Cannock Chase: Shifting Tectonic Plates. The (N + 12)th Annual Fish and Chip Walk

Unwelcome Developments and an Extremely Damp Walk on Cannock Chase

Staffordshire

Nothing in the title should be taken to suggest that the island of Great Britain in general, or Cannock Chase in particular, has abandoned its customary geological stability, this is not Iceland. But there are things in life we treat as permanent, though we know they are not. When change comes, the consequences are not entirely unearthquakelike. (That tortured sentence reminds me of a sign I saw in North Macedonian hotel: ‘Do not use the lift in case of earthquakeake or fire.’)

Rifle Range Corner to the Sherbrook Valley

We set off a little later than our 9.30 target from Rifle Range Corner. The Corner, a sharp turn on minor road from the A34 to Rugeley, has often featured in these walks, but we have never started here before – a ripple from the edge of a shifting plate.

We walked towards the remains of the WW1 army rifle range, which gave the corner its name, then turned left and right.

Alison (half hidden) and Anne at the front (and they need to turn left, now), Brian and Lee, Mike, I am just behind with the camera

Unlike every other Fish and Chip Walk – on this blog since 2010, but older than that – Francis was not out in front. Indeed, Francis was not there at all.

I read through the (N + 11)th walk in 2021 before starting this. There were clues in the report, though I missed them at the time. Francis was a meticulous planner. The South West Odyssey, a 12-year walk in 36 sections from the Cardingmill Valley in Shropshire to Start Bay in Devon was his idea, he chose the routes, booked the B&Bs and led the way metaphorically and very often literally. He was the navigator who (almost) never made a mistake. But (N + 11) was not like that, he appeared to have no plan, his confident decision making had gone, the route became a ramble and we finished too early for lunch.

(N + 12) had started in the dry, but it would rain on and off for the whole day…

Anne's rictus grin says that she WILL enjoy this, Alison T looks like she wishes she was somewhere else

….and found our way to a path named as Marquis Drive on the map, though it is separated from the better-known section we would meet later.

Brian and Lee on a section of Marquis drive

By June 2022, the signs I missed had become obvious symptoms. The man who thought 20km a day was lazy, ground to a halt after 2 with a loss of balance and muscular co-ordination. Francis said he had ‘recently gone downhill very quickly’ but was putting a lot of faith into a series of physiotherapist appointments. It was obvious, though, that physiotherapy was not the answer, I could see clear similarities between Francis and the problems of Lynne’s late father.

Our path took us to the eastern edge of the Sherbrook Valley.

Looking down into the Sherbrook Valley

It then starts to descend gently, along the ridge…

Along the edge of the Sherbrook Valley

…but takes its time about it, eventually reached the brook a little upstream of the stepping stones. Lee was responsible for working out the route, and had built in optional short cuts to ensure we arrived for lunch on time. We took a zig-zag down the valley side..

This could be a zig..... or maybe a zag

… and crossed the stream at the bottom.

Across the Sherbrook. Anne is still smiling - and that is the nearest to a smile that Brian gets

Up the Sherbrook Valley

There was no Fish and Chip Walk in 2022, Francis was in no position to organise one. The tectonic plates had twitched and they would not twitch back, but it did not yet feel right for anyone else to step in. In spring 2023 he was able to travel to Australia to see his son, daughter-in-law and his three grandchildren, meeting the youngest for the very first time. Good as this was, his problems were not going away.

We walked upstream on the western bank…

Walking almost beside the Sherbrook

…which at one point takes a loop away from the brook. I thought it might make a pleasing photo.

Winter trees - the picture was a disappointment, definitely not worth getting left behind for

When you are at the back and pause to take a picture, everyone walks off and leaves you behind. I caught up, but was glad we soon stopped for coffee.

Now I have to catch up

We drank our coffee sitting in a concrete trough built across the brook years ago for a purpose no longer obvious. I was too interested in a sit and a restorative beverage to bother taking a photo, but we used the same spot in 2020.

Coffee in 2020, Sherbrook Valley

This was the year of Covid, social distancing (almost complied with), Boris’ ‘rule of 6’ – not that he bothered much – and Tier 3 restrictions. There were many people on the Chase in 2020, it was a dry, mild, Saturday and there was nowhere else to go. On a wet Tuesday in 2023, we had the place to ourselves.

I usually start these accounts with a group photo. With startling originality, the first photo in this report consists of five rear views. Fortunately, at this point Anne took a group selfie.

Anne's group selfie (thank you, Anne), l to r Anne, Alison T, Mike, Brian, Lee, Me (did I spill my coffee or is that rain?)

Sherbrook Valley to Slitting Mill

Alison C, Francis’ ex-wife (and until recent problems, walking companion.) took on responsibilities she need not have accepted (though knowing Alison, that was no surprise). She organised his medical appointments and after tests and consultations Francis, like my father-in-law, had a diagnosis of vascular dementia. Alison does not live particularly close, but in collaboration with their son in Australia and daughter in Oxfordshire, she saw to it that he received the help he required..

Time was short, so the coffee break was shorter. I have few photos of the next section, it was raining and my camera was wet and threatening to seize up so I left it in the dry for a while.

After a further kilometre beside the brook, we turned uphill on a path that would have returned us to our starting point had we not veered right on unmarked paths. Lee chose a deer track which petered out in long, wet grass, those further behind gained from his experience.

