Here is a copy of the weekly newspaper column I write for the Western Morning News and Western Daily Press - as published on Saturday October 12, 2024. I then cut and pasted it into an A.I. app asking it NOT to rewrite anything but to present it in a way which would be more fitting for this website. It kind of did what I asked, but disregarded my request and totally rewrote the thing. I put the two versions up here for anyone who is interested in what AI can and will do. I wonder how many of us find ourselves belonging to the See How The Other Half Live Club? In parts of the South West, where gleaming new glass and steel villas loom above the sea, it is a relevent question. This week I walked through a Cornish woodland where, years ago, plots of land had obviously been sold off because they happened to have leafy views of the ocean. You probably know the sort of place I mean - there are lots of them around the South West coastline. Places where individuals or local builders bought little slices of maritime property sometime after either the First or Second World War, so that they could knock-up a cheap retirement bungalow or a pleasant little villa.  But, like so many of the cars built decades ago that we now regard as being slow, unsafe, under-powered and absolutely tiny, such homes are no longer regarded as fit for purpose. The moment an old one falls empty and is put up for sale, it is either partly demolished or razed to the ground completely to make way for a huge new pleasure palace. In this particular woodland near St Ives, I must have walked past a couple of dozen such properties and every one of them was in the process of being massively refurbished or totally redeveloped.  I cannot believe there can be a builder west of the Tamar who doesn’t have enough work to last the next 20 years. Indeed, judging by the names on the sides of vans, there aren’t enough Cornish builders to go round. I saw firms which had come down from the Midlands.   This move to develop every last inch of anywhere and everywhere in our region that’s even remotely scenic, is simply a modern day reality. I am not making a political point and I can’t see there’s anything that can be done about it, least of all sit here moaning. But the thought that, to give one example, a young Cornish fisherman will never be able to live near the very ocean that gives him a living… Well, somehow that doesn’t sit well with one’s notion of how things should be. Think of a picture-perfect holiday destination like a Westcountry fishing village, complete with boats bobbing in the harbour, and you somehow assume that the humanity which caused the place to exist in the first place will be present and correct. These are proper communities, not theme parks. Local people should live and work there, and should always be an integral part of the picture. But that’s the picture-postcard version. What you don’t see is the fisherman driving 10 miles before dawn to reach his boat from the nearest inland town that provides social housing. And you don’t really want to see it, because it’s not part of our preferred narrative. In our minds, a fishing village automatically represents a community of local people - doing all the things locals do, like talking in dialect, drinking pints in pubs or singing hearty Wesleyan hymns in chapels. Maybe even eating saffron cake. It’s the way we like the story. Have you been to St Ives recently? Someone told me there’s just one local fishing family remaining in the Downalong, the quaint old area close to the boats. Whether that’s true I don’t know, but as I walked through that wonderful tangle of alleyways this week, I could believe it. All very different when I first stalked around those narrow streets as a young journalist just over 50 years ago. Fisher-families and artists seemed to make up 90 percent of the population. I knew some of them and, being young and stupid, did a little too much in the way of socialising with them. Visiting St Ives in 1974 was a full-on sensory experience, sometimes accompanied by a thick head in the morning. Nothing, though, that a windy walk to Zennor couldn’t cure.  I used to stay with a friend who was among the more eccentric daubers of paint. He created seascapes in oils at night, but worked under the name Brian Quicksketch as a portrait artist on the beach by day… A long weekend in that town, his company, was like spending 76 hours on a different planet. One minute I’d be drinking with some local fishermen having bought a dozen fresh mackerel on the quay, the next I was being introduced to world-famous potter Bernard Leach at a bohemian party.  It was all dazzling and colourful and very different from any other place I knew. Back then, St Ives had more character on the end of its brush or in a single one of its lobster pots than all the Home Counties could boast collectively.  Today, some might say it represents an annex of the South East, but with waves and brighter light. Anodyne. Fabulous to look at it, but with no one really at home. A granite-built theme park, perhaps.  While I’m wallowing in an old geezer’s dose of nostalgia, I also hark back to the early 1970s and remember the welcome inauguration and rapid growth the Campaign for Real Ale. All these years later I wonder if there shouldn’t be a Campaign for the Real Westcountry.  But of course it wouldn’t work. You can’t wind the clock back. Instead, I’ve joined the See How The Other Half Live club. NOW HERE’S THE A.I. VERSION Introduction Have you ever wondered how many of us belong to the "See How The Other Half Live" club? It’s a relevant question, especially in parts of the South West where gleaming glass and steel villas loom above the sea. The Evolution of Cornish Coastline: From Bungalows to Luxury Villas In my recent walk through a Cornish woodland near St Ives, I saw a stark change—plots of land sold years ago, once hosting quaint retirement bungalows, now giving way to sprawling, luxurious homes. These transformations represent the region's evolving relationship with its scenic coastline, where old homes are increasingly being replaced with "pleasure palaces." The Builders of Tomorrow and the Housing Demand Walking through this area, every property seemed to be in some stage of redevelopment, showcasing the high demand for skilled builders—many of whom are even coming from outside Cornwall to meet the increasing need. Modern Reality vs. Traditional Coastal Communities This development push may be seen as a reality of modern times, but it also raises concerns. For instance, young local fishermen are now priced out of living near the very ocean they depend on for their livelihoods. It creates a contradiction—fishing villages, once authentic local communities, are becoming inaccessible to the people who made them. Tourist Narratives vs. Real Life Picturesque coastal towns like St Ives have become synonymous with postcard imagery of Westcountry life. Visitors often imagine locals actively living and thriving in these areas, singing folk songs in pubs and sharing village stories. However, the reality is different; the charm is often a façade. Reflections on St Ives Then and Now St Ives holds special memories for me. When I roamed its narrow streets as a young journalist over 50 years ago, it was full of artists and fisher families. Staying with a friend, I was able to experience the raw creativity and the vibrant local culture that defined this town. But today, that authenticity is slipping away, replaced by holiday homes and high-end renovations. The Disappearing Character of the Westcountry Once, St Ives represented an incredible community where the artistic spirit and the seafaring way of life thrived side by side. Now, some view it as an extension of the South East—a beautiful but hollow place, an annex with waves and bright light, yet with few true locals left to call it home. A Call for the Real Westcountry My reflections leave me longing for a "Campaign for the Real Westcountry"—an effort akin to the Campaign for Real Ale that started in the early 1970s. It’s about preserving the character, culture, and communities that make this place special. But, perhaps, such efforts wouldn’t be enough. You cannot rewind time; maybe all we can do is watch as members of the "See How The Other Half Live" club.

When in Rome... well, you know the rest. In the spirit of embracing local culture, when I was down in Cornwall last week, I did as the locals do—I bought some fresh, local fish. Why wouldn't I? Cornwall, with its coastline jutting into the Atlantic, is teeming with an abundance of fabulous, fresh, and sustainable seafood, arguably the finest in the UK. It would be a shame not to take some home! One of the best places to source fresh seafood in Cornwall is the Great Cornish Food Store , located in Truro. This store is more than just a grocery shop—it's a celebration of all things Cornish. The seafood counter there is, quite simply, one of the best you'll find this side of the English Channel. The Great Cornish Seafood Weekend: A Unique Event Last week, while visiting the store, I learned about an exciting upcoming event: the Great Cornish Seafood Weekend . Happening on 26th and 27th October , this event will be showcasing the delights of fresh, sustainable seafood from Cornwall’s waters. There will be live demonstrations, talks, tasting stations, a seafood bar, children’s activities, and even sea shanties! It's the store's first large-scale event, and if Ruth Huxley, the store’s founder and CEO, is behind it, you can be sure it will be something special. Ruth Huxley is a visionary who set out in 2016 to create an outlet dedicated to promoting the best of Cornish food and drink. Her goal for the Great Cornish Seafood Weekend is to celebrate the fishing industry, which is the lifeblood of many coastal communities in Cornwall. "We want to shine a light on our brilliant fishing industry," Ruth explained, "and encourage people to explore lesser-known species and different ways of using them." The Challenges of Seafood Consumption in the UK The seafood industry faces unique challenges—from the geographical distance between producer and consumer to a lack of knowledge about how to prepare and cook the different types of fish available. Because of these hurdles, only a fraction of the seafood caught in UK waters is actually eaten here. Events like the Great Cornish Seafood Weekend aim to bridge this gap by bringing the fishing industry and consumers closer together. It's been 40 years since chef Keith Floyd first sang the praises of West Country seafood on his TV series, and yet, as a nation, we still lag behind our European neighbours when it comes to eating fresh fish. The Great Cornish Food Store is working to change that by making the seafood accessible and educating people on how to enjoy it. During the Seafood Weekend, their cafe will transform into a seafood bar, serving delectable dishes like lobster bisque, monkfish satay skewers, classic crab sandwiches, pan-fried squid , and the freshest fish and chips made with gurnard. A Collaborative Celebration of Cornish Seafood The event is a collaboration between the Great Cornish Food Store and the Cornish Fish Producers’ Association (CFPO) , which represents over 160 member vessels. CFPO's chief executive, Chris Ranford, will also be speaking at the event about the importance of the fishing industry to Cornwall’s economy. "The Great Cornish Seafood Weekend is a great opportunity to celebrate how crucial the seafood sector is to our economy," Chris said. He highlighted the variety available, including sustainably caught sardines , hake from an MSC-accredited fishery, and megrim sole (also known as "Cornish sole"), which offers a tasty, affordable alternative to Dover sole. Meet the Experts at the Seafood Weekend Throughout the weekend, attendees will have the chance to learn from some of the leading seafood experts, including Pete Murt , head chef at Rick Stein’s flagship The Seafood Restaurant , and Stephane Delourme , former head chef at Rick Stein Restaurants, who will be demonstrating the art of shucking and cooking oysters. Acclaimed fishmonger Annie Seabourne from My Fish Kitchen will also be on hand to show how to cook, pick, and enjoy crab. The Cornwall Wildlife Trust and their Good Seafood Guide will provide advice on sustainable fish choices, and children can enjoy mobile rock pooling led by the Rock Pool Project . The Great Cornish Seafood Weekend is part of the Agrifood Sector Development Project and is supported by the Good Growth programme , funded by the Government’s UK Shared Prosperity Fund. For more information on the Great Cornish Seafood Weekend or to book your free tickets for chef demonstrations, visit www.greatcornishfood.co.uk . Recipe: Salt-Baked Red Gurnard Gurnard is a fantastic fish that has become increasingly popular in recent years. This salt-baked red gurnard recipe brings out the best in its flavor: Ingredients: Whole gutted gurnard, one per person Stalks of flat leaf parsley and thyme Ground sea salt Instructions: Stuff the body cavity of the gurnard with parsley and thyme. Sprinkle a layer of salt in a roasting pan, place the gurnard on top, then cover it with more salt until fully enclosed. Bake at 200°C for 25 minutes. Allow to cool slightly, crack the salt crust, and peel it away from the fish. Remove the skin and serve the flaky, delicate fish with a fresh salad or chips. The Future of Cornish Seafood Cornwall is blessed with some of the best seafood in the world, and the Great Cornish Food Store is helping to lead the charge in making sure more of us appreciate it. Events like the Great Cornish Seafood Weekend are crucial in educating consumers and bridging the gap between the incredible fish that comes out of Cornwall's waters and the dinner plates across the UK. So why not come down and experience the very best of Cornish seafood for yourself? It's a feast for the senses and an opportunity to learn more about the rich heritage that Cornwall's fishing industry has to offer.

There are place names in the great European atlas that are enough to make the discerning traveller scuttle in the opposite direction – for example, having travelled to almost every corner of the EU in 30 years of writing travel articles, I’ve always managed to avoid the Algarve thinking it to be overcrowded and over-exploited. But one generalises at one’s peril. I am sure there are parts of Portugal’s southern coastline which are overbearing in certain seasons, but the south west corner is less developed than the rest, much of it is beautiful, and outside high summer the place is an absolute joy. I was recently sunbathing on a vast and picturesque beach down near Sagres – which is Portugal’s version of Land’s End – on a day when my Exmoor home was quivering under three inches of snow.  Apart from my wife and me, the warm sandy beach was completely and utterly empty – not a soul came near the place in the two hours we were there. I needed the afternoon sunny snooze because we’d just partaken of a huge and wonderful seafood lunch in a restaurant which contained half a dozen local folk and not a single tourist. And here’s the real joy: this warm and lovely escape-chute from freezing Britain is less than a two hour flight from the UK. I take back all I’d ever imagined about the Algarve – but would not have been in the position to if it hadn’t been for a friend who is one of the doyens of the British travel trade. This particular chap is a connoisseur of small boutique hotels – the kind where they pamper you in lovely settings without having the annoying hordes come knocking at the door.  “You must go to Quinta Bonita , near Lagos, in the South West Algarve” he told me. “It is beautiful – there are only eight suites located in an old family house set in enchanting gardens.” He was correct in every detail. Quinta Bonita won my own personal award for Secret Find of the Year. There are lots of flights to Faro and from there it’s an easy hour long blast along the main Algarve motorway to Lagos, which is the last town before you get to Portugal’s abrupt, wild and rocky south west corner.  Lagos came to prominence during the 15th century when the Portuguese were the planet’s greatest explorers – it’s said locally that the port was as important during the Age of Discovery as Cape Canaveral was during the early years of space exploration. It’s a fascinating place – but more about it later because we must just check-in at Quinta Bonita, which located five minutes west of town near the coastal village of Luz.  Set back on a hillside about a mile from the sea, the spacious property was designed and built by a successful Yorkshire businessman who obviously fancied creating for himself a kind of sunlit gentleman’s estate. Later it was sold to a lovely family who gave it a great deal of tender loving care. Some years ago they made the decision to turn the place into a small boutique hotel: “We wanted to maintain the laid back and friendly atmosphere so that people instantly feel at home and leave refreshed and revitalised,” the owners told me. It was a real hands-on affair with members of the extended family lending a hand during the year long conversion .  And it’s all very tastefully done indeed – our suit boasted a huge double bed (all beds have Egyptian linen), flat screen TV, two balconies and a vast bathroom complete with a bubbling hot tub style bath.  We looked out over the hotel’s heated pool to the exquisite gardens in which rare birds like hoopoes cavorted in the sunshine. Anyway, the Algarve is extremely rich in restaurants – and one of the delights of visiting this coast is to go out and eat. Lagos alone has countless eateries and you can be fed in any manner you please – from basic cafes where local fishermen refuel to high-end joints that know how to charge.  We went to a couple of thoroughly charming local restaurants during our short break - Restaurante do Camilo is perched above a fantastic beach just outside Lagos and specialises in local fish dishes. It’s most famous for its amazing views looking east back along the Algarve, but it was pitch black the winter’s night we were there so we concentrated on the food, which is good, generous, simple fare.  On another evening we went into the heart of town where the incredibly busy Adeja Tipica A Forja was bursting with neon light and local folk enjoying yet more seafood. Again, best go hungry – my dish of tiny local clams would have fed an entire family. I liked Lagos a lot. Two main cobbled shopping streets run parallel to the estuary on the banks of which the town is built and there are numerous sites of historical interest that will keep you absorbed for a day. I would definitely recommend a visit to the large riverside market where they sell fresh fish – but then I tend to recommend local markets in every travel article I write.  The name Lagos is Celtic in origin but was first colonised by the Carthaginians, who recruited Celtic tribesmen in their war against the Romans. Later it became colonized by the armies from Italy becoming part of the Roman province Lusitania – there are still plenty of remains from that period to be seen to this day.  Delightful though the town is, I’d say it’s the far south west corner that really earns all this region’s brownie points. From Lagos west the sandy, cliff-bordered coast is punctuated by a handful of sleepy fishing villages which I reckon are the real charm of the area.  Places like Burgau, Salema, Figuera and Zavial beckon few visitors, yet are the jewels in the Algarve’s crown. We took to calling into such places for a quiet drink at the end of the afternoon and watching the fishermen come in from the sea.  These are all cove fishermen who must haul their boats up the beach, but at Sagres things get altogether more serious. The deep water port here is home to dozens of sizeable trawlers and a large fish-market – and it really is the Portuguese version of Newlyn, tucked safely away from the protection of the nation’s Land’s End.  The lonely rocky spur is known as Cabo Vincente and it is capped by a giant lighthouse. In true Land’s End style it rained heavily when we went out there for some sightseeing, so we beat a hasty retreat to Sabres where Chantelle had recommended we lunch at the locally famous Tasca restaurant.  As this place is a just a flying fish’s jump from the harbour it’s not surprising that it specialises in seafood. And what truly fabulous seafood it is. Don’t expect to leave for a couple of hours – and don’t expect to have room for a smidgen of food for days after your visit. I had a kind of prawn risotto that was the most filling thing I’ve eaten in years.  I am leaving the best until last. All this coast a few miles west of Lagos is a national park, but it’s where it rounds the corner and begins its journey north that the littoral becomes breathtakingly empty beautiful.  Past the little agricultural town of Vila do Bispo the landscape gets wilder and more scenic – and the thing to watch out for are the occasional tiny side roads that disappear through the woods and hills to your left. These, inevitably, lead down to vast and stupendously wonderful surfing beaches that would make the average Cornish wave-rider turn green with envy.  This must be one of the least spoilt coasts in all of Europe – no wonder I’m swallowing all I ever thought about the Algarve. We drove home via an inland route past occasional villages through low wooded mountains wondering why we’d never heard of any of this magical land before.  Quinta Bonita is the ideal base from which to explore the area and having taken three decades of travel writing to discover it I’ll be making amends by going again.

