IRELAND: OH MAYO MY!

THERE’S nothing like the excitement of going at full gallop across a windswept beach in the west of Ireland at low tide with your horse’s hooves churning up the waters of the wild Atlantic as they rush ashore. And that picture above of me on docile old Blaze in Clew Bay, County Mayo, is nothing like the excitement described.

Falling off a horse is easy. The hard bit, I find, is staying on. Anything faster than a trot and we tend to part company. It’s a case of what goes giddy-up must come giddy-down, usually with a backside-bruising bump.

Fortunately, Blaze harbours no ambitions to win the Grand National, so I stayed in the saddle instead of ending up in the sea. That’s what makes her the ideal mount for youngsters and getting-oldsters like me who sign up for a memorable day out with GoTrekking! at the Westport Woods Hotel.

Pony and horse trekking on the beaches of Clew Bay, below, or in the woods and foothills of nearby Croagh Patrick, the sacred mountain so beloved of barefooted pilgrims and blister pad producers, is a thrill, but stick a snorkel down your boot just in case.

Westport, a worthy three-times winner of the national Tidy Towns competition, is home to Matt Molloy’s pub, Ireland’s busiest and best traditional music venue which is rocked to the rafters seven nights a week by foot-stamping tourists and locals having a great time. One of these evenings the floorboards will give way.

When he’s not off travelling the world, Matt, the flute player with trad legends The Chieftains, picks up his instrument and joins in the fun. Whatever your views on diddly-dee music, there’s nothing more diddly-deelightful than a top-class trad session in a packed Irish pub, especially when it’s Molloy’s, which is on just about every coach tour itinerary.

Westport is a relatively small place, but it punches well above its weight in selling itself as a tourist destination, in large part thanks to the tireless efforts of people such as Westport Woods boss Michael Lennon, musician-publican Matt and other local business leaders.

They have a quality product to promote, and their job is made so much easier by the admirable civic pride of the townspeople who keep the place picture postcard perfect. Litter on the streets is unknown, and the council spends more money on flowers than Elton John, which makes for colourful holiday snaps, below. A visit to Westport is not to be sneezed at. Unless you suffer from hay fever.

I was sneezing after cycling the 18km stretch of the traffic-free Great Western Greenway between the Mulranny Park Hotel and Newport, but it was nothing to do with the air being full of pollen. Rather, the ditch I rode into after being confronted by two fierce-looking wild mountain goats was full of icy water.

My previous run-in with pointy-horned beasts was 20-odd years ago in Pamplona, where my record for shinning up a drainpipe still stands. It was a memorable trip, on a rickety old bus full of Vietnam veterans and aged hippies who’d retired to Torremolinos and spent their time drinking cheap brandy and smoking free black tobacco cigarettes in Marco’s Mini Bar.

While I survived dangling from a balcony as several tons of ill-humoured fighting bulls thundered past just a couple of feet below, one of the hippies failed to survive the 500-mile journey back to the Costa del Sol. We all thought he’d fallen into a cannabis-induced coma, but he was dead, having suffered a heart attack somewhere along the way. Maybe it’s just as well he didn’t wake up — he’d have been really annoyed about having his face slapped so many times and a litre bottle of fizzy water poured over his head, God forgive us.

The bicycle I dipped in the ditch was supplied by Canadian nice guy Travis Zeray of Clew Bay Bike Hire & Outdoor Adventures, who laughed when I told him about my encounter with the goats. Seemingly, they were more afraid of me than I was of them, but I’d like to see him lying in three feet of freezing water with a pedal sticking in his ribs, expecting at any second to be skewered.

Scary moments aside, and despite being soaked to the skin, riding the Greenway through some of the most spectacular scenery, above, in Ireland with the help of a gale at my back — master of the understatement Travis said it was a gentle tailwind — was a joy. Imagine what it must be like on a warm, sunny summer’s day.

Such a day found me pitting my wits — and some unfortunate big fat worms — against the salmon that have for decades made Mayo’s River Moy a magnet for anglers from all over the world. Although the Ridge Pool in the middle of Ballina is recognised as the hottest spot from which to pull the biggest fish, those that put up the biggest fight are found in the private two-mile stretch of the Moy that runs through the Maloney family’s Mount Falcon Estate just outside town.

This is where famed fashion designer and avid angler John Rocha comes to enjoy a bit of r&r (in his case rod & reel), although I had more luck with my worms, float and Jumping Jack weight at Cunningham’s Pool than he had when I later saw him casting his fly a mile upriver.

Ghillie Robert Gillespie is a master of the art of fly fishing and knows the Moy like the back of his hand. Robert, widely regarded as the best in the business and therefore in big demand, and Mount Falcon boss Shane Maloney were my companions for the day, and I couldn’t have wished for better company. I don’t know which of us was more excited when I hooked my first ever salmon.