We crossed the minor road a little south of Rifle Range Corner, found our way to Flint’s Corner and then down a familiar section of Marquis Drive. Approaching the visitor centre, Marquis Drive is tarmacked, but later becomes a foot path descending to the A460 Rugeley to Hednesford road.(N + 8) went that way in 2018, but this year we turned left a kilometre above the road.

Just turned off Marquis Drive

The path descended through damp and desolate countryside.

a wet and miserable place

It cheered up when we reached some trees, then after turning right by open fields and passing a stable, we reached the road to Slitting Mill. Rather than walk with the traffic, we took a familiar detour along a stream behind a row of houses. At the end house someone is always slouched on a chair beside the stream, but I have not seen before in his work clothes.

Is this where the real one lives? He might not be a North Pole resident after all

The stream is higher than the path which is higher than the field. I assume this unnatural arrangement is connected to the provision of water power to the slitting mills that gave the village its name.

Stream (to the left) higher than path, higher than the field

Further along Mike took the path off to the left which climbs to a dam below a pool now used by anglers. I remember trying that some years ago, but there was no way through, so I went the long way, expecting Mike to catch me up after his detour. I was wrong, there is a short cut.

Slitting Mill and the Horns

Alison was looking after Francis from a distance, but others rallied round. Lee, a near neighbour, heroically mowed Francis’ lawn all summer and did other odd jobs, Mike gave lifts and sorted computer problems and we all met up with Francis for short walks on the Chase preceded by coffee or followed by lunch. When this became difficult, we took to meeting up at Francis’ local coffee shop. Some months ago, in consultation with his family, Francis decided to move to sheltered accommodation nearer to his daughter. This will probably happen early in the new year.

A slitting mill was a watermill that slit iron bars into rods as part of the nail making process. The first slitting mill was built here in 1611 and was followed by several others. The mills are long gone, but the village has appropriated their name. Slitting Mill today has 250 inhabitants and looks a pleasant place to live.

We have visited The Horns on several walks, but this is the first time it has featured in the Fish and Chip Walk. For the meal – fish and chips of course - the walkers were joined by Lynne, Hilary and, most importantly by Francis.

Lunch at The Horns, Slitting Mill
Left front to back, Lee, Brian, Francis, Mike, Alison T. Right f to b Hilary, Me, Lynne, Anne

The Horns did us proud, serving up nine portions in no time, the batter was crisp, the fish fresh and the smaller ‘lunchtime’ portion was more than ample.

Back to Rifle Range Corner

During our coffee shop gatherings there was talk of the Chip Walk, but nothing was done. Chatting with Lee after the last get-together we agreed action was urgently needed. I volunteered to organise the social side, fixing a date, booking a meal and so on, and Lee took on responsibility for designing a route. And so, this walk has come to pass. Lynne and I also invited Brian and Hilary to stay so Brian could take part. He was one of the original Chip Walkers until moving to Torquay in 2015, and walked the whole of the South West Odyssey, which by a convenient coincidence moved closer and closer to his new home with each passing year. I saw the walk as being a tribute to all Francis has done over the years, and the lunch as a farewell. It would have been incomplete without Brian.

It had been a long morning, almost 13km, and a longish lunch. The afternoon walk would be short because Lee needed to be home to do some tutoring and because there was little daylight left and, most importantly, because we wanted it to be. ‘Just 3km to make the 10 miles’ he said, mixing units with uniquely British flair.

We retraced our steps, crossing the bridge whose existence I had earlier doubted,...

Bridge over the Slitting Mill waterfall

...walking along the back of the houses, past Santa onto the road. Then, up the lane to the stables and back into the woods. To make our return journey as direct as possible we then turned right, crossed Stony Brook stepping stones…

Mike crosses the Stony Brook stepping stones

…and swung left past the Fairoak Pools.

The final Fairoak Pool

After the last pool there is a steepish climb up to Fairoak Lodge, it was the only real climb of the day, though the camera flattens it out (well, that is my excuse, anyway).

Up to Fairoak Lodge - steeper than it looks

As I laboured upwards, I saw Lee looking at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to run off,’ he said as I arrived. He left, as did Anne, the only person – in the absence of Francis – capable of keeping up with him.

It was not a long walk from there to the (unsurprisingly) deserted Tackeroo campsite and then down broad avenues back to the start. We reached the end at 4 o’clock, sunset had been 3.55, so we just had enough light to find the cars. According to Brian’s ap we had walked 10.54 miles in 4¼ hours, sticking to a steady 24mins per mile throughout.

Nearly there, though the sun is setting

I was exhausted, but it had been a good day, the Chip Walk Tradition had been upheld in robust fashion. It was also a sad day, Francis walked his last Chip Walk two years ago, though nobody realised it at the time. With his move this will probably be his last Chip Walk lunch, The tectonic plates have moved, the Walk is in new hands, though in my case not younger hands. It is up to Lee, Mike, Anne and me to ensure that new hands are safe hands.

The Annual Fish and Chip Walks

The Nth: Cannock Chase in Snow and Ice (Dec 2010)
The (N + 1)th: Cannock Chase a Little Warmer (Dec 2011)
The (N + 2)th: Cannock Chase in Torrential Rain (Dec 2012)
The (N + 3)th: Cannock Chase in Winter Sunshine (Jan 2014)
The (N + 4)th: Cannock Chase Through Fresh Eyes (Dec 2014)
The (N + 5)th: Cannock Case, Dismal, Dismal, Dismal (Dec 2015)
The (N + 6)th: Cannock Chase Mild and Dry - So Much Better (Dec 2016)
The (N + 7)th: Cannock Chase, Venturing Further East (Jan 2018)
The (N + 8)th: Cannock Chase, Wind and Rain (Dec 2018)
The (N + 9)th: Cannock Chase, Freda's Grave at Last (Dec 2019)
The (N + 10)th: Cannock Chase in the Time of Covid (Dec 2020)
The (N + 11)th: Cannock Chase, Tussocks(Dec 2021)
Dec 2020 - no walk
The (N + 12)th: Cannock Chase, Shifting Tectonic Plates (Dec 2023)

London (1): Pictures and an Unusual Lunch

The National Portrait Gallery and Pick & Cheese

No Longer Neglecting London

I have been writing this blog since 2010 and have, so far, produced 548 posts covering 50 countries across four continents. Although I love foreign travel, I have not neglected home territory, 166 posts have a UK label, but until now, not one has involved the national capital.

London is 200km from home (as the crow flies), so much nearer and easier to get to than Shanghai or Mexico City, but they both have blogposts and Mexico City (Nov 2017) was some years after my nephew’s wedding, which occasioned my last London visit. I probably would not have gone now had not our daughter, Siân – who lives within the London commuter belt – suggested that Lynne and I join her for a jolly on her Wednesday day-off.

Nobody with an alternative would drive into London. Siân lives with her husband and two children in a village near Tring, so our journey started at Tring Station.

On Tring Station

Tring is a pleasant small town 50km north west of central London. It is undoubtedly the best English town named after a sound effect, less scary than Aaargh, livelier than Zzzzz and classier than Ding-a-ling (I blame Chuck Berry). It takes 40 minutes to reach London Euston where we dived into the underground and popped up a little later at Charing Cross.

City of Westminster

I like to head my posts with the flag or coat of arms of the place I am visiting, but Greater London, uniquely among England’s 48 Ceremonial Counties, has neither. However, each of its 32 boroughs has a Coat of Arms and we have just emerged in the City of Westminster - not just a borough but a city as well.

Greater London with the City of Westminster and Borough of Camden marked

Trafalgar Square

Charing Cross Station is by the bend in the river (by the 'r' of Westminster above). Also within the City of Westminster are the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, a couple of hundred metres upstream, and Buckingham Palace a similar distance west. They were not our targets for today, but the attractions of central London are closely packed, and just round the corner we found ourselves in Trafalgar Square, with Nelson’s Column straight in front of us.

Nelson's Column, Trafalgar Square in November sunshine

Sticking somebody on a column so high (52m) you can’t see them properly seems a strange way to celebrate their achievements, but building columns was popular in the 19th century.

The lions, designed by Sir Edwin (Monarch of the Glen) Landseer, guarding the bottom of the column are rather better.

One of the lions guarding the column (plus Siân and me)

I cannot remember when I lasted visited Trafalgar Square, but it was full of pigeons. There were once stalls selling pigeon food, but that was stopped in 2003 when Ken Livingstone also employed a hawk as a deterrent. There were undoubtedly too many, but are there now too few?

Disclaimer

The rest of this blog is about art or cheese. I have tried to ensure all facts are correct, but it would not be my blog if I did not occasionally offer my opinion. My qualifications for having opinions about art are zero. I do like looking at pictures, but any judgements I make, though thoughtfully considered, are dragged up from a deep well of ignorance.

I have no formal ‘cheese education’ either, but I have eaten a huge variety of cheeses from Oaxaca in the west to Yunnan Province in the east where the Yi ethnic minority make China’s one and only cheese - a hard goat’s milk cheese not unlike Ribblesdale. I must have learned something on the way

National Portrait Gallery

One side of Trafalgar Square is dominated by the vast bulk of the National Gallery, but we have all been there, Lynne and Siân quite recently, so we continued along Charing Cross Road to the back of the National Gallery where the National Portrait Gallery lurks like a poor relation. I am ashamed to say I had never been there before, but it is a fine place.

National Portrait Gallery

The Tudors

We started, almost by accident, among the Tudors. I love the painters' precision; they are almost photographic - though photographers are now rarely content with anything so literal. Many of the painters are unknown, indicating perhaps that they were thought of as craftsmen rather than artists. They had absorbed many of the technical advances of the Italian renaissance, but the cult of the artist was not yet so well established; it was the subject that brought prestige to the picture, not the painter.

Queen Elizabeth I

Many of them are familiar – they are the illustrations from school history books, and books all use the same pictures, because there are so few of them.

The portrait of William Shakespeare is by John Taylor (probably), and was painted from life (possibly). The less sophisticated likeness beside Shakespeare’s grave in Stratford was (probably) carved by Gerard Johnson who (perhaps) worked from a death mask.

William Shakespeare

There were some acknowledged artists, Hans Holbein the younger painted a portrait of Thomas Cromwell, Henry VIII’s chancellor - until his execution - now in the Frick collection in New York. The National Portrait gallery has an ‘after Hans Holbein’ copy.

Thomas Cromwell

I was disappointed not to see Hilary Mantell peaking over his shoulder. How could she have understood Cromwell so well without time travelling to Tudor England?

These are the best likenesses of Tudor people that exist, though they are not as precise as, say, 19th century paintings of botanical samples. The sitters were clients, whatever the status of the painter, they held the purse strings, and so expected to be flattered. One might wonder how much, if anything, Hans Eworth was paid for this portrait of Mary Neville and her son Gregory Fiennes, the 10th Baron Dacre.