It was a burning hot morning the day we visited this famous market situated in the heart of Provence. If I’m honest, I was beginning to dread facing the crowds and overheated streets, but then, I’d never been to L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue before. The first thing I realised was that it features a great many cooling waterways, and these really did have the effect of reducing the sun’s heat.  L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue is a picturesque town which plays host to one of the region's most popular Sunday markets. Known for its blend of antiques and local crafts, the market is also a paradise for food lovers. With stalls overflowing with fresh produce, regional specialties, and artisanal drinks, the market showcases the rich culinary traditions of Provence. A Culinary Journey Through Provence The market's food section, centred around Place de la Liberté, is a vibrant, bustling area where vendors display an impressive array of fresh, seasonal produce. Piles of sun-ripened tomatoes, fragrant herbs, and colourful peppers set the scene, while stacks of melons and baskets of cherries reflect the changing seasons. The fruit and vegetables are for the most part locally grown, and the vendors are happy to offer tips on preparation or share stories about the farms where the produce originates. If you are enjoying this article you might also like The Perfect Plum Cheeses and Charcuterie Cheese lovers will find themselves in a foodie heaven - there’s just about everything imaginable from creamy goat cheeses typical of the region to aged varieties with intense flavours. The selection of charcuterie is equally tempting, with local sausages, pâtés, and terrines made from recipes passed down through generations. Many stalls also sell olives and tapenades, staple condiments of the Provençal table that pair perfectly with fresh baguettes available from the market’s bakers. Freshly Prepared Foods One of the highlights of the market is the array of ready-to-eat foods, perfect for those who want to sample the local cuisine on the spot. You’ll find vendors roasting chickens on open spits, their golden skin crisped and seasoned with Provençal herbs. Nearby, other stalls offer socca, a savoury chickpea pancake originating from Nice, cooked on large griddles and served hot with a dash of pepper. For a quick snack, try the fougasse, a Provençal flatbread often filled with olives, herbs, or cheese. Crepe stands are also popular, offering both sweet and savoury options filled with Nutella, fresh fruit, ham, or cheese, satisfying any craving you might have during your market stroll. Artisanal Drinks and Local Wines The market also offers a fine selection of local wines and artisanal drinks that reflect the unique terroir of Provence. Wine merchants showcase bottles from nearby vineyards, including rosés, whites, and reds that pair perfectly with the market’s fresh foods. Many vendors offer tastings, providing an opportunity to sample different varieties before making a purchase. Beyond wine, there are stalls selling locally produced fruit juices, craft beers, and the anise-flavoured spirit pastis. Freshly squeezed juices, made from seasonal fruits, offer a refreshing way to cool down on warmer days. Sweet Treats and Baked Goods For those with a sweet tooth, the market does not disappoint. Stalls brimming with pastries, cakes, and confections catch the eye. Tarte tropézienne, a local brioche filled with creamy custard, is a must-try. Other stalls offer colourful macarons, flaky croissants, and an array of nougats and candied fruits. Honey is another specialty, often infused with lavender, thyme, or rosemary, reflecting the herbs that grow abundantly in the region. Jars of jams made from apricots, figs, and berries line the shelves, showcasing the abundant fruit harvests of Provence. The Sunday market at L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue is quite simply a feast for the senses, especially for those who appreciate good food and drink. It’s more than just a place to shop; it’s an opportunity to engage with local producers, discover traditional Provençal flavours, and enjoy a leisurely morning in one of the most charming settings in the region. Whether you’re there to stock up on fresh ingredients or simply to sample the tastes of Provence, the market provides a delightful immersion into the local food culture.

Anhui Province, in eastern China, often sits in the shadow of its more famous culinary neighbours such as Jiangsu and Zhejiang. However, its cuisine, known as Hui cuisine (徽菜), offers a distinctive flavour profile that is said to reflect the rugged landscapes, abundant rivers, and rich history of the region. Anhui’s culinary traditions are deeply connected to its geography, drawing on local ingredients and time-honoured techniques that emphasise simplicity, freshness, and the skilful use of natural flavours. The trouble is, if you are on a press trip to the province with a great many other people, you are probably only going to eat buffet-style breakfasts, lunches and dinners - which, alas, is what we did for a week recently. You do get some of the regional specialities featured in those buffets, but mass cooking is never going to be as good as the stuff that’s made specially for just a handful of diners. If you are enjoying this article you might also like Madeira Food Geography and Ingredients: A Mountain’s Bounty It goes without saying that Anhui’s diverse terrain, ranging from the majestic Huangshan Mountains to the fertile plains of the Yangtze River, plays a significant role in its food culture. The province is known for its use of wild herbs, bamboo shoots, mushrooms, and fresh river fish, all of which are harvested from the surrounding hills, forests, and waterways. This connection to the land and water sets the stage for Anhui’s unique approach to cooking, where local ingredients are celebrated for their natural tastes. One of the most characteristic ingredients of Anhui cuisine is the use of foraged mountain herbs. Ingredients like dried lily bulbs, Chinese yam, and fern root powder are staples in local dishes. The province is also famous for its stone frog and turtle, which find their way into various stews and soups, showcasing a cuisine that often leans on the wild rather than the domesticated. Cooking Techniques: Slow and Steady Anhui cuisine is notable for its slow-cooking techniques, which aim to extract the essence of the ingredients. Stewing, braising, and steaming are frequently used methods, resulting in dishes that are rich in umami and deeply comforting. The emphasis is on enhancing the natural flavours without overpowering them, allowing each component of the dish to shine. A hallmark of Anhui cooking is its use of high-temperature oil to stir-fry ingredients briefly before simmering them in broth. This process locks in flavours and keeps the integrity of the ingredients intact, creating a blend of textures and tastes. Anhui’s chefs also make use of “wok cooking” to achieve the right balance of char and tenderness, an approach that distinguishes the cuisine from its neighbouring styles. Anhui’s Signature Dishes: A Taste of Tradition Li Hongzhang Hotchpotch (李鸿章杂烩) : Named after a famous Anhui statesman, this dish is a complex stew featuring a mix of chicken, sea cucumber, ham, bamboo shoots, and dried bean curd. The ingredients are braised together to create a rich, savoury broth that’s both hearty and subtly flavoured. It’s a dish that reflects Anhui’s tradition of combining local produce with diverse ingredients for a deeply satisfying meal. Stinky Mandarin Fish (臭鳜鱼) : Perhaps the most talked-about dish of Anhui, the stinky mandarin fish is not for the faint of heart. The fish is fermented before being steamed, giving it a distinctive aroma that can be off-putting to some but beloved by others. The fermentation process imbues the fish with a rich, umami depth, balanced by a mild sweetness in the sauce. It’s a dish that epitomises Anhui’s adventurous spirit and willingness to embrace bold flavours. Bamboo Shoots with Ham (火腿竹笋) : A simple yet classic dish, bamboo shoots with ham captures the essence of Anhui cuisine: fresh ingredients prepared in a straightforward manner that highlights their natural taste. The tender shoots absorb the smoky, salty notes of the ham, resulting in a dish that’s both earthy and elegant. Wuchang Chicken (无为熏鸡) : This smoked chicken dish is known for its delicate flavour and tender texture. The chicken is marinated, smoked with camphor and tea leaves, and then steamed to perfection. It’s a recipe that showcases Anhui’s preference for preserving the natural qualities of the ingredients while adding a subtle layer of complexity. Herbal Medicine and Culinary Crossovers Anhui cuisine is also closely linked to traditional Chinese medicine, with many dishes incorporating medicinal herbs. It’s not uncommon to find dishes infused with ingredients like wolfberry, ginseng, or angelica root, believed to provide health benefits ranging from improved digestion to enhanced vitality. This medicinal approach to cooking is a distinctive element of Anhui’s food culture, blurring the line between the culinary and the therapeutic. The use of herbs and traditional medicine in cooking isn’t just about health; it’s also about achieving a balance of flavours. Bitter, sweet, salty, and sour elements are carefully calibrated to create a harmonious dish that satisfies the palate while also nurturing the body. Anhui Cuisine on the Cusp of Discovery While Anhui cuisine may not enjoy the widespread recognition of other Chinese regional cuisines, its distinct flavours, rich heritage, and focus on local ingredients make it a culinary tradition worth exploring. From the extensive bamboo forests to the bustling markets of Hefei, the food of Anhui offers a window into the province’s soul: a place where the mountains, rivers, and forests converge on the plate in a celebration of natural simplicity and quiet sophistication. For those seeking a deeper understanding of China’s culinary diversity, Anhui’s food provides a compelling narrative that goes beyond the familiar, inviting diners to explore the flavours of a region deeply connected to its roots.

I am in the process of writing a plethora of articles about a recent trip to Anhui Province in China - but some reason I can’t quite put my finger on I decided to knock out a quick piece about Chinese motorway service stations and the truly weird and perhaps not so wonderful food that you can find to help fuel you on your way. Curiously, at none of the service stations we stopped at was anyone - not a single soul - eating in the restaurants. They were open. They were big and bright. They had smiling staff waiting to welcome anyone through the door. Maybe it was the wrong time of day. I don’t know. But they were empty. Unlike the snack shops which were all busy. But… What truly strange stuff was on the shelves - as you will see in my photographs. Cheese latte anyone? No thanks. The average Chinese service station represents no ordinary pit stop - these places open up a whole new world of snacks and culinary curiosities. 1. Instant Noodles: The Snack King of the Road Forget boring old sandwiches. In China, instant noodles reign supreme as the snack of choice for travellers. You’ll find entire aisles dedicated to every imaginable flavour, from spicy beef and pickled vegetable to seafood and mushroom. Some even come with extra packets of dried meat, veggies, or chilli oil for a little DIY customisation. Most service stations have hot water dispensers, so you can whip up a steaming bowl of comfort food in minutes. Fast, filling, and oddly satisfying when eaten in a car park surrounded by fellow noodle slurpers. 2. Tea Eggs: The Hard-Boiled Hero Tea eggs are a quintessential Chinese snack that you’ll find simmering away in a soy sauce bath at almost any service station. These eggs are boiled, cracked, and then steeped in a fragrant mixture of tea, soy sauce, and spices like star anise and cinnamon. The result? A marbled egg that’s savory, slightly sweet, and packed with umami goodness. The perfect pick-me-up when you’re tired and in need of something warm and portable. 3. Chicken Foot or Duck Neck: The Chewy Challenge Chicken feet and duck necks are a popular snack on the go. These chewy, spicy treats are marinated in a blend of Sichuan spices and often sold vacuum-packed, making them easy to snack on (if you don’t mind some mess). They’re not for the faint of heart (or the squeamish), but if you’re up for a culinary adventure, these spicy, chewy bites are worth a try. Just remember to have some wet wipes handy—you’ll need them. 4. Dried Tofu Strips: A Savory Snack with Substance If you’re looking for something protein-packed, dried tofu strips are your best bet. Flavoured with soy sauce, chilli, or five-spice, these chewy strips are a satisfying alternative to jerky. They’re high in protein, low in fat, and perfect for munching on the road without the greasy fingers that come with a bag of chips. Plus, you can almost convince yourself they’re healthy. Almost. 5. Fruit, But Make It Dried Dried fruit is a staple at Chinese service stations, but it’s not just the usual suspects like raisins or apricots. Instead, you’ll find everything from dried hawthorn slices (sweet and tart) to preserved plums (salty, sour, and an acquired taste). One of the more intriguing options is dried jujube, a small red fruit that tastes like a cross between a date and an apple. It’s a sweet snack that provides a nice contrast to all the savoury, spicy options. Dried, but still vacuum wrapped in plastic. The Chinese are obsessed when it comes to sealing all edible products in a tomb of plastic. 6. Buns and Dumplings: Steamed Perfection No Chinese pit stop would be complete without some form of steamed bun or dumpling. You’ll often find racks of warm, pillowy buns filled with pork, vegetables, or sweet red bean paste. There might also be dumplings or jiaozi, ready to be gobbled up with a dash of vinegar and chilli. These snacks are warm, comforting, and just the right size for a quick bite before hitting the road again. 7. Mystery Meat Skewers: Choose Your Own Adventure If you’re feeling brave, head to the skewer counter, where various meats are grilled, skewered, and doused in spices. From chicken hearts to beef tendons, you’ll find an array of skewers to satisfy your carnivorous cravings. Some are mild and savoury, while others are coated in a fiery blend of Sichuan peppercorns and chilli flakes. It’s the perfect snack for anyone who likes their food with a side of adrenaline. 8. Exotic Chips and Crisps: Flavours You Didn’t Know You Needed Think chips are all about salt and vinegar? Think again. In China, you can find crisps in flavors like cucumber, hot pot, grilled squid, and even Peking duck. It’s a chance to explore new flavor frontiers while sitting in your car, marvelling at how something so odd can be so addictively tasty. These crisps are crunchy, flavourful, and guaranteed to make your road trip a little more interesting. 9. Bubble Tea: Because Why Not? You might stumble upon a service station with its own bubble tea stand. The sweet, milky drink filled with chewy tapioca pearls is a beloved beverage all over China, and it’s perfect for a caffeine hit on the go. There are countless flavours to choose from, so whether you’re in the mood for classic black milk tea or something more adventurous like matcha or taro, there’s something for every boba enthusiast. Yuck! I hate this stuff! 10. Mystery Beverages: Good Luck, Have Fun Chinese service stations are packed with an array of drinks that range from the familiar to the bizarre. You might see brightly coloured bottles of herbal tea, functional drinks promising energy or beauty benefits, and cans of jelly drinks with chunks of aloe or coconut. Then there’s the infamous White Rabbit milk drink, based on the flavour of a nostalgic Chinese candy, which is creamy, sweet, and oddly reminiscent of childhood (for those who grew up with it). It’s always a gamble, but that’s half the fun. Final Thoughts: A Tasty Adventure Awaits Chinese motorway service stations are interesting, to say the least. Some might say they’re a snack lover’s paradise, offering everything from comforting classics to daring new flavours. I’d say that visiting one and relying on its food offer is something akin to visiting another planet. Ovaltine Cake anyone? No, no and no. Not for me anyway. Brings back too many memories of a hot sweet drink we used to endure as kids.

Not a sniff all summer… Strange, because in recent years there have been plenty of delicious edible fungi popping up in the South West thanks, perhaps, to the warm wet weather we get nowadays. At the time of writing, though, 2024 hasn’t been up to much.  In our normally fungi-filled neck of the woods, I have only managed to collect a handful of chanterelles and a small basket of field mushrooms. A don’t know about mushrooms being magic - moody mushrooms would be more accurate. As far as I can make out, not even science can explain why some years are good and some bad. If you enjoy this article you night also like to see Truffles in the English Countryside “But autumn has only just begun!” I hear you protest. For years I’ve found myself wondering why people insist that autumn is the only time for edible fungi. In our Exmoor valley, I have regularly picked hauls of field mushrooms as early as June - and the most fruitful time for the delicious chanterelle seems to be August and early September. Perhaps because we tend to get very wet weather here on Exmoor, a lot of edible fungi will have disappeared or turned into a horrible mush by the time autumn proper comes along.  However, a basket full of tasty field mushrooms did come my way just this week. And didn’t they taste good! You forget just how amazing wild mushrooms can be when you’re used to buying the commercial version in the supermarket. Not that I knock the shop-bought. I like the soft rounded flavour of both the white buttons and the chestnut mushrooms. But they do not compare to the flavour-bombs which you can find out in the fields.  When it comes to the common field mushroom (agaricus campestris), I am fortunate to live where I do. That’s because several of the local farms have gone organic in recent years and, out in the low-intensity grazing fields, you find far more in the way of a natural mushroom crop than we used to get when chemicals were used. There are places where we wouldn’t have seen a single wild mushroom compared to recent summers when there have been hundreds. Which, to a layman, seems to suggest there’s something good going on when the land is treated carefully and organically. When I was a boy, just before school term began after the summer holidays you’d often see Westcountry folk returning from fields around the village laden with trug-fulls of field mushrooms. Then the crop almost vanished altogether - and now, one hopes (and thanks to less intensive agricultural practices) they’re back again. I’ve always thought it odd, though, that we Brits traditionally avoided all edible fungi save for the common field mushroom. Of course, we are right to be apprehensive about the strange life-forms that pop up overnight. Some of the most deadly mushrooms in the world grow in abundance here. It’s not unusual in our valley to come across an entire grove of Death Caps, just a tiny morsel of which would be enough to kill you. Nevertheless, I’d love to know why it was that right across mainland Europe people would fight tooth and nail to get their hands on a chanterelle or a cep, while here generations of countryfolk would avoid such delights like the plague. Which is curious because both those mushrooms are easy to identify, while you can make an easy mistake with the common field mushroom.  There is a commonly found version called the Yellow Stainer (agaricus xanthodermus) and it will make you sick. According the great mushroom writer Roger Phillips, "The symptoms are sweating, flushing and severe stomach cramps - but only some people are affected." Beware of field mushrooms that have a yellow tint to them. Break one open and if the torn flesh turns yellow, forget it. Talking of death, the giant puffball (calvatia gigantea) is another delicious fungi that does tend to look like a whitened human skull when you occasionally find one popping up in a grassy field. When I started hunting fungi for culinary purposes 40 years ago they were fairly common, but in recent times these weird spheres that look like alien birth-pods left by a passing UFO, seemed to have vanished from the Earth’s surface.  Which has been a shame because, as I say, they do provide a tasty meal.  The squeaky white flesh doesn’t stay edible for long, it quickly turns to a bag of brown dust that is the promise of billions of puffballs to come. I read somewhere that a giant puffball contains between seven and 12 billion microscopic spores and it has been estimated that the planet would be many feet deep in nothing but puffball if every single spore came to fruition. I mentioned the cep, or penny bun (boletus edulis), an elusive but fabulous fungi that only seems to come to fruition in England for a few days every year, if at all. This solid, slightly sweet and nutty mushroom literally seems to erupt from the earth in a few magical hours. A day or so later, it will have turned to a maggot-ridden mush. With recents rains coming after what’s been quite a lengthy dry period, you might well find edible examples over the next few days.  Look for places where beech or oak trees protect a sunny, grassy spot. If you find a mushroom with a top that looks like a baker's bun, and a white stalk that fattens as it reaches the ground, then you may well have found the best lump of fungi you'll ever throw into a pan.  But… Check and double-check in books like Roger Philips' "Classic Mushrooms and other Fungi of Britain and Europe" before eating. The good thing about the cep, though is that all members of the boletus family have easy to recognise fruit bearing pores which form a foam rubber-type underbelly. When the cep is young and fresh its pores are an off-white - the one boletus you should not eat have red “foam rubber”. Yet others do weird things like turn blue once you've torn or cut the white flesh. Some of these you can cook for ages in boiling water to annul any toxins, but it’s easier to simply give them a miss altogether. Don’t take my word for it though - go foraging with an expert or at the very least check with a very good book.  Super fresh young ceps can be cut into thin shards to adorn and give a unique flavour to a salad of tossed cos lettuce and rocket leaves, dressed in the best vinaigrette and sprinkled with fresh parmesan. Slightly older ceps can be used in a wild mushroom risotto or in a sauce simply made with a little white wine, French mustard, cream and lots of fresh ground black pepper. Excellent with wild rabbit. Ageing ceps can be rescued if you cut off any sad looking bits along with the foam-type gills which turn a deeper yellow as the mushroom grows older. This tends to be a little acrid and not particularly pleasant to eat. Once you've saved the fleshy bits of stalk and brown-topped cap, slice them and dry on a rack near a fire or over a radiator. These can be stored in airtight jars and used in soups and stews throughout the winter. The apricot-smelling and delicious chanterelle is pretty safe and you shouldn’t come to any harm unless by accident you harvest the false chanterelle, which you really do not want to eat. I remember writing a news story about a Devon author who was receiving kidney dialysis treatment after eating those particular poisonous fungi. There is a difference between the two, and you really need to know what you’re doing before you’d dare put one into your mouth.  When the story about the writer broke, newspaper headlines once again had experts warning foragers not to eat anything they are absolutely 100 per cent certain of. Quite right too.  It can be difficult to distinguish between edible and non-edible fungi, so if you are a beginner it is important to seek expert advice. Along with getting expert guidance, one of the best ways to avoid poisoning yourself is to stick to a small group of fungi you can safely and easily identify. Why not join one of the organised foraging groups that sprout across this region every autumn?  COOKING PUFFBALL  Cooking a puffball is simple. Slice it as you would a loaf of bread and dip the slices in beaten egg, flour (which you season with salt, a lot of black pepper and maybe a dusting of cayenne) and breadcrumbs. Fry for a couple of minutes either side and enjoy one of the earthiest, most savoury foraged morsels you will ever eat.  Or you can be adventurous and invent a recipe. I made a multi-layered sandwich out of slices of puffball, dicing other bits of its flesh which I then fried with chopped dry cured bacon. This mix was then placed between layers of the sandwich, then the whole lot was covered in a cheese sauce before being baked. Half an hour later we had one of the most unique supper dishes I have ever eaten.

There’s nothing quite like stumbling upon a location you’ve never visited before and discovering it to be surprisingly scenic and enjoyable. It is particularly rewarding for West Country folk when we come across some delightful corner of the coast outside our region, because we tend to be pretty much spoilt when it comes to having lovely bays and beaches in our own backyard. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t expecting too much when, for family reasons, we found ourselves heading towards Bournemouth last weekend. Yes, I know the city has a famous beach - a long, sandy and rather wonderful one that can become pretty much overwhelmed on a sunny day in peak season. But crowded beaches don’t do it for me, even if they are extensive and formed of the finest sand.  However, a childhood friend of our son, a young man who has done very well for himself in financial terms, invited us to stay at his rather posh home situated at the far eastern end of Bournemouth beach - and it was this location which allowed us to discover the delights of a place called Hengistbury Head and the wonderful beach-hut community beyond which it so effectively shelters from the ravages of the English Channel.  That oh-we-do-like-to-be-beside-the-seaside location is called the Mudeford sand-spit and, speaking as a Bristol Channel boy, I reckon someone ought to be had up by the Trades Descriptions Act for that moniker. My local beaches master in mud - we have zillions of tonnes of the stuff. Mudeford, on the other hand, boasts naught but golden sand.  Mudeford is actually a coastal community split in two - it’s dual sand-spits are interrupted by the watery mouth of Christchurch Harbour - a large natural lagoon where you will indeed see the odd bit of mud among the many reedbeds and sandbanks which populate the 870 acre SSSI (Site of Special Scientific Interest). Needless to say, the combined estuaries of the rivers Stour and Avon make it a popular place for birdwatchers. And, as I say, the whole watery shooting match is protected from the prevailing gales in the English Channel by Hengistbury Head - which is something of a geological marvel in itself. Its layers of ironstone, clay, and sand are plain to see and they offer a glimpse of literally millions of years of history.  The area is one big nature reserve. Walk along the headland’s well-maintained paths and you’ll come across a diverse range of habitats, from heathland and grassland in the coastal acres to marshes and deep oak woodlands on the more sheltered inland side. The views from Warren Hill at the top of the headland are truly expansive, providing panoramas across Christchurch Harbour to the Isle of Wight as well as west down the length of Bournemouth’s beach all the way to Poole Head and Sandbanks. To quote the nature reserve’s website: “On this small headland you will find places that are windy, sheltered, wet, dry, muddy, sandy, stony, sunny, shady, flat, steep and salty. These diverse habitats create homes for over 500 plant species, 300 types of birds, a superb variety of insects, reptiles and small mammals.” The nature reserve offers more than just scenic walks. At the £1m visitor centre, with its grass roof and walls insulated with straw, you can learn about the area’s archaeological heritage, including its extensive use as a site during the Bronze Age. The first people to leave evidence of their existence came here in a warmer period towards the end of the last Ice Age, around 12,000 years ago. They were following the retreating ice sheet in search of new hunting grounds. Looking south from Warren Hill, those Bronze Age folk would have viewed a wide river valley issuing out onto a vast low plain. Sea levels were much lower - back then, apart from a few rivers it was dry land all the way to France. The place now known as the Isle of Wight would have been an hour’s walk away.  If you have a two-year-old toddler and a baby with you (and we did) the thing to do is stroll down the paved lane which runs a mile or so along the sheltered, inland, part of the headland to the Mudeford sand spit. This will take you through delightful woodlands and through the trees you will catch glimpses of the watery expanses of Christchurch harbour beyond. The sand-spit itself comes as a bit of a surprise crowned, as it is, with two lines of colourfully painted beach huts.  There are 346 huts altogether and I wonder how much these used to sell for when they were first built back in the 1930s? A few quid, I imagine - and I bet they were a working class luxury - the gentry wouldn’t have touched one with a barge-pole, let alone a bowsprit. Today, a quick search on the internet reveals how they fetch the best part of £-half-a-million! I’m looking at one for sale now, at just 16 feet by 13 feet in size, the asking price is £480,000.  Added to that you will have to pay over £4000 annually for the combined license fee and council tax. Yes, you can sleep in it - but only between 1 March and 31 October. In the hot sunshine last Sunday, the sand-spit was packed. And it really did make for a jolly scene. You could describe it as being the visual epitome of the classic British seaside holiday. Large family groups and other happy folk were swimming, sailing, paddle-boarding, wind-surfing, snorkelling, eating and drinking and all the other things people get up to in or on the waves nowadays. It might have been a fluke but just about every occupant of every beach hut seemed to have a glass of something white and bubbly on the go. Along the spit towards the foot-ferry quay (in season, the boat goes to the main village of Mudeford on the other side of the harbour mouth) there’s an excellent cafe where you can purchase all manner of snacks and meals.   And I liked the place very much indeed. I warmed to the whole we-do-love-to-be-beside-the-seaside buzz. But I couldn’t afford one of those beach huts if I was to start saving now and continued until the next time the English Channel dries out.

The West Country plum season is in full swing, although many trees (mine included) aren’t up to much this year.  Plums grow well in certain  parts of the region but, alas, many local varieties have disappeared. Which is a real shame because we hear more and more complaints about the blandness of the fruits on offer in supermarkets – products which often have travelled halfway around the planet to get here.  How things have changed since the people of Truro used to turn out en-masse in plum season to walk miles down the banks of the Fal estuary to the hamlet of Old Kea and beyond into the parish of Feock, where secret places like Cowland Creek would be scented with the heavy sweet smell of fruit. Having done deals with local smallholders, they’d have laboured back with pales full of raw fruit ingredient.  Barry Champion, who for many years was head gardener at the National Trust’s Trelissick Estate in Cornwall, once told me: “I’ve lived around the Fal estuary all my life and when I was a youngster my parents would walk from Truro to Kea and Coombe and buy plums in season. “It was a real treat for all us children,” said Barry. “We’ve got a unique landscape here – a unique set of conditions. The old smallholders knew that. They’d rent a cottage with three or four acres and they all had Kea plums - and local apples - and that was a source of income. “Originally they’d have gone up by boat to Truro to sell their wares – but more latterly people went to the farm-gate. At one point they even set up a small canning factory – it was years ago, but as these plums tend to only crop every other year, they had to abandon it.” I like making a plumy chutney. De-stone, then salt a couple of pounds of plums. After a few hours in a colander, they’ll have cast off a great deal of their wateriness and have much firmer in texture. Wash off the salt and dry the plums in a fan oven for 20 minutes. Then add them to a cup of boiling vinegar in which you’ve placed half a dozen dried chillies, some black peppercorns and half a dozen cloves. Add two sliced onions and three crushed cloves of garlic and allow the mix to reduce for 20 minutes. The trick is to then introduce a cup of your own homemade plum jam (simply plums, Demerara sugar and a splash of dark rum) and cook the whole lot for a few minutes more before dispensing into prepared jars. This plum chutney will be an ideal companion to winter meat dishes, especially oriental ones like duck that has been roasted with Chinese spices.

Sometimes you have to make your own luck in life. I wasn’t to know it at the time, but 25 years ago I made what seemed to be a fairly inconsequential decision while hiking high on the moors, and it changed my entire career.  I was at a crossroads - flogging a bit of a dead horse running a media-based business - and on my wife’s birthday I was so broke I couldn’t afford to do anything special, so offered to take her on a nice scenic Exmoor walk. Walking in beautiful places is one of the few really pleasurable things that’s completely free of charge, and luckily my wife enjoys them as much as me.  While we were crossing the hills to Countisbury, above Lynmouth, she said: “Why don’t you write about walks? More and more people love country walking - and, as you’ve been a feature writer for a national newspaper, you could surely find someone who’d publish a weekly article. They could call it Hesp’s Hikes.” That is exactly what happened. I wrote up that particular walk - from Rockford, in the East Lyn valley, up to Countisbury and back down across the moors - and along, with half-a-dozen others, I took them to the Western Morning News suggesting they might like to publish the whole lot, along with the photographs I’d taken. My idea was that the paper could have the first selection for free and, if the articles proved popular, they could start paying me for an ongoing series.  It was a gamble, but someone somewhere obviously approved because I ended up writing a regular walks feature for 20 years. In fact, I was Britain’s longest running walks writer - if you can be such a thing. The success wasn’t anything to do with me, but a simple winning formula… Take readers to wonderful, interesting, or beautiful places (ideally a combination of all three), describe some kind of walking route and include anecdotes, a few facts and figures (you don’t want to bore anyone) and one or two tall-tales. And don’t forget to snap a few nice piccies while you’re traipsing around.  Soon the paper started asking for other articles alongside the walks pieces, and before I knew it I was taken onto the staff. 25 years later, here I am still putting pen to paper.  “Not a bad way to earn a living,” I hear you say. And I’d agree, although it’s not always quite as easy as it looks, partly because there’s always the matter of a strict deadline. I walked, and wrote about, getting on towards 1000 different hikes. I would have done more but there were a couple of periods when illness got in the way, along with some really bad weather when I was forced to rewrite a few old walks. Even so, I have worked out (with admittedly hopeless mathematics) that I walked between 4000 and 6000 miles and climbed and descended the equivalent of half-a-dozen Mount Everests.  And just once in 20 years I got lost. We were in the middle of Dartmoor when a sudden fog descended. This was in pre-mobile-phone days so we had no satellite positioning aid and, I’m sorry to admit, no compass. You don’t really need one for 999 out of a 1000 West Country walks, if you have a good sense of direction. Anyway, I knew we were slightly west of the main watershed, so reasoned that any stream we could pick up would flow more-or-less in the direction towards the place where we’d parked. By listening hard and then stumbling towards the sound of moving water, we found and followed a brook that eventually joined the River Tavy, which in turn took us back to within 50 metres of our car.  But something far more serious nearly put an end to my walks-writing career not so long after it had started. It came in the form of a terrible thing which had serious ramifications for a great many careers and businesses. Nearly mine, but not quite. When the foot and mouth outbreak hit in 2001, the editor called and said: “That’s put the kibosh on that! The countryside is closed so we dare not even reprint some of your previous walks. We don’t want to frustrate readers by suggesting things they can’t do - so, for the time being, your goose is cooked.” I don’t often think fast on my feet (not successfully anyway) but on this occasion I managed a career-saving: “On the contrary… Now the countryside is closed, people need places to walk more than ever. Let’s do town and city walks.” And so I continued putting one foot in front of the other. During 20-years, I was attacked by dogs, choked by the stench of a dead whale rotting on a remote Devon beach and almost overcome by an incredibly thick cloud of flying ants atop Cornwall’s Brown Willy. I dodged pheasant shot and ducked flying golf balls. I once made my elderly parents wade through an icy Dartmoor stream having discovered a footbridge had collapsed. On another occasion, I had to ask beach lifeguards to call the inshore lifeboat as there was no way a friend who’d had a major heart operation could make it back along a lengthy stretch of Cornish beach. And once two of us flirted with pneumonia after rescuing a drowning ewe from a raging Exmoor river. People often used to ask if they could join me on the hikes and so I have walked with international business consultants, out-of-work printers, blacksmiths, computer analysts, airline pursers, writers, farmers, surfing-instructors, acorn pickers, famous actors, housewives, professors, WI members, drug addicts, alcoholics, CEOs, PR people, TV executives, national park bosses, rangers of various kinds, teachers and poets.    I must have had more than a dozen enquiries from publishers asking if I’d consider making the walks into a book - and I keep saying one day I will, but for some reason haven’t yet.  I have lost count of the times people have asked me to name my favourite walk, or the equal number of times I’ve had to say something about it being mission impossible. Walks are like music or food. One day you’ll be in the mood for a particular dish or tune - the next you might want something more spicy or perhaps more calming. If I had to go for a shortlist of, say, five great West Country hikes I’d divide the west of the region up and go for the splendour of the Woody Bay to Hunter’s Inn and Heddon’s Mouth hike on the Exmoor coast; the glories of the Otterton, Budleigh, Ladram Bay, High Peak circular on the east Devon coast; the Dr Blackall’s Drive hike in a fabulous part of Dartmoor; the Fowey, Hall Walk, Lantic Bay circular on the south Cornish coast; and the grand circumnavigation of St Mary’s in the Isles of Scilly.  But if someone came up with a list of better walks I’d probably agree with most of them. My ideas are hardly written in soft Exmoor sandstone, let alone in hard Dartmoor granite.  The important thing is to be enthusiastic - and as an old hack I’d say that goes for  absolutely anything you end up writing about.

People talk about an “embarrassment or riches” - a state of affairs which is not, for most of us, a phenomenon that occurs very often. But the phrase did come to mind one day recently after I’d arrived home laden with an abundance of edible goodies, some of them foraged from the wild, and other delicious items grown by vegetable gardeners of my acquaintance.  There are times when you can only beam at nature’s bounty and admire the treasures which can come out of the soil. Of course, it helps if you’re green-fingered and know how to coax food out of those soils, or you know where to find it out in the wild.  So there I was admiring my very own mini Harvest Festival, but there was one treat taking pride of place amid the pile of tomatoes, courgettes, peppers, ripe berries and other sundry fresh edible morsels. A rare morsel which had caused my jaw to drop in surprise when I was first shown it. A sublime treat that I never thought I’d ever see this side of the English Channel.  A big black truffle! This had not been donated to the Hesp coffers by some wealthy friend who’d just returned from France or Italy - this had been dug from the roots of a mature tree growing somewhere in the Westcountry. I use the word ‘mature’ advisedly because in recent years there’s been a developing market for saplings whose roots have been treated with truffle spores. I do not know if the system works or not, but this was definitely not one of those trees. The person who found it assured me the truffle came from a natural, un-messed-about-with, woodland located not so many miles from where I live in West Somerset. Most of us know enough about truffle-hunting NOT to dare asking for exact locations. She had collected half-a-dozen fat black beauties, the largest of which was the size of my clenched fist - and knowing of my interest in all things foodie she had emailed me a photo of the haul, captioned: “I’ve just picked these - you can have a couple if you’d like.”  My interest in edible fungi began 40 years ago and I’ve been happily collecting the likes of delicious ceps and chanterelles from our local wooded valleys ever since. But I’d never dreamed of seeing a local truffle. For two reasons… One: because no one I know, or have ever known, happens to have a specially trained truffle-hunting dog or pig. And, two: because I’d always been led to believe these highly prized underground morsels only flourish in limestone or chalk soils - and they do not occur in our part of Somerset.   I was vaguely aware that some kind of truffle-hunting tradition had once existed in this country, but I’d understood that it was confined to the great limestone belt which swings east from the Devon-Dorset border.  So… A mystery. I decided to do some research. And there on a French website was a note saying that truffles do indeed grow in certain types of sandstone soils which happen to dominate swathes of Devon and also my part of Somerset.  So these delicious morsels are out there! Like hidden treasure. Buried unseen. Forever safe from prying hands thanks to years of leaf-mould and undisturbed woodland soil…    Which begs the question as to how my friend discovered her treasure trove. When I called by to see the haul and collect the gift I’d been offered, I found myself casting a suspicious eye over one of the family’s dogs. A large poodle-ish canine, more-or-less of the type used by professional truffle hunters in parts of France and Italy. My suggestion was met with laughter. No, the dog had certainly not been involved in the find - although, now I’d mentioned it, perhaps it would be a good idea to train the family pet in what could become a lucrative endeavour… So all I know, dear readers, is what I was told in a single sentence: “I was helping to dig a woodland garden where the soil was as black as the truffles themselves - and that’s where I found them, on the roots of a few trees.”  