I do know that my barman buddy Garrett’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when I walked into Neary’s when I returned to Dublin and presented him with the whopper pictured below. Garrett’s passion is cooking, and that salmon provided him with a week’s worth of delicious meals. Fish is supposed to be good for the brain, but not for Garrett’s, because he forgot to bring me some. Mind you, he did say it was delicious.

One man who forgets nothing is archaeologist, historian and walking encyclopaedia Jim Henry of Setanta Ireland Tours, who collected me at the Downhill Hotel in Ballina for a tour of north County Mayo. During our day out I learned more about this beautiful part of Ireland than I would have from reading a dozen books.

The cold case cops should give Jim a call because he knows where all the bodies are buried, especially those of the ancient Sweeneys who once ruled the roost in Mayo. Every time we drove past a graveyard he took great delight in telling me it was full of my late clansmen and women. As for Achill Island, which we viewed from Blacksod Point, it should have sunk under the waves years ago with the weight of all the Sweeneys buried there.

The coastguard station at Blacksod, below, played a significant role in the timing of the D-Day landings in 1944. On June 4, meteorologist Ted Sweeney filed a weather report warning of bad conditions which delayed the Allied invasion of France scheduled for the next day. A break came in the weather on June 6, and Operation Overlord proceeded, so hastening the end of World War Two.

But the highlight of our tour for me was a stop at Mayo’s 6,000-year-old Ceidhe Fields, where you can walk among what remains of the Neolithic dwellings, tombs and dry stone walls that marked out the enclosed farmland. It’s the most extensive Stone Age monument in the world, excavated from the bogland that grows at a rate of one centimetre every 10 years — a bit like what’s left of my hair. Mercifully, Jim made no mention of the 6,000-year-old Sweeneys buried under all that peat.

The glass-topped, pyramid-shaped visitors centre 8kms northwest of Ballycastle is a must-see and has as its centrepiece a 4,300-year-old Scots pine tree, below, which was dug from the bog and is now preserved for all time. A platform on the roof of the clifftop, award-winning centre provides the most awesome panoramic views of the fields and the surrounding countryside, which can be a problem for the staff because as closing time nears visitors are reluctant to leave.

After 10 hours of driving around with Jim I was reluctant to retire for the evening, but he had to be up early next morning to regale a busload of American tourists with more fascinating tales of the flora, fauna, folklore, history — and graveyards — of north County Mayo. They were in for a treat.

For accommodation deals see www.westportwoodshotel.com, www.mulrannyparkhotel.ie, www.mountfalcon.com and www.downhillhotel.ie. See also www.slainteirelandtours.ie and www.clewbayoutdoors.ie

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My First Filipino Restaurant: Sa Aming Nayon

Filipino cuisine has not made a huge impact on the American dining scene. You're hard-pressed to find a Filipino restaurant in any area without a large Filipino population. Luckily, when two of my Filipino friends were talking about a new restaurant open in East Village, I jumped on the opportunity to go with them.

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Even in large Filipino enclaves there are seemingly few restaurants. After asking around my Filipino friends, my guess is that two major factors make these places so rare.



Little Market Penetration



Unlike other Asian cuisines, Filipino cuisine has little recognition in America. With Chinese, Japanese, Thai, and Indian being the dominant Asian flavors, there is certainly an entry space for Filipino food. However, it is relatively unknown. Asked to name Filipino dishes, I could only come up with a handful--lumpia, adobo, pancit, lechon, sinigang, halo halo. Many of the flavors of this cuisine are amenable to the American palate. The food is not that exotic (with the clear exception of balut), given the other mainstay Asian cuisines in large American cities these days.



Unfortunately, most Americans experiences with Filipino food are in Jollibee and Goldilocks. Neither of those chains have the diversity of dishes that I believe America is ready to receive.



Mama Makes It Best



The other factor I frequently hear is that Filipino food is very tied to homecooking. Having never been to the Philippines, I couldn't tell you how prevalent restaurants are, but every Filipino will tell you that the best place for food would be at home. Although Sa Aming Nayon was my first Filipino restaurant, I've had Filipino food at home dinners, debuts, and weddings. I'll agree, some of that food is fantastic, but I don't see how the better of those cooks can't translate those dishes to a commercial setting.



Sa Aming Nayon



I came to Sa Aming Nayon with two Filipino-Americans. We started with a lumpiang Shanghai, a Chinese style lumpia with pork and shredded cabbage. Reminiscent of Vietnamese chả giò fried spring rolls, I always find the smaller size of lumpia much more appropriate than the gigantic Chinese-American egg rolls.



For a vegetable dish, we ordered a pinakbet, a Ilocano dish of boiled vegetables with a strong anchovy or shrimp paste. One of my contributions from my limited Filipino vocabulary was the chicken and pork adobo. Adobo, from what I've heard, is an incredibly simple and satisfying stewing dish that you can make yourself. And that's inherently what most of Filipino cuisine is--cheap comfort foods. For starch, we had a pancit palabok thick rice noodles mixed with a savory sauce. Previously, I though pancit was stir-fried, but the dish we had was not. Of course, since this is a Filipino restaurant, we also received several bowls of white rice.







The biggest dish we had was the crispy pata, pictured above. A deep fried pig knuckle, we weren't quite sure how to dig into it. The skin was so thick and tough that the butter knife the restaurant gave us to carve it up proved less than sufficient. We eventually sent it back to the kitchen to be chopped up. Delicious crispy skin well flavored meat, as difficult as it was to eat.



Giving us a dull knife for the pata was just one example of how this new restaurant is still getting on its feet. We had quite a few issues with service. The table next to us received the wrong check and had to wait twenty minutes or so to clear up the problem. Our own check was incorrectly calculated at first. However, for a New York restaurant, the food was appropriately cheap; the four of us got out for about $16 per person. I'd like to come back when their operations are more polished.



Sa Aming Nayon

201 1st Ave

(between 12th St & 13th St)

East Village, Manhattan 10003

(212) 388-0152



^

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MAJORCA: CAPTAIN COURAGEOUS AND THE WINGED AVENGER

I bought that green shirt, above, for €40 in Seville. The sunglasses hanging from my neck cost $200 in Dubai. But I couldn’t begin to put a value on my 22-year friendship with the 85-year-old Irishman in the picture with me, taken in Palma de Mallorca. His name is Kevin O’Regan, and he’s an alcoholic

In his hometown of Cobh, County Cork, which for years he tried to drink dry before knocking the booze on the head in the mid-80s, he’s still known as Master Kevin. This is a nod to the heady days when his father, the renowned yachtsman Paddy O’Regan who won the coveted Thomas Lipton Cup in perpetuity, owned the long-established firm of Thomas Murray Chandlers.

Cobh, or Queenstown as it was under British rule, was the last port of call of the ill-fated Titanic during its maiden voyage from Southampton to New York in April 1912. It was also the port where in May 1915 the recovered bodies of the victims of the Lusitania, sunk by torpedoes from U-boat U20, were brought ashore and where many are buried.

As the son of a respected and wealthy businessman and an accomplished sailor himself, Kevin enjoyed a privileged youth, spending his weekends racing the family yacht, Cygnet, against those piloted by the sons of Cork’s merchant princes. In Cork, the rich and not-so-rich are known as the have yachts and the have nots.

HULL OF A GUY: Captain Kevin sails Bloody Mary

Kevin isn’t rich, but he does have a yacht, the blood-red Bloody Mary, on which he has lived and sailed since retiring in 1987 to Palma’s posh Club de Mar marina where he tops up his old age and work pensions with a night watchman’s job on a multi-million euro ocean-going palace.

If anyone were ever foolish enough to test his sentry skills, one withering look from beneath those steel wool eyebrows would be enough to send them fleeing.

I’ll never forget the night in Bar Bermuda when a crewman off a visiting yacht thought it would be funny to slip a rum into Kevin’s Coke, but he smelled it before the glass was even halfway to his lips. Looking around for the culprit, his beady eye settled on the sniggering South African leaning on the bar.

“You, sir, are a little bollocks!” Kevin bellowed, and whacked him across the ear with the heavy end of his blackthorn walking stick. Yer man wasn’t a little bollocks, he was six-foot-plus and at least 15 stone, and he hopped around that bar squealing like a stuck pig. I’d say his ear’s still ringing, and that was 20 years ago.

Kevin couldn’t have chosen a more idyllic place to drop anchor, so it’s a shame that the vast majority of those millions of tourists who visit Majorca every year don’t bother to check out Palma, where I lived from 1988 to 1994. I suppose it’s an endorsement of the quality of the resorts that they feel no need to stray far from the beach or the poolside, but a day spent sightseeing, supping and shopping in the Majorcan capital won’t disappoint.

SEU-PERB: Palma's magnificent La Seu cathedral

The cathedral, or La Seu, which overlooks the Bay of Palma and was completed in 1601, is famous for having one of the biggest Gothic rose windows in the world, and infamous for being the scene of one of the city’s most puzzling crimes, which to this day remains unsolved.

On a sunny Sunday morning in the summer of 1992, Kevin and I secured our bicycles to a lamp post outside the main door and went in for mass. An hour later when we came out, the bikes were still there, but — brace yourselves — ­someone had pinched Kevin’s padlock and chain. It was the subject of much hilarity in Bar Bermuda for weeks, and he eventually saw the funny side.

Nowadays, Kevin's creaky old pins are finding it increasingly hard to obey the signals from his still razor-sharp brain, so he gets around Palma on a battery-powered scooter, often with his bilingual pet cockatoo Captain Snowy perched on his shoulder. All he’s missing is a wooden leg and an eye patch.

Snowy might be a talented linguist, but he’s also an evil little devil with a beak like a pair of pliers which he sank into my right index finger when I was daft enough to look away while feeding him some walnuts. There’s gratitude for you.

FEATHERED FIEND: Captain Kevin and Captain Snowy

A short walk down the hill from the cathedral is El Borne, Palma’s version of Barcelona’s La Rambla, and like its better-known big city counterpart it’s the place where, if you don’t keep your wits about you, you’ll easily fall victim to pickpockets.

Just off El Borne is Calle Apuntadores, a narrow street full of bars and some of Palma’s best restaurants. Especially good, and offering exceptional value, is Pizzeria Giovanini, which is owned and run by all-round nice guy Miguel who was a waiter when I first met him in 1988 and who’s now a respected restaurateur.

Giovanini doesn’t look much from the outside, but once you step inside, take your seat and start tucking into the food you’ll quickly realise that first impressions can be deceptive. Miguel and his wife have worked their butts off over the years — they still do — to build up their business in a street where so many have failed, and they deserve every further success that comes their way.

FAB FOOD: Giovanini

Whatever you do, don’t confuse Miguel’s place with the nearby Vecchio Giovanni. When I lived in Palma it was THE place to dine (Miguel worked there), but on the evidence of my last visit — which will definitely be my last — it’s gone to hell. The staff on the night were surly, the service was appallingly haphazard and the food was forgettable. It’s always been my practice that if I’ve nothing good to say about a place, then nothing is exactly what I’ll write, but dinner in Vecchio Giovanni was such a bad experience that I feel obliged to steer you away from a good restaurant gone bad.

On a happier note, just up the street from Miguel’s place is Restaurante Pope, where the seafood soup is as good as ever. A couple of doors along, on the corner, is cheap and cheerful Bar Dia, a lively and noisy late-night hang-out run by Juanco and his wife Luisa that’s frequented by local bar staff, waiters and long-time expats and where the chips are freshly made — none of your old reheated frozen rubbish. Also in Calle Apuntadores, the family-run cellar restaurant La Cueva serves the best tapas in the city.

MAJESTIC: Bar Abaco, where Spanish royals hang out

But the jewel in the crown of the area known as Apuntadores-La Lonja is Bar Abaco, which occupies the former townhouse of a long-dead wealthy nobleman who clearly knew the value of his five a day. Step inside and it looks like he’s never left, especially as the place is littered with baskets full to spilling of every fruit you could imagine. If you’re going to come a cropper on a banana skin anywhere in Palma, this is the place.

Baroque music and Gregorian chants play from the speakers, white doves flutter around the rafters, rose petals rain from the minstrels’ gallery, burning incense fills the air and that fella sitting over there in the corner, doesn’t he look remarkably like King Juan Carlos? Oh, it is King Juan Carlos, and that lady sitting beside him is Queen Sofia. And, look, there’s Crown Prince Felipe, all six foot four of him in his deck shoes, sharing a joke with ex-King Constantine of Greece.

On another night you might find yourself sitting near supermodel Claudia Schiffer, or Hollywood hotshots Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones, or Bob Geldof or Princess Stephanie of Monaco. Be assured, and thankful, that you’re unlikely to bump into any of Ireland’s Z-List so-called celebs. That bunch wouldn’t get a first, never mind a second glance in Abaco.

Palma doesn’t figure highly, or at all, sadly, on most people’s lists of long weekend city break destinations, what with Amsterdam, Barcelona, Prague and Berlin ruling the roost, but it offers everything the others offer, with the added bonus that it oozes class.

RAILLY OLD: The antique electric train heads for Soller

A weekend stay will allow visitors the opportunity to hop aboard the quaint little electric train for the hour-long trip to Soller on the spectacular north coast. Built in 1912, the rickety, wooden-panelled train travels through olive and citrus tree-clad valleys, along the sides of lofty mountains, over viaducts and in and out of tunnels. It’s like something from a Wild West movie, and you can imagine flaming Apache arrows flying through the windows at any moment.

On arrival in Soller, grab yourself a freshly-squeezed orange juice from the kiosk outside the station (the best I’ve ever tasted) before boarding the equally quaint tram for the short ride down to the port. There’s an abundance of great restaurants there, many if not most specialising in fish and shellfish. My favourite is Restaurante Es Passeig, right on the waterfront, which is always busy. At peak periods you might have to wait for a table, but it’s worth it.

Each summer, Kevin abandons his berth in Club de Mar for a few weeks, gets some help to sail Bloody Mary to Port de Soller and anchors in the bay where he spends his days on board writing his diary, rubbing Deep Heat into his new hips and having lengthy one-way conversations with the attentive Captain Snowy who throws in the occasional “Hola!” and “Bye-bye!” just to be sociable. I’m not saying the skipper’s a bit cuckoo, but as a double-act he and that finger-pecking fecker would have psychiatrists queuing up to get them on the couch.

PIER-FECT SPOT: Port of Soller

Talking to birds is bad enough, but Kevin’s also prone to bursting into song, and it’s a job trying to shut him up once he gets started. All it takes is a trigger word and he’s off, in bars and restaurants and on the packed Soller train the last time I visited. This stems from the distant days when he trod the boards of the old Cork Opera House where he appeared in umpteen productions of Gilbert and Sullivan operas. In a long and colourful career he also trod the floor in Cash’s department store (now Brown Thomas) in Cork where he was the full-time Captain Peacock, and drove the length and breadth of Ireland as a travelling shoe salesman.

With his often turbulent life’s journey nearing an end, Kevin is philosophical about the storms of his own making that he’s weathered along the way. At the height of his drinking he got through a bottle of whiskey and countless pints of stout a day, and breakfast each morning was a tumbler of neat vodka to stop his hands shaking (“I spilled most of it,” he joked). Now he starts his days with milky coffee and an ensaimada, a sweet Majorcan pastry dusted with icing sugar.

Reflecting on the demons he’s defeated, his trials and triumphs, Kevin said: “I had a 40-odd-year love affair with liquor. I was drinking myself to death, and only stopped when my doctor told me I’d pay for the next round with my life. Rehab was hell on Earth, but much to my amazement I came out the other side sober, which was a strange sensation I’d long forgotten. I couldn’t have done it without the help I received from Sister Eileen Falvey at the Aiseiri Treatment Centre in Co Tipperary and the support of my best friend John Mansworth. Not that I didn’t try to flee, mind. I did everything but dig a tunnel. In my sail racing days I was known as Houdini because of the seemingly impossible situations I used to get Cygnet out of, but there was no escape from Aiseiri, and for that I’ll be forever grateful.

“Buying the boat and retiring to Majorca has been the saving of me. Bloody Mary’s my home and Palma’s my haven. I’m happy and I’m busy, doing my watchman job and working with the local sail training association, Joves Navegants, which I helped to found. I’ve fought my fights and now, thank God, I’ve found peace. Job done.”

Not quite. One big challenge remains for my dear old pal before he sails off into the sunset and his ashes are scattered in the Bay of Palma, as per his instructions, and that’s to learn the local lingo. Captain Snowy speaks more Spanish than Captain Kevin.
* Captain Kevin died peacefully in his sleep in hospital in Palma on May 14, 2015. He was 89. I was privileged to have him as a friend. 

FLAG PALS: Captain Kevin and young sail students

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SCOTLAND: SCOTS WHEY HEY!

GLAS-GO! Glasgow's Kelvingrove Museum and Art Gallery

The last person hanged in public in Glasgow was an Englishman, which went some way to appeasing those in the crowd who had only just bought season tickets. Dr Edward Pritchard exited this world at the end of a rope on July  28, 1865, in Glasgow Green. He’d poisoned his wife. When his mother-in-law became suspicious, he poisoned her, too. This was just one of the fascinating facts I learned during my first ever open-top bus tour (£11) of my home city. But it wasn’t enough for the Aussie tourist sitting in front of me. He asked to see the statue erected in Pritchard’s honour.

I haven’t lived in Glasgow, which will host the 2014 Commonwealth Games, for 28 years (Pritchard hasn’t lived there for 146), so I thought it was time to learn something about the place that gave me this accent. Wandering around with a guidebook is all very well, but you can’t beat the insider knowledge of a native bus tour guide with a sense of humour.

It rains only twice a year in Glasgow, from January through March and April through December, so always carry an umbrella. This will also come in handy when walking in George Square, where gulls and pigeons practise their bombing runs with remarkable accuracy.

English is widely spoken, although the Glasgow or ‘Glesga’ version delivered with gusto and rich in r’s can prove unnerving to the untuned ear, making “Good morning” sound like a threat.

CHEERS: The rough, ready and wonderful Horse Shoe Bar

Drop into the Horse Shoe Bar in Drury Street near Central Station for a pint and one of its famed mutton pies and you’ll hear the local lingo, or patter, at its blood-curdling scariest as punters vie to out-slag each other. When I was there last Thursday afternoon, a large gentleman wearing glasses was greeted with: “Ach Wullie, howzitgaun ya specky fat bastard? Waant a lager?”

They don’t have punters in the Ubiquitous Chip restaurant in Ashton Lane in the city’s fashionable West End, they have patrons, don’t you know, but while it’s on the posh side it’s far from being pretentious. The Chip has an enviable reputation built over 40 successful years for providing top-class and innovative cuisine at affordable prices in the most delightful surroundings.

DINE-AMIC: Fabulous Ubiquitous Chip

The three-course pre-theatre menu served from 5 to 6.30pm is a steal at £19.95. I had a starter of smoked salmon and hake fishcake, garden pea puree and pickled onions followed by Woodneuk Farm beef and chilli sausage with chickpea and spinach dahl, and for dessert the Chambord jelly, honey mousse and vanilla tuille was a wise choice.

Wiser still is the Chip’s choice of waiting staff, who clearly love working there. They’re young, enthusiastic, smart and courteous, and every query about the dishes on offer was answered with a detailed description. I can’t praise them highly enough. These girls and guys know their onions, and every mouthwatering morsel that comes out of the kitchen, and their contribution made a good dining experience great. If they were footballers they’d be playing at the highest level and earning millions.

RED & BREAKFAST: Blythswood Square

Then they could afford to live it up in the £1,500 a night penthouse suite in Glasgow’s 5-star Blythswood Square Hotel and Spa, which is just a five-minute walk from the vibrant centre and where the staff are also at the top of their game. It occupies one side of the square that used to be the city’s red light district, but the only tarts you’ll see around there now are in the window of Greggs the bakers in nearby Sauchiehall Street. The hookers are gone but not forgotten, and in a wry wink to the neighbourhood’s seedy past, red lights burn in many of the hotel’s street-facing windows.

Like the Chip, there’s no snootiness at the Blythswood Square, just the very best of Scottish hospitality and an emphasis on quality that ensures repeat business from satisfied customers.

OCH AYE THE NOUS: Carnoustie's renowned golf course

I stayed at the Blythswood Square before heading north over the Forth Road Bridge to Carnoustie, the famed North Sea links course that has hosted the Open seven times and was the venue last week for the Ricoh Women’s British Open won by Taiwan’s Yani Tseng with an impressive 16 under-par 272.

Not as impressive, though, as my efforts in the hole-in-one short chipping contest in which my first shot went flying over the fence and bounced off a couple of cars and my second ended up in the back of a delivery van full of Tunnock’s Tea Cakes.

It’s a good thing I wasn’t let loose on the course proper, of which Ernie Els has said: “You’ve really got to have your wits with you to play Carnoustie. It’s probably the best bunkered course you’ll find anywhere in the world.”

Having seen some of the bunkers, I have to agree, because you’d need a ladder, never mind a sand wedge, to get out of them. They’re like World War One trenches. But that’s the sort of challenge that has golfers flocking to the place. That, and the jaw-dropping scenery.

TREE-MENDOUS: Spoil yourself at Gleneagles Hotel

Next stop, and the glittering highlight of my all-too-brief trip home, was an overnight stay at Gleneagles Hotel where everything is jaw-dropping, especially the prices. Rooms start at £525 a night for a double or twin Classic on a dinner, bed and breakfast basis, and the Royal Lochnagar Suite is £2,145.

Included is unlimited free use of the Club facilities that include the gym, swimming pools, outdoor hot pool, Jacuzzi, steam room, sauna, tennis, snooker, putting, petanque and croquet.

The ESPA spa (Favourite Spa in a Hotel in the 2008 and 2010 Conde Nast Traveller Awards) offers a wide range of facials, body treatments and massages. Among the most popular packages is the 95-minute Retreat (£135) that includes a foot treatment and back, face and scalp massage followed by a two-course lunch.

The 850-acre resort is also home to shooting, fishing, equestrian and gundog schools and the British School of Falconry, but it’s for golf that Gleneagles is most renowned.

TEE-RIFFIC: Try a round  at Gleneagles

There are three championship courses: the PGA Centenary Course which will host the 2014 Ryder Cup, the King’s Course and the Queen’s Course, plus the nine-hole PGA National Academy Course for beginners, or duffers like me, though I don’t think they’d take too kindly to me doing a Time Team on their manicured fairways. A special Sunday to Thursday offer available until October 31 allows up to four golfers to buy a tee time from 2pm on for £320.

From one sort of driving to another, I signed up for a late afternoon off-road Range Rover safari and picnic in the heart of the Perthshire countryside just 20 minutes from Gleneagles and saw my mountainous homeland at its most ruggedly beautiful from some dizzying up, down and sideways angles. It wouldn’t surprise me if those things could be driven up a vertical wall and across the ceiling.

The last time I went on a picnic I sat on my schoolbag as my pals and I shared a big bottle of Irn Bru and munched on rock-hard crab apples (it was like sucking lemons) pinched from old Smelly Kelly’s orchard.

MOOR CHAMPAGNE? Picnic time in the Highlands

Gleneagles was a little different. I sat on a green tartan blanket atop a hillock, sipped champagne and spread pate on a crusty roll baked just a couple of hours before. High above, a pair of red kites circled. The only sounds were the bleating of sheep on the mountainsides, the far-off yet unmistakeable growl of an unseen Harley Davidson and the much closer pop of a cork.

I could’ve sat there all day, but I had to return to Gleneagles for a date with a plate at eight and didn’t want to be late.

Dinner in the Strathearn, one of the world’s 10 Great Hotel Restaurants, costs £58 for three courses including dessert and £70 for four. I chose Isle of Mull scallops with baby leeks, tomato and chocolate dressing to start, followed by three succulent Scottish lamb cutlets with potatoes and vegetables.

