of getting rock right.

It’s not completely clear what kind of competition Docwras Rock Factory has for the “Biggest rock shop” title, although a couple of other establishments in Regent Road look like they’re thinking of having a go. Although the shopfront is relatively modest they’re not exactly hiding their light under a bushel with the enormous neon sign saying “The World’s Largest Rock Shop” running right down one side of the interior.

And indeed, it’s big. One side is taken up with lots and lots of rock. All shapes. All sizes. All flavours. There’s everything – banana, raspberry, coffee, strawberries and cream, aniseed, different types of mint, and they come with almost anything stamped through the middle. Towards the back, beside the novelty shapes like baby’s dummies and fried breakfasts made of rock there’s even a “naughty section” with some genuinely eye watering things to put in your mouth.

Docwras is a family run business that has been making rock and other sweets for over 100 years. They’re quite happy to share the expertise of their “rock and rollers”. At the other side of the shop, beside a huge pipe painted rock pink another huge sign says “See Yarmouth Rock Made Here” with a sign showing the time of the next demo. Sadly, I missed it. Seeing as they make 80,000 sticks of rock every week it shouldn’t be long before another one comes along.

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Posted by Anne on July 16, 2007 | Permalink

Reading Terminal Market is the hotspot for local and tourist foodies alike. Eighty vendors of every kind of edible goodie imaginable is housed at 12th & Arch Streets, adjacent to Chinatown and downtown corporate Philly in Center City.

Reading Terminal is 114 years old and is a Philly institution for locals and a must-see stop for tourists. Pick up produce from Iovine’s, local honeys and beeswax candles, fresh eggs, Pennsylvania wine (ok, not the wine…trust me.). The freshest meat, chicken and fish are available at excellent prices. Or if you’re in the mood for a quick lunch, check out any of the twenty-plus take out joints. Your food wish can come true at Reading Terminal, from Thai, Chinese, Mexican, Italian, and of course Cheesesteak.

The Philly Cheesesteak is an absolute necessity when visiting Philly. Locals have their favorites, but personally, I have to say that Rick’s Cheesesteaks in the Market has the absolute tastiest cheesesteak on the planet. And the bread is fluffy, but has some tooth. But you’ve got to have it “Wit Wiz”, that is with Cheez Wiz, a salty, orange, fake cheese concoction that is simply divine. Bon Appetit!

One of the big draws of Reading Terminal is the Amish vendors. These old school Christians of German descent who still wear turn-of-the-19th century garb (Seen Witness?) can make you one mean hot pretzel, smothered in butter of course. Butter that’s as close to the cow as you can pretty much get these days. If you want to check them out, however, you need to come to the Market Wednesday through Saturday.

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Posted by Rebecca on June 14, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (5)