She thought these may have been hazelnut and birch, or beech. Three of the truffle’s favoured host trees. And the West Country is rich in them! So how many of these fabulous morsels are lying hidden out there in the countryside? And how can we foodies and fungi enthusiasts ever hope to find a single one? The answer is probably millions of truffles, forever safe from our marauding intentions. How many of us ever get to dig a woodland garden in just the right place? How many of us are ever going to purchase, or train, a truffle-dog? My friend might be able to return to her secret spot and harvest a few more in years to come - or maybe not - I’m no expert on how the truffle-hunting and harvesting cycle works. But I am fairly certain this discovery, and its resultant newspaper article, is unlikely to inspire a burgeoning new Westcountry truffle industry. Unless someone invents a device which is sensitive to truffle scent, how are we going to find them? Which is a pity, because the well-truffled scrambled eggs I enjoyed after taking my gift home were the best I’ve ever had - and the well-truffled chicken was an absolute sensation. ENGLISH TRUFFLE HUNTING English truffle-hunting has a history stretching back centuries. We’ll never know who first found these ugly-looking but delicious underground fungi and learned to use them in food preparation, but it seems probably that foragers must have developed some kind of skill when it came to finding these elusive morsels. By the 18th and 19th centuries, truffle-hunting had become a well organised rural pursuit. The use of animals to help in the search became increasingly common. While pigs were often employed in continental Europe, English truffle-hunters only used particular breeds of dog. The benefit being that canines could be persuaded not to eat the truffles once they found them, while pigs would scoff the lot given half a chance. It was always a niche activity, partly because the English market for truffles was always small compared to their massive popularity in mainland Europe. Apart from our love for common field mushrooms, we never did seem to copy our Continental neighbours in developing a universal liking for exotic fungi. Nevertheless, English truffles did find their way into the kitchens of the big country estates and occasionally into the London markets. Which is why we had professional truffle-hunters. The Wiltshire parish of Winterslow, near Salisbury, was a notable hotspot - sometimes described as “the headquarters of English truffling”. At one time the village had as many as a dozen men employed in the industry. Indeed, England’s last dedicated professional truffle-hunter was a Winterslow man. Albert Collins carried on his family tradition until he eventually retired in the early 1930s.  And the irony is that poor old Albert apparently died penniless. Which today is an amazing fact, seeing that he could regularly bring home daily hauls weighing up to 12 kilos. On the internet this week, “summer” truffles (Tuber Aestivium) were selling at prices starting from £335 per kilo! You can easily become confused when looking up the different types of darker truffle, but if we imagine Albert was harvesting the milder tasting forms (like the ones my friend found) then, at today’s prices, his single day’s work would have earned him around £2000. If they were the more expensive and sought-after species he could have been paid just over £4000 - that’s more than £25 grand a week! COOKING WITH WEST COUNTRY TRUFFLES Think truffle, and a lot of home-cooks will imagine something that has an extremely strong and, unless used sparingly, overpowering flavour. I remember buying a black truffle in Italy and using a small amount (a few ultra-thin shavings) in a simple pasta dish. It was almost too much - so strong, the kids wouldn’t eat it. But the fresh wild West Country truffle I tasted this week (I believe it was a black autumn truffle, Tuber uncinatum) was at the other end of the spectrum… It was extremely mild, nutty and, of course, fungi-flavoured, and it had almost a sweet finish.  You need quite a bit to change the flavour of a large bowl of food, unless it is dominated by something bland such as plain pasta, or perhaps basic scrambled eggs.  I made a luxury version of the latter this week using a neighbour’s free-range eggs, a knob of good butter, a tiny tot of cream, a few chives and a wedge of black West Country truffle. The examples found by my friend had an extremely firm texture, so that if you cut off thin slices with a sharp knife, they were easy to shatter into crumbs. I added two teaspoonfuls of the resultant truffle-crumb to the slowly melting butter in the pan, before introducing a couple of beaten eggs and just a spoonful of double cream.  Then it was a matter of extreme slow-cooking over a tiny flame, plus a little seasoning with sea-salt and white pepper.     Loaded onto a buttered slice of my own toasted homemade sourdough, I had a breakfast dish worthy of the kind of hotel frequented by billionaires.  I also loaded slivers of truffle, along with wedges of butter, just under the skin of a free-range chicken, which I then slow-cooked in the barbecue. The result ticked just about every box on the perfect summer luncheon wish-list. The meat was light, juicy, creamy and deeply savoury. It doesn’t get much better than that.

The Bagni Di Pisa Palace and Thermal Spa is a very impressive indeed. The place is reminiscent of the sort of place Agatha Christie might have visited - if Poirot ever went anywhere to “take the waters” this would be the place. Actually, someone who did write something famous in this very hotel was Mary Shelley - who finished penning her story Frankenstein here after being partly inspired to write it back at home in Somerset’s Quantock Hills. I attended a wine class in the sumptuous bar area named after her and husband, poet Percy Bysshe Shelley. The Shelley bar is set in its original 18th century furnishings. If you enjoy this article you might also like Grotta Giusti The Bagni di Pisa is an elegant five-star spa resort in San Giuliano Terme, just a few kilometres from Pisa, Livorno and Lucca, where we spent a wonderful Sunday morning exploring. And I’d say the hotel has more class in its little finger than many a hostelry I know where rooms cost three times the price. Gustav of Sweden and George IV of England both stayed here as well as the Shelleys and all their famous friends. And if its good enough for the inventor of Frankenstein, it’s good enough for me. Although I did feel a little Frankenstein-like during a spa treatment which saw me covered head-to-toe in sea salt for some reason I could never quite determine. I was soon back on my feet again enjoying a true sumptuous dinner. The hotel is located between rolling hills and historical towns. This establishment is not merely a place to stay; it is an invitation to explore a storied past while indulging in thoughtful, contemporary comforts. A Historical Perspective The roots of Bagni di Pisa stretch back to the 18th century when it served as a summer residence for the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Francesco Stefano of Lorraine. The Duke, who later became the Holy Roman Emperor, transformed the site into a thermal retreat, drawing on the region’s natural hot springs. The thermal waters, rich in minerals and reputed for their therapeutic properties, have been the cornerstone of the property’s appeal for centuries. Walking through the hotel’s corridors, one can’t help but feel the weight of history. The original frescoes, grand chandeliers, and classical architecture tell stories of a bygone era, where nobility sought solace and rejuvenation. Today, these historical elements are carefully preserved, allowing guests to experience a slice of the past while enjoying the conveniences of modern hospitality. Wellness at the Core At the heart of Bagni di Pisa’s offering is its commitment to wellness. The thermal baths, which have drawn visitors for centuries, remain a central feature. The waters, naturally heated and rich in minerals, are said to aid in a variety of health conditions, from respiratory issues to skin ailments. For those less inclined toward medical benefits, the baths simply offer a deeply relaxing experience, a chance to unwind in a setting that has been soothing visitors for generations. In addition to the thermal baths, the hotel offers a comprehensive spa experience. The spa menu is extensive, with treatments that blend traditional techniques with modern wellness trends. Whether it’s a massage using Tuscan essential oils or a mud therapy session derived from the local thermal waters, each treatment is designed with a deep respect for the region’s natural resources. Culinary Offerings A stay at Bagni di Pisa is as much about nourishment as it is about relaxation. The hotel’s culinary philosophy is rooted in the rich traditions of Tuscan cuisine, yet it is presented with a contemporary flair. The restaurant offers a menu that changes with the seasons, focusing on locally sourced ingredients. Dishes are crafted to be both healthful and satisfying, reflecting the region’s deep connection to the land. For those who wish to delve deeper into the local food culture, the hotel offers cooking classes that take guests beyond the dining experience, offering a hands-on exploration of Tuscan flavors. Here, the emphasis is on simplicity and quality, teaching techniques that can be easily replicated at home, yet hold the essence of Italian culinary traditions. The Surrounding Landscape While Bagni di Pisa is a destination in itself, its location offers ample opportunity for exploration. The nearby town of San Giuliano Terme provides a quiet, picturesque setting, ideal for leisurely strolls or cycling. A short drive away, the city of Pisa beckons with its world-renowned leaning tower and other historical landmarks. The broader Tuscan landscape, with its vineyards, olive groves, and medieval towns, is a treasure trove for those inclined to explore. Yet, for many guests, the allure of Bagni di Pisa lies in the simple pleasure of remaining on the property. The serene environment, the blend of history and nature, and the focus on wellness create a setting where time seems to slow, allowing for a deeper engagement with the present moment. Conclusion Bagni di Pisa stands as a testament to the enduring appeal of history and nature, intertwined with a modern understanding of wellness. It is a place where past and present coexist, offering a unique experience that is both enriching and restorative. Whether drawn by the therapeutic waters, the rich history, or the tranquil environment, visitors to Bagni di Pisa find more than just a hotel; they find a space that invites reflection, relaxation, and a deeper connection to the Tuscan landscape.