Mary Neville and he son Gregory Fiennes

The Rest

Later paintings that caught my eye include, Kitty Fisher (1741-67) by Nathaniel Hone 1765

Kitty Fisher was a courtesan, launched into high society as a teenager by a client, though which client is disputed. Famed for her beauty and wit, she had affairs with several wealthy men, and had her portrait painted by Joshua Reynolds (as well as the lesser-known Nathaniel Hone). We ‘met’ her at Croome Court where, aged 17, she became the mistress of the owner, Lord Coventry (aged 57). She enjoyed a spirited rivalry with Maria Gunning (Lady Coventry) whose career was not that different, but being the daughter of an impoverished aristocrat she had been able to marry her conquest. Both women died in their 20s, Maria Gunning poisoned by the arsenic in her makeup, Kitty Fisher from tuberculosis or smallpox – or maybe also of arsenic poisoning. Is this picture more than just a celebration of child abuse?

Kitty Fisher. He has caught some sort puckish vivacity
and I like the visual pun of the cat fishing in the right hand corner

Erasmus Darwin (1731-1802) after Joseph Wright of Derby 1770s

Doctor and polymath, Erasmus Darwin was a member of the Lunar Society of Birmingham, an informal dining club and learned society which met regularly from 1765 to 1813, sometimes in Darwin’s house in Lichfield (we visited 2017). His writings discussed the possibility of different animals evolving from common ancestors, an idea his grandson, Charles Darwin, would pick up and run with.

Erasmus Darwin

George Chinnery (1774-1852) self-portrait c1840.

Born in London, Chinnery left for Chennai in 1802 aged 28 and spent the remaining 50 years of his life in Asia, the last 27 in Macau. He painted portraits of the rich and powerful, both Asians and Europeans and as the only European painter resident in Southern China in the mid-early 19th century, his depictions of the life of ordinary people and the landscape of the Pearl River Delta are especially important. His paintings can be seen in the British Museum, the V&A and various galleries in the USA, Hong Kong and Macau. We first 'met' him in Macau, where he is among the more notable residents of the Old Protestant Cemetery.

George Chinnery

Siân takes a selfie with ‘her boys’ from ‘GCSE Lit context’.

Siân and a couple of her 'boys' (Locke, Hobbes and crew)

Marcus Rashford (b1997) photographed by Misan Harriman 2020

A couple of years ago, when footballer Marcus Rashford was one of my Christmas heroes, for his successful free school meals campaign, I had difficulty finding a photograph I was free to use, so here he is now.

Marcus Rashford

In Tudor times, images were rare and treated with reverence. Today they are cheap and easy to make – and everybody knows what the subject looks like anyway - so the photographer plays with us by hiding half of his subject’s face.

Seven Dials

Camden

From the gallery we took a short walk into the Borough of Camden and the interesting – and to me previously unknown - Seven Dials district. Seven narrow roads converge on a small square where an obelisk supports 6 (not 7!) sundials. Next to the theatre district, this was once the place theatregoers strayed if they wished to encounter a cutpurse (much more romantic than a ‘mugger’) or contract a sexually transmitted disease.

The sundial column was erected in 1684 but demolished in 1773 to "rid the area of undesirables." There is nothing new about tackling a problem from the wrong end!

I failed to take a photograph of the modern 7 Dials, so here is George Cruikshank's 1836 view

It was a place of appalling poverty where misery clings to misery for a little warmth, and want and disease lie down side-by-side, and groan together, as Keats cheerily put it.

Seven Dials was tarted up in the 1970s and became a conservation area, a new pillar being unveiled in 1993.

In one of the seven streets is Seven Dials market which describes itself as a chic multi-level food court with dozens of micro-restaurants & bars. Our destination was Pick & Cheese, which might indeed be a micro-restaurant.

Pick & Cheese

As my father discovered to his chagrin, our children are their own people, not clones of their parents. Armed with that knowledge I happily accept Siân’s interest in manga comics and Studio Ghibli films and her dismissal of competitive physical endeavour as ‘sportball.’ But it would be odd and dispiriting if we had nothing in common and cheese is one of our areas of mutual interest. We both enjoy cheese and like to seek out new and different examples – Siân refers to ‘curating a cheese board,’ and I now shamelessly borrow the expression as if it were my own. Ironically, my father would have enjoyed this experience, too, while my mother, who regarded all cheese with horror, would not have come through the door.

Pick & Cheese uses a conveyor belt like those more usually found in Japanese restaurants to serve up endless plates of British (and one Irish) artisan cheeses. Each has its accompaniment ranging from predictable (tomato chutney with Keens Cheddar) to ‘are they serious?’ (fudge with Cornish Gouda). The odd plate of charcuterie aside, that is all they serve. Siân had visited before with a ‘birthday voucher’ and thought that her parents would enjoy the experience.

Here comes the cheese, Pick & Cheese

The colour coded plates cost between £4 and £5.50 and you can quickly run up a sizeable bill. To avoid this, we had bought 'bottomless plates' giving unlimited access to the cheese for 1hr 15mins, they are not cheap, but we would have spent far more without them.

Lynne and Siân drank a glass of tawny port each while I enjoyed my Jurançon from the foothills of the Pyrenees. It is a sweet, golden wine focussed by a refreshing streak of acidity.

The Cheese

What follows is just a taste of the tasting. I have photographs and comments for every cheese I ate, but I realise not everyone is as invested in the Adoration of the Fromage as I am, so I will confine myself to five favourites. In no particular order they are:

Dazel Ash

One of two cheeses on the conveyor belt made by Chris and Clare Combes for Rosary Goat’s Cheeses on the edge of the New Forest in Hampshire. They use the milk from their own herd of British Saanen goats.