YES, PEAS! Fine dining at Gleneagles

I would’ve had some Princess d’Isenbourg Sevruga caviar (£150 for 30 grammes), but I wanted to leave room for dessert, which was a scoop each of vanilla and saffron pistachio salted caramel ice cream with the biggest, fattest, juiciest blackberries, strawberries and raspberries I’ve ever tasted.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I perused the “Classics Prepared In The Kitchen” breakfast menu the next morning.

There’s porridge, of course, plain and simple if that’s what you like, or creamy with Drambuie-laced raspberries.

From the smokehouse there’s Orkney kippers with lemon and melted butter, smoked haddock and Mull cheddar cheese omelette, Finnan haddock and poached eggs and Marburry hot smoked salmon and poached egg kedgeree.

Or you could choose 28-day aged Scotch beefsteak with Portobello mushrooms, free-range egg, vine tomatoes and Rooster potatoes, or perhaps fried duck eggs with dry cured back bacon washed down with Bucks Fizz, Drambuie Fizz or a frozen Smirnoff Bloody Mary. They also have tea. For those who like to help themselves there’s a hot and cold buffet the likes of which I’ve never seen.

Having eaten enough at dinner and breakfast to choke a horse, I headed to South Queensferry, near Edinburgh airport, to see the real things in action in glorious sunshine (it does put in the occasional appearance) at the Gillespie MacAndrew Hopetoun International Horse Trials.

MANE EVENT: Dressage at Hopetoun House horse trials

The event’s host, Lord Hopetoun, said he would've been happy to see 150 competitors, but it attracted 500. That might just have had something to do with the fact many are friends of Olympic equestrian and Queen’s granddaughter Zara Phillips and Mike Tindall who were married in Edinburgh’s historic Canongate Kirk last Saturday afternoon.

I wonder if they were aware that Robert Burns’ great love Agnes MacLehose, better known as Clarinda and for whom he wrote Ae Fond Kiss, and his chief inspiration, the tragic Edinburgh poet Robert Fergusson, are buried in the kirkyard, as is the economist Adam Smith.

The trials, which finished on Sunday in the grounds of the magnificent Hopetoun House where the amiable earl and his wife live with their young children, drew large crowds of horse-loving spectators and families who were simply enjoying a different sort of day out.

They also served as a selection trial for the Irish riders who’ll compete in the European Eventing Championships in Luhmuhlen, Germany, from August 23 to 29.

Despite my total ignorance of horses, I can see the attraction of eventing, if only for the fact I’d get to walk around in the fresh air in a smart tweed jacket and cavalry twills with a copy of Horse & Hound under my arm.

The dressage, though, is a bit too Strictly Come Dancing for my liking, and as for golf, well, no one’s going to benefit from me swinging a club. Except the driver of that Tunnock’s Tea Cakes van, who went home with a brand new ball.

˜Blythswood Square offers several special deals. The Shopping Galore two-night weekend break, for example, which is valid until December 30, 2012, costs £250 per person sharing based on two sharing a Classic room and includes full Scottish breakfast each morning, three-course dinner from the Market Menu on one evening and a £50 shopping voucher each from Cruise. For an additional £80 per person you can treat your feet to an Ila Luxurious Seaweed Foot Experience in the spa.
˜For details of weekend leisure and activity breaks and longer holidays in Scotland, plus features on touring, festivals, sporting events and other attractions, see visitscotland.com/surprise

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Banh Mi in NYC

I've been going to my favorite banh mi place in Oakland since high school. Until now, I haven't been able to find a place quite like it in New York. Of course in West LA you can drive an hour east or an hour south and find delicious Vietnamese sandwiches in either direction. But with my first visit to Banh Mi Saigon, I finally found a place I can return to regularly.

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In a very Vietnamese fashion, Banh Mi Saigon shares its store space with a jewelry shop. The owners are well aware that the sandwiches are the main draw so they make you walk past display cases of jade necklaces and gold bracelets to get to the banh mi. I wonder how effective that is? It seems unlikely to me that a $5 sandwich order would turn into a $200 jewelry purchase.

While the sandwiches are not as cheap as they are in places with a vibrant Vietnamese population and low rent, you can still get a Banh Mi Saigon signature sandwich with grilled pork, pate, pickled daikon and carrot, and cilantro (spicy or not, up to you) for less than $5.

I like my banh mi a little sweet, with an abundance of sweet pickles. The buttered toast is also a nice addition. And of course, you need a flaky, fresh baguette for the proper sandwich. The banh mi here hit all those marks.

Banh Mi Saigon
banhmisaigonnyc.com
198 Grand St
(between Mulberry St & Mott St)
Little Italy/Chinatown, NY 10013
(212) 941-1541

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Foray into Brooklyn: Vinegar Hill House

Clam Pie, bacon, potato, parsley salad

As storied as the Brooklyn dining scene is, I rarely make it out of Manhattan for food. Being as far uptown as I am, the only place I've been to outside of the island regularly is M Wells. In fact, I think I've been to M Wells more times than any other restaurant in New York.

However, now that I have a reason to head out to the DUMBO neighborhood of Brooklyn on a regular basis, I figured I ought to find some local eats. My first attempt was reBar, which would make a great place to get a drink, but wasn't so great for dinner. On the second attempt, I did find a delicious little place in Vinegar Hill House.

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I walked past this place easily before realizing I missed it. It blends into the row of doors in this mostly residential street. The entire decor of the restaurant was rustic home. A small, open kitchen and a scattering of tables were surrounded by kitschy decorations you'd find at your grandmother's house.

I've heard the place can get packed (they don't take small reservations), but even by 7 on a Friday night there were still open tables. I'm guessing the neighbors are the type who roll in late, as do all New Yorkers for dinner seatings.

The menu is divided into small plates ($9-12), entrees ($17-25), with pastas ($15-17) and sides ($8) rounding out the options. They also have daily specials, including the sweetbread cannelloni pictured above. Both the cannelloni and the clam pie were great sizes for a single person. The pie was smaller than I imagined it would be, but rich enough that any more would be decadent. The clams gave it a fun texture to the quiche-like background, while the bacon carried the heavy flavor notes. I'm not usually a fan of parsley, but when dressed right, in what I assumed to be a buttermilk dressing, it properly cut into the pie's richness.


Sweetbread cannelloni, morels, blueberries

I'm always delighted to see sweetbreads outside the typical sauteed presentation. This is the first time I've seen them rolled into a cannelloni, something like an Italian pasta crepe. It's hard to go wrong with slow-cooked morels, and blueberries gave a hint of sweet and sour.


Red Wattle Country Chop, cheddar grits

While the appetizers were smaller than expected, the pork chop was much larger than I expected. Wholesome and simple in appearance, complex and satisfying in flavor. I loved the lightly charred exterior and light pink interior. By the way, USDA says pink pork (>145 degrees) is now okay! Of course every restaurant already knew that, and if you still have an aversion to pink pork, you're missing out.


Guinness chocolate cake, cream cheese frosting

The chocolate cake is the perfect way to round out the meal. The cake itself, as dense as it was, was hardly sweet at all. Instead, the Guinness gave it flavor complexities reminiscent of root beer or sarsaparilla. A healthy (in quantity, maybe not in nutrition) dollop of the frosting gave each bite the sweetness you expect in dessert. I love cream cheese frosting. If you're ever on the Upper East Side, check out Two Little Red Hens' red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting.

Vinegar Hill House is New York affordable, which puts it in the upper scale for almost everywhere else. It's a casual spot, but shouldn't be dismissed for its ambiance. Every dish was a hit and I'll gladly go back.

Vinegar Hill House
vinegarhillhouse.com
72 Hudson Avenue,
Vinegar Hill, Brooklyn 11201
(718)522-1018


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La Maison du Chocolat's Summer 2011 Collection

Summers in New York are unbearably hot and humid. It's tough without air conditioning, and much too warm for serving temperature of chocolate. Luckily, La Maison du Chocolat stores are kept at steady, optimal environments for chocolate. This summer, they're rolling out a few unique and limited items, while bringing back a few big hits.


My favorite item for the summer collection is the Chiberta set of five French Basque bonbons. I didn't know Baque country had chocolate, but apparently it's the historical origin for French chocolate. The Txokolate Iluna or "Solemn Ganache" is pure dark chocolate. For a change in texture, the Praline Macaron has pieces of crushed macaron shell within the ganache for a crunchy filling. The Etzia is a milk chocolate ganache with wildflower and chesnut honey highlights. This was my favorite of the five. For the more exotic, Almond Paste with Patxaran has an anise liqueur enhanced almond paste center. The Espeletako Piperra has a spicy pepper kick. These are available for a limited time, and while expensive, they are certainly unique ($24 for 10 pieces, $60 for 30).
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The Salvadore Raspberry Mousse Cake makes its return. The cake was introduced a few months ago at La Nuit du Gateau, or the Night of Cake. Semi-sweet chocolate with raspberry highlights, this cake is available from one to twelve servings ($8-110).


During the summer, the stores serve chocolate, pistachio and caramel ice cream. They also have strawberry and raspberry sorbets ($4.50/scoop). The wild strawberry sorbet I had was fruity and natural. No artificial strawberry flavors.

For a limited time in the summer, the stores will have a Macaron Sylvia ($2.75 ea), milk chocolate ganache with notes of biscuits and honey. They usually sell two types of dark chocolate macarons, but I especially enjoyed this lighter one.

La Maison du Chocolat
lamaisonduchocolate.com
You can purchase online or at any other of these four boutiques:

1018 Madison Ave
Manhattan, NY 10075
(212) 744-7117

30 Rockefeller Center,
Manhattan, NY 10020
(212) 265-9404

63 Wall St
Manhattan, NY 10005
(212) 952-1123

Short Hills Mall
New Jersey, 07078
(973) 379-5043

Photos courtesy of La Maison du Chocolat.

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