A Non-Purist’s Gazpacho

Pittenweem, the picture-postcard fishing village where we are staying the weekend, is gearing up for its week in the British cultural spotlight hosting the Pittenweem Arts Festival (6-14 August). This dinky village, so tiny that it doesn’t have a cash machine, or even the ubiquitous Tesco Metro, hosts one of the best, most accessible art shows to be found anywhere. By accessible I mean that the art displayed is wide-ranging enough to please the culture-vultures (my in-laws) and Philistines (that will be me) alike. Gorgeous, colour-soaked abstract canvases jostle with simple pen and ink studies, blowsy floral whimsies and beautiful sea-inspired tapestries in this most egalitarian of art festivals.

The Westshore, Pittenweem

Although Pittenweem boosts an unusually high number of galleries for such a bijou place, the ever-increasing number of artists who exhibit over the week means that the ground floors and gardens of many houses are co-opted and hung with paintings, dotted with sculptures and draped with textiles and decorative baubles. The village is always eye-achingly gorgeous, especially the Shore area, with its pastel tied fishermen’s cottages, tumbling gardens and step-gabled roofs, but it really comes alive in August. If you are anywhere near the east coast of Scotland come and have a browse around this uniquely homey art festival.

Even if nothing catches your eye art-wise there are always the home-baking stalls spilling out onto the pavement to tempt you. And the Cocoa Tree, where I use coffee-purchased wi-fi for the occasional blog post, has dangerously addictive chilli cocoa to sup while enjoying homemade crepes and other goodies. Great chocolate shop too. The fish and chip shop a few doors down is also a good find. Anstruther, the next village up, has a famous fish and chip shop (it boasts photos of celebs noshing with the plebes from cardboard trays). But Pittenweem Fish Bar is just as good at two-thirds of the price, with efficient staff to keep everyone in their place as they queue down the street for their portions of crisp-golden fish.  And no cardboard tray-plates, just good old paper to unwrap while sitting on the harbour wall watching the fishing boats go out for the night.

Lebanese-style Broad Bean Hummus

I will let you in on something: I am typing this while eating pink peppercorn dark chocolate. Yes, little miss eat-your-greens is merrily chowing down on some delectable chocolate noir au poivre rose, to give it its proper name. I discovered it in the impulse buy section by the tills at good old TK Maxx. Normally I am immune to the lure of the well-thumbed packets of oddly flavoured liquorice and jelly beans that are the usual checkout fodder at said retail emporium, but my trash-o-meter must have been out of whack. It does have pretty pink packaging, so I can just about blame the buy on grounds of physical attraction rather than greed. But we know better. If you are interested, it is from quality Belgian brand Dolfin, who have a beautiful website that helpfully offers convincing health information to lessen the guilt. For more about benefits of chocolate and why not to feel guilty about it, see my earlier post. I subsequently saw ‘my’ chocolate in the posh chocolate section of Tesco  (no, I didn’t know they had a posh section either, let alone a chocolate one) but have resisted buying a job lot. Just to leave some for you. I’m not normally that nice. It’s well-balanced, not too bitter and comes in a petite 70g size – enough for two to share, or not…

Za’atar Aubergine and Onion Salad with Tahini-Garlic Dressing

It’s a funny old day today. At the crack of dawn (well, 8.30) Mr A and I bid a temporary adieu to Miss R as she set off with some of her classmates on their Duke of Edinburgh Bronze walk. As a nearly 15-year old she has of course been away from home. But she’s never been dropped off in the middle of nowhere armed only with basic provisions of NASA-type food, compass and water. No adults, no personal phones, no GPS. That’s what I can’t get out of my head – they are literally alone, with nothing but an emergency phone in a sealed envelope to connect them to the world, 15 miles away. Prior to departure they were all leaping about the car park in giddy anticipation of their 18 hour pass away from parental controls. But us parents, despite our smiling facades and cheerful waves, were probably all distracted basket cases, a packed weekend planned to stop us wondering how they are getting on, and if what’s her name remembered the matches. Or maybe that is just me. Mr A is fine about it as he did DoE in his day – achieving his Gold award, which culminates in more of the same but for a longer, blister-inducing time. The most intrepid thing I have done on my own was go to the Soviet Union when I was 20. I think my parents thought I was in Greece. Because I am me and rather known for coming a cropper when away from home, I ended up ill in hospital, with US embassy staff bringing me toilet paper and contraband trashy magazines. That must be what is guiding my thoughts, that Miss R may have inherited my gene for not-quite disasters. Must get a grip and realise that she is her father’s daughter, a capable leader-type with a calm head and a brave heart. She’ll be absolutely fine. No doubt really. But, can she make s’mores like her old American mum, probably not. Hang in there, dear reader: a totally unrelated recipe follows the page break, after a bit more musing – about blood pressure.