Dazel Ash with rosemary honey and shortbread

Dazel Ash is a goat log made from pasteurised milk and rolled in ash which matures into a crinkled edible rind. The slightest drizzle of rosemary honey brings the best out of this lovely soft cheese.

Truffled Baron Bigod

The five Barons Bigod (two Hughs and three Rogers) were Earls of Norfolk from 1095 to 1306. Their fiefdom included the land near Bungay where Jonny Crickmore’s Fen Farm now stands. He uses milk from his own Montbeliard herd to produce a cheese based on Brie-de-Meaux which he calls Baron Bigod (pronounced by-god). To produce Truffled Baron Bigod a thin layer of truffle-infused Fen Farm mascarpone is inserted. The cheeses mingle as the mature Bigod oozes, resulting in lingering flavours of warm earth, farmyard and mushrooms. This is as sumptuous as cheese gets.

Truffled Baron Bigod

Achari Spiced Salami

Taking a break from the cheese: 2011 Master Chef finalist Tom Whitaker and 2014 winner Dhruv Baker make artisan charcuterie at Weybridge in Surrey where they butcher, ferment, cure and age all their products.

Achari is spiced with fennel seeds, Tellicherry black pepper and fenugreek. Fine salami with the fennel’s gentle liquorice overlay proved an excellent refresher before more cheese.

Achari Spiced Salami

We passed through Tellicherry (or Thalasseri) while driving down the Malabar Coast in 2010. Pepper grows like a weed throughout Kerala and I was unaware that Tellicherry pepper was any different from the rest.

Spenwood

Spenwood is a hard sheep’s cheese inspired by Sardinian Pecorino. Anne Wigmore started Village Maid Cheeses in 1986 in Spencers Wood, near Reading and Spenwood was her first product.

Spenwood with mushroom duxelles

Like Pecorino Spenwood, is firm, nutty, sweet and salty. Lovely stuff.

Yarlington

Yarlington is a collaboration between King Stone Dairy in Chedwoth, Gloucestershire, and Yarlington Mill cider. During maturation the forming rind is periodically washed with cider.

Yarlington with candied peanuts

The better-known Stinking Bishop is made similarly, though using perry instead of cider. Yarlington may be less pungent, but it resembles the odorous prelate in its surprisingly well-mannered flavour. It is a fine cheese, though pairing it with candied peanuts seemed…well… odd.

At this stage Siân took a photograph. Apparently, Lynne thinks I have had enough cheese…

Someone thinks I've had enough

…but I was not finished yet....

Lincolnshire Red

Simon Jones started making Lincolnshire Poacher on the family dairy farm beside the Lincolnshire Wolds in the early 90s. Now working with his brother Tim and cheesemaker Richard Tagg, almost all the milk from their 230 Holstein Frisians is used for cheese.

Leicester Red and chilli green

While most British artisan cheesemakers look towards France or Italy for inspiration (Lincolnshire Poacher owes something to Comté as well as Farmhouse Cheddar) Lincolnshire Red has a local inspiration being based on the traditional Red Leicester recipe. Matured for 6 months, Lincolnshire Red has a moist creamy texture, a delicate buttery flavour and a clean, lingering finish. It went well with the lower two thirds of the chilli, but no cheese on earth could have coped with fiery top third.

Cheesy Afterthoughts

There is a limit to how much cheese can be eaten at one sitting. I gave up after 45 mins of our allotted 75, Siân had also had enough by then, Lynne would have stopped earlier. Tasting this array of artisan cheeses was a wonderful experience, but despite the variety of styles, it is all cheese and after 45 minutes the palate tires.

There were 25 numbered plates on the menu (though I am unsure if all were available). One was a plate of pickles, three were charcuterie, the other 21 were cheeses. Of these 1 was Irish, the other 20 British - 12 from the south of England, 6 from the Midlands, 1 from the North and 1 from Wales which may show regional bias, or maybe it is just that London is in the south.

16 were made from cows’ milk, 3 from goats’, 1 from sheep and 1 cow/sheep combined. I imagine this roughly reflects the traditional British breakdown.

Factory cheesemakers use pasteurised milk, artisan cheesemakers have the freedom to use unpasteurised (raw) milk. I have eaten some excellent unpasteurised cheeses over the years and have come to assume the best always come from raw milk. That may not necessarily by true, 13 of these were made from pasteurised milk, 7 from raw and 1 used ‘thermised’ milk (pasteurised light). The debate is complicated and Formaggio Kitchen has an informative blog on this subject.

And so, we headed home, the rail links worked perfectly and Siân was in plenty for the necessary child collections.

Finally, a big ‘thank you’ to Siân for thinking up and organising this day out for us. I liked the art, even though I know little about it, and I loved the cheese. I also rather enjoyed being in London, perhaps we should go there again. I have called this post London (1), so maybe there will be a London (2).

Eating the Algarve 2023

A Complete 2022 Re-write and Update of the 2011 Post of the Same Name with Many Additions and Improvements from 2023

Introduction

Portugal

For me food ranks high among the pleasures of travel. Eating local may involve endless mutton in Mongolia (there is no choice) or two kebabs a day in Iran (I hear menus have diversified since 2000) but also the multifarious delights of Thailand, China, Vietnam, India, Malaysia (this list could be much longer) and, closer to home, Portugal.

We first visited the Algarve, Portugal’s southernmost region, in 1982, returned several times in the 1990s and have not missed a year this century (except 2020, the Baleful Year of Covid). I admire the way the locals accept that, for a part of the year at least, they are a minority in their own town, yet deal calmly and honestly with the invading hordes. I love the October warmth, the sunshine sparkling on the sea, the colours of the bougainvillea trailing across freshly painted white villas, but most of all I love the food.

The Algarve (Carvoeiro underlined) and its position in the Iberian Peninsula (shaded red in inset)

Portugal is often thought of as a Mediterranean country. Portuguese is a Latin language, the climate, particularly in the Algarve is Mediterranean as is the food. Tomatoes, garlic and peppers are important while olive oil is the essential cooking medium, condiment and salad dressing. All it lacks is a Mediterranean coast.

Warm and blue, but definitely the Atlantic Ocean, not the Mediterranean Sea

The Algarve is a tourist region and thus prey to foreign influences - tapas and sangria from Spain, salmon from northern Europe and (2022’s fashion) ceviche from South America. Carvoeiro, our Algarve base for the last 18 years, also offers Chinese, Indian, Thai and Nepalese cuisine – and all-day English Breakfast should that be the limit of your horizons. There are an increasing number of tapas, Italian and ‘Mediterranean’ restaurants, but the majority could still be described as tipico, where fresh, local ingredients are treated with respect.

Carvoeiro

I have nothing against Indian restaurants or ceviche, but this post is about Portuguese food, mostly with a distinct Algarve accent. It is not fine dining (though the Algarve has its Michelin starred restaurants), nor exclusively about restaurant food, it is about good food at everyday prices – something Portugal does supremely well.

Breakfast

We do not go out for breakfast, and there is nothing special about a Portuguese breakfast, but I must crowbar in a mention of presunto. Portuguese has two words for ham, fiambre is wet cured ham, pink, flaccid and forgettable while presunto is air cured – very like the Spanish Serrano Ham. Of the many ways to enjoy presunto, none is better than smeared with a warm, runny egg-yolk.

Presunto, a sadly broken fried egg and an over-large breakfast

Although we eat presunto for breakfast regularly, this is not a regular breakfast, this is the final day, 'clear the fridge' breakfast - well, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Morning Snacks

Coffee and cake! A section of I Don’t have a Sweet Tooth but… is dedicated to Portuguese coffee and cake. I shall not repeat myself here, but I cannot resist a picture of coffee with a pastel de nata, my absolute favourite.

Cafe con leite and a pastel de nata

It does not look much, but melts away leaving a legacy of lovely, lingering flavours. It’s like Portugal, not always showy but full of depth and richness.

Light Lunch

As will become obvious in the 'main courses' section, we do occasionally go out for lunch, but not for a 'light lunch' - keeping it 'light' would be nigh on impossible. But to control a regime noticeably leaning towards over-indulgence, light lunches are a necessity. We need salad - lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, garlic, a sprinkle of herbs, a dash of vinegar and a drizzle (or downpour) of olive oil - and in the Algarve what better accompaniment than sardine paté.

Salad and sardine paté

Or a few slices of chouriço…

Chouriço Piquante da Beira (spicy sausage from the Beira region)

…or maybe some cheese, though cheese is often eaten at the start of a meal. Portuguese cheeses can look similar, most are semi-hard but some are mild and some are not. Cow, goat and sheep milk are used and generate a spectrum of cheesy flavours. The biggest problem is to know what you are buying. Most comes from Alentejo, the next district to the north or from the Azores, 1,000km out in the Atlantic.

Two cheeses

On the left is an Alentejo sheep cheese. It is close textured with a gentle flavour, but a pleasing tang in the finish. On the right an Azores cheese made with mixed cow, goat and sheep milk – I don’t know of anywhere else that mixes milks. It is soft and creamy with a delicate flavour but a sumptuous texture.

Main Courses

Fish and Other Denizens of the Deep

Some 100km West to East and 50km North to South, the Algarve is a roughly rectangular with the Atlantic Ocean on two sides. Unsurprisingly, it is blessed with the freshest of fish.

Dourada e Robalo. Sea Bream and Sea Bass are ubiquitous. The tourist-driven fashion of late is to fillet them, but they used to be plated whole....

Robalo, Casa Palmeira, Carvoeiro 2023

....and still are at Casa Palmeira in Carvoeiro.

Dourado, Casa Palmeira, Carvoeiro 2023

...while at the Restaurante Atlântida on the beach at Alvor, Lynne’s Dourada was filleted at the table by the waiter.

Dourada, Restaurante Atlântida, Alvor 2022

Sardinha. Sardines are available in (almost) every restaurant in the Algarve and are often the cheapest main course.

Since 1982 we have been making what has become a pilgrimage to the Algarve’s second city of Portimão to eat sardines. The scruffy trestle tables on the dock have long been tidied up, but ducking under an arch from where they used to be brings you to a small square where Dona Barca, an old-style restaurant with communal tables, grills fish in the open air. Since we discovered it with Brian and Hilary in 2001(ish) we have never felt the need to go anywhere else for our sardines.

Dona Barca 2022, with Brian and Hilary
Sardines, salad and boiled potatoes, so simple, so satisfying

It is a treat we have often shared with friends, usually Brian and Hilary. Dona Barca is inexpensive, the food is excellent (they have a full menu, it’s not just sardines) and it is one of very few restaurants we visit with as many Portuguese customers as tourists. Sadly, the long communal tables disappeared two years ago – more victims of Covid?

Espadarte. I like an occasional swordfish steak. At lunch at the Atlântida they offered an Espadarte Algarvia. There is no agreed definition of ‘Algarvia’ or ‘Algarve style’ but I expected something with tomatoes, peppers and garlic. What I got was different.

Swordfish with orange and almonds, Restaurante Atlântida, Alvor 2022

Oranges and almonds are important local products, but I was not prepared for a slab of fish to be doused in orange (juice and pulp) and sprinkled with toasted almonds. ‘Oranges and fish!' I thought, 'No! No! Thrice No!’ But, believe it or not, it was the best thing I ate all week. Like Lister’s triple fried egg, chilli, chutney sandwich it was all wrong, but perfect.

Perhaps there is a fashion growing here. This year (2023) I found a restaurant offering 'swordfish with coconut and passion fruit'. After discovering the pleasures of fish and passion fruit in Madeira earlier this year I thought I might try it, then I read the restaurant reviews and decided not to bother.

We lunched at the Atlântida at the suggestion of my (distant) cousin Ricky, long- time Algarve resident, fluent Portuguese speaker and now a Portuguese citizen. See Finding a Long Lost Cousin.

Ricky and me, Restaurante Atlântida, Alvor

Lula. Squid has long been a favourite of both of us. They were disappearing from menus a couple of years ago, but I am glad to see they are now making a strong recovery. This year’s squid (a portion of three) was, like, last year's eaten at the Bela Rosa in Carvoeiro.

Squid at the Bela Rosa, Carvoeiro, 2022

Perfecting squid is tricky. I am of the opinion that the very finest squid was served at Maria's, a breath of fresh air, proper Portugal and sensible pricing on the beach beyond Vale de Lobo/Quinta da Largo. After several decades of sterling service Maria sold up. The restaurant is still there, I believe the name is unchanged, but the new management is fully invested in the creeping Californication of the Algarve.

Lynne and a squid, Maria's, Quinta do Largo, 2011
Fish is always best eaten within sight of the sea

Polvo. We often ate  Octopus, more precisely, Polvo à lagareiro in Martins Grill in Carvoeiro, Sadly Jan (Martins) Zegers died some months before this photograph was taken and Martins's Grill is no more.

Polvo à lagareiro, Martin's Grill Carvoeiro 2019

Lagareiro is a style of cooking often applied to octopus, cod and more in which the grilled or roasted fish is brushed with olive oil.

Bacalhau. The Portuguese love affair with salt cod dates from the days before refrigeration. It was once the people’s major source of protein and there were, allegedly, 365 ways of cooking it, so it could be eaten every day. It remains popular, and has started to appear more often in tourist orientated restaurants. Sadly, Lynne was not delighted by her Bacalhau à Braga, the fish, she thought, was a little overcooked.

Lynne and Bacalhua à Braga, 2022

Arroz de Marisco. Seafood rice usually comes as a dish for two. A large earthenware bowl is placed on the table and, after the waiter has given it a judicious stir, you spoon out the contents, rice, langoustine, crabs, prawns, mussels and anything else that might have been in the market that day. Fingers are required to liberate tasty morsels from shells and it all gets wonderfully messy (bibs are normally provided).

Arroz con Marisco, Casa Palmeira, Carvoeiro, 2023

In 2022 we tried out the Marisqueira Portugal in Carvoeiro. It is, I think, new and is trying to be a touch more elegant and inventive than the opposition.

Marisqueira Portugal, Carvoeiro

They fiddled with a classic, the broth was not the usual tomato-based delight, apart from the clams and mussels the seafood was served separately and they used short-grained rice instead of long. They almost got away with it, the flavours were good, the crab legs were very fine indeed – and they helpfully provided crackers to provide easy access to the sweetest of meat in the spindly legs – but if you mess with a classic, you really have to nail it, not just be a bit different.

Lynne and a langoustine, Marisqueira Portugese, Carvoeiro

Ensopado de Enguia.The restaurants we use in Carvoeiro and along the coastal strip describe themselves as 'tipico' but their clientele is largely tourists and however tipico they want to be, they all have an eye on what will appeal to the north European palate.

This year (2023) my cousin Ricky (see above) took us to the restaurant in her village. She told us they feed local workers on weekday lunchtime and on Sundays (when we visited) people drive up from Portimão (the nearby city) for country food. Wherever the clientele came from they were overwhelmingly Portuguese

A Oficina, Mexilhoeira Grande

A Oficina gave us access to several dishes that do not make it onto the tourist menus and I could not resist trying ensopado de enguia, eel stew. Disks of perfectly cooked eel floated in a somewhat rustic sauce consisting largely of blitzed tomatoes strongly flavoured with coriander. It was accompanied by a plate of chips and fried bread, which would have been perfect if I spent my day labouring in the fields, but for an idle so-and-so like me, was more carbohydrate than I needed. The eel, though was delicious, the white, delicately flavoured flesh falling willingly from the spine.,

Eel stew, A Oficina, Mexilhoeira Grande, 2023

Amêijoas. Clams have always been important in Portugal but the last twenty years have seen serious over-fishing. Amêijoas à Bulhão Pato, clams in a garlicky broth, was once a cheap starter, it still appears on menus but now costs more than most main courses.

You can still find a bag of fresh clams at a reasonable price in a supermarket and cook them at home.

The former contents of a bag of clams

I have never essayed Amêijoas à Bulhão Pato, but I borrow from the French and do Amêijoas marinière (to mix languages and mess with a classic!). Using a big pot, I soften up some onion and plenty of garlic in olive oil, pour in a bottle or so of white wine and add salt and pepper and a handful of herbs. Using a quality wine is a waste, but I found this in the same supermarket…

Cheap wine!

… a tetra-brick of white wine from Badajoz across the border in Spain. It cost €0.95, was barely drinkable but perfect for clams.

Let the wine boil a little, throw in the clams, give them a shake and job is done.

Clams marinière frites
I messed with a classic, but I only had to please my resident food critic and she had no complaint.

A cataplana is a cooking vessel unique to the Algarve. It consists of a pair of hinged copper shells which enclose the ingredients sealing in all the moisture and all the flavour. It can also be put on the heat either way up. A fish cataplana, usually serving two, will contain several pieces of fish - whatever is available that day - and, typically, prawns and mussels. The smell when your cataplana is opened at the table is memorable.

Cataplana, Vimar, Carvoeiro 2011

The cataplana in the picture was expertly cooked, but among the fish is a slab of Scottish farmed salmon, and in front are New Zealand green-lipped mussels. Local produce is excellent and promoting it is even more important now than it was in 2011.

Another dish traditionally cooked in a cataplana is pork and clams, and in 2022 I enjoyed them in an individual cataplana at the Casa Algarvia in Carvoeiro. This apparently strange combination was made in the Algarve, but undoubtedly designed in heaven.

Pork and clams in a cataplana, Casa Algarvia, Carvoeiro. 2022

As that last cataplana involved pork, it is time for the meat.

Meat

Borrego. Throughout the Algarve there are patches of scrubby land with a few sheep and a shepherd. The shepherds are uniformly the sort of old men who feel they still need to do something useful (an affliction I have never suffered from). Lynne felt that as they went to so much effort it was rude not to eat some lamb.

Lynne’s rack of lamb at the Casa Algarvia was top quality meat, perfectly cooked. It was marred, though, by a squirt of commercial mint sauce at the side of the plate, partly over some salad. I suspect unimaginative British tourists have for years been telling Portuguese restaurateurs that ‘we always eat lamb with mint sauce’ and this is the result. Mint sauce has its place in a British-style ‘roast dinner’, but it is just inappropriate here.

Rack of lamb, Casa Algarvia, Carvoeiro, 2022

Frango Piri-piri. Chicken piri-piri was on (almost) every menu in the Algarve long before Nando’s existed. That abomination was co-founded in South Africa by Fernando Duarte, a Portuguese Mozambiquan who gave the dish the fast-food franchise treatment and aligned himself with the other gastro-criminals of KFC, MacDonalds and the rest. There are mercifully very few fast-food franchises in Portugal (though there is a Burger King with a ludicrously large sign in Lagoa) and chicken piri-piri is cooked individually by each restaurant in their own style. It is traditionally our lunch on our last day in Portugal.

Chicken piri-piri, O Barco, Carvoeiro 2022

Portugal and the chilli: a small digression

The chilli pepper was first cultivated in Mexico some 10,000 years ago. Several millennia later It was taken to Asia by Portuguese traders, arriving in India in the late 16th century and recasting the whole cuisine of south-east Asian. Vindaloo, the ultimate test of British diner's machismo, originated in the Portugal's Indian colony of Goa, as an example Portuguese/Indian fusion.

They took the variety that would become piri-piri to Africa and it made its way to the Portuguese mainland from their colony of Mozambique. Chilli does not appear in traditional Portuguese cookery but sausages (chouriço piquante) and sardine paté with piri-piri are widely available, as is piri-piri sauce, suggesting it is much used in home cookery.

Desserts

Dessert menus usually involve a large glossy folded card produced by a manufacturer of synthetic desserts and ice creams. Stuck somewhere on the card there will always be a small, sometimes hand-written, list of the grown-up desserts, many of them made in-house. Ever present is pudim flan, a rich eggy caramel custard, which is perfect when you have too little room for anything heavier. Sometimes it is just perfect.

Lynne and a pudim flan, Martin's Grill, Carvoeiro 2019

If you have a little more space left, there are bolos (cakes) and tartes (translation unnecessary) made from local produce including (but not limited to) almonds, figs…

Fig and almond roll, Atlântida, Alvor, 2022

… carobs, oranges…

An amazingly light yet full flavoured orange cake, and an affogato of sorts
O Barco, Carvoeira, 2022

and apples. The cakes are usually made with one egg more than would be normal elsewhere and are universally wonderful.

And there is always the mysterious little package known as Dom Rodrigo.

Dom Rodrigo, Marisqueirra Portugal, Carvoeiro, 2022
Very enjoyable, but rather small once you get in there

Extroduction

I have omitted nibbles and starters, and the mandatory eating of olives that precedes every meal, but I have already gone on too long and should stop now.

Bread, olives and white port - well why not?

*This is not an exhaustive list, I could have mention France, Italy, Laos, Moldova, Albania and many others.

Algarve Posts

1: The Algarve: Delights and Depredations(2010)
2: The Algarve: Random Delights (2012)
3: Mexilhoeira Grande and a Long Lost Cousin (2013)
4: The West Coast (2013)
5: Lagos (2014)
6: Castro Marim and Vila Real do Santo António (2015)
7: The Boxes of Carvoeiro (2016)
8: Mertola and Alcoutim: Strongholds by the Guadiana River (2017) - Also under Alentejo
9: Silves, Former Capital of the Algarve (2018)
10: Eating the Algarve (2022)
11: Drinking the Algarve (2022)