The 450-year-old Rock Inn - as mentioned in the neighbouring article - stands just a few feet from the young River Tone. Travel a few miles upstream, higher and deeper into the hills, and you will come to Clatworthy Reservoir, which is not only one of the oldest drinking water lakes in the region, but one of the prettiest. Two facts which perhaps go hand-in-hand. The building of a giant reservoir causes a major disruption to the ecology and environment, and it takes many years for the scars to heal. Nowadays, Clatworthy has a far more natural look than it did when I was a lad, visiting with my journalist father. The reservoir, with its capacity of 5,364,000 cubic metres of drinking water, today supplies some 200,000 homes, but when I was a toddler back in 1960 it was just beginning to fill up as the headwaters of the Tone came up against the newly built dam.  Last week I drove up there after lunch at The Rock and, on a hot August day, was surprised to find myself the only person at the Wessex Water visitor car park and picnic site. So I took a very peaceful stroll across the dam and through the oak woods that line the northern fringes of the lake.  Nothing moved, save for a single fisherman out on the water in his rowing boat. The thought struck me that this must be the most unvisited and tranquil stretches of water to be found anywhere in the region bang in the middle of the holiday season.  It was all very different back in the days before the valley was flooded. My father wrote about how the lonely and highly fertile valleys tucked deep into the eastern limb of the Brendon Hills were doomed. I found this rather moving account jotted in one of his notebooks.  “May blossom hanging in the hedges reminded me of an evening along time ago when I called at a farmhouse tucked away in a deep valley and was welcomed at the door by a little girl and a boy carrying an oil lamp. “‘Is this Cindercombe Farm?’ I had asked. ‘Oh yes!’ they had replied, as if that were a fact the whole world ought to know and rejoice in.” A few years later he took the children’s mother back to the valley as it was being flooded - it was the first time she’d been back since she’d left her old home.  “We walked down the well remembered lane - surrounded by high banks, green and pretty with pennyworts and new moss - towards the house,” wrote my father. “Suddenly we rounded the last bend and, instead of the familiar buildings, a sheet of water lay at our feet. We could see the submerged portion of the road continuing on into the depths. “‘It’s unbelievable! All this water!’ gasped the children’s mother. She pointed to a little bank, half submerged. ‘The children had a bit of garden here… and over there in a little field, I drove a horse and cart in the days before anybody had all these machines’…” I can never go to Clatworthy without remembering my father’s stories of the valley pre-reservoir, which I first heard as a small boy standing on its shores. And last week was no different. As I walked in the afternoon sunshine, it was rather lovely to be haunted by thoughts of the old-fashioned lives that had once existed beneath those cool waters, rippling in the western light.   CLATWORTHY RESERVOIR ANNIVERSARY ARTICLE (FROM A PIECE I WROTE FOR THE WESTERN MORNING NEWS AND WESTERN DAILY PRESS IN 2019) The waters were rising. Slowly, but not imperceptibly, creeping up the valley sides in an irreversible and devastating tide. The homesteads were abandoned, the families and their pets and farm animals, had gone.  It happened 60 years ago in the heart of what must have been one of the most peaceful, hitherto undisturbed, valleys in the West Country. This year marks the flooding of the Cindercombe and other small Brendon Hill ravines which had been selected for the building of what was then one of the region’s largest reservoirs.  Clatworthy Reservoir, with its capacity of 5,364,000 cubic metres of drinking water - now run by Wessex Water - today supplies some 200,000 homes, but back in 1959 it was just beginning to fill up as the head waters of the River Tone came up against the newly built dam.  It wouldn’t be opened and operational until 1960, but the lonely and highly fertile valleys tucked deep into the eastern limb of the Brendon Hills were doomed. Work was steadily advancing on the dam, much of which had been built the year before - as we shall hear.  Today, peace has long since returned to this little visited corner of the region. There are some excellent walks around the 52-hectare reservoir which it is a favourite haunt of fishermen.  Beneath its deep dark waters are several farms and cottages as well as a mill compete with an overshot well and millstones.  Look on the internet and you will find surprisingly little information about Clatworthy Reservoir - the anniversary of its flooding only caught my eye because of a little handwritten booklet sent to me by regular reader Colin Pady of East Devon. I would, by the way, not recommend sending me precious documents which have a personal importance - I fear that either my dogs will chew them or I will lose them. Anyway, this one remains safe and sound waiting for retired farmer Colin and his wife Val to collect - but this is what he wrote in an enclosing letter… “I enclose the booklet of my first-lass hike which I mad with my practice buddy in October 1958 as a 15-year-old scout from Taunton School.” Colin then outlines the route the boys took in two days of hiking, which took them over the huge eastern shoulder of the Brendons (not far from my home, which is why Colin was kind enough to send the document. “The content of the hike may be of interest because it records the building of Clatworthy dam and the fact that we were probably the last hikers to walk down that valley before it was flooded,” he writes. And so reading through his excellent little handwritten booklet I came to the following passage… “There was water running down either side of the track but we could walk on the raised centre of the road. We noticed that the wooded slope to our left was partly felled. The track followed a tributary over which there was no bridge, so we had to jump over it. “As we continued we saw some cables stretched across the valley in front of us. Then a derrick on the right side of the valley and finally, as we rounded a corner, we saw the dam. We had approached it from behind coming over land that was doomed to be flooded. “The track was blocked by the dam and so we had to find another way out. After staying half-an-hour wandering around the structure, we finally decided to get over the lowest part of the dam which was just scaffolding. We had to cross a plank over the river and then jumped over the scaffolding. The men at work there with the pumps waved to us and we carried on crossing over the river once more by means of a bridge made of sleepers. “We rejoined the road and, passing the offices of the firm building the dam, we proceeded down the well metalled road until we came to a cottage and a farm to the right. Then we came to two notices - one telling the name of the firm and the other telling us that trespassers would be prosecuted and that no and authorised person was allowed onto the site of the dam!” So Colin is probably correct to assume that he and his school pal were the last hikers to walk down the valley. Today the health-and-safety police would have sent them marching, or worse… Anyway, Colin’s account caused me to remember that my own father, Peter Hesp, had visited the site many times in his role as a local journalist for the Somerset County Gazette newspaper. So I dug out his notes, and among many articles he wrote about Clatworthy and its new reservoir I found this rather moving account jotted in a notebook.  It concerns a visit he made to one of the families who had been told they’d have to abandon their farm. The Cowlings had managed to move into a nearby farmstead by April 1960, which is when my dad persuaded Mrs Cowling to take a walk down to the watery shores which had swallowed her home.  This is what Peter wrote… “If I were looking for an example of the typical hill farmer’s wife, I would pick on Mrs Ralph Cowling. She is straight-backed and breezy, in the prime of middle-life, with a courtesy and cheery good humour which comes of having raised seven children and worked hard, indoors and out, every day of her life on the good upland acres where she was born. She is of that excellent kind who would rather have a sing-song around a piano than sit watching ready-made entertainment on the television - and, when I intercepted her busy way this week, she was just off to help “cut up” for a niece’s wedding on a neighbouring farm. “Mrs Cowling will think ill of me for writing all this about her, but it is nevertheless true, and I stated it in order to explain why it is that few people ever guess the sorrow that is in her life. It is a gentle sadness, never obtruding to be seen by other people, never clouding her busy day. In the evenings, when she and her husband and, perhaps, a few of the children, chat awhile beside the fire at Tripp Farm, near Raleigh’s Cross, their sorrow is remembered. “Now, I don't want to exaggerate this in any way because when the plans were drawn up for the big Clatworthy reservoir, the Cowlings knew they would have to go. They accepted the fact, as reasonable people would. The experts came bumping down the steep lane to Cindercombe Farm, where the couple had been since they were married 23 years ago, and assessed their land is being some of the finest in the locality. They were liberally compensated and, it so happens, that they were able to buy neighbouring Tripp Farm, where Ralph was born and where his father, old Mr Tom Cowling, still kept the land in good heart. “But Cindercombe, for the couple and their five sons and two daughters, was home as no other place will ever be. “Just a year ago the Cowlings moved out, the bulldozers pushed down the ancient walls, and the waters of the reservoir began to rise up the Cindercombe Valley, where once the Romans smelted iron from the hill. “This week Mrs Cowling went back with me, for the first time since the waters covered her home. “‘I was eight years old when my parents came to live at Cindercombe. It's heartbreaking to think of it down there under the water just opposite that little quarry,’ she told me. For once her habitual cheerfulness was laid aside as we stood among primroses and violets looking down on the broad blue stretch of water. “There was a steep field where, years ago, she had driven a team of three horses dragging a chain-harrow, and there was the pastureland, now rich and green, which had once been nothing but bracken and waste deep in furze. And there, beneath the waters, lay nearly 100 more of their rich and lovely acres and the homestead. “We walked down the well remembered, sheltered lane to the house, the reservoir hidden by high banks, green and pretty with pennyworts and new moss. Suddenly we rounded the last bend and, instead of the familiar buildings, a sheet of water lay at our feet. We could see the submerged portion of the road continuing on into the depths. “‘It's unbelievable! All this water!’” said Mrs Cowling. She pointed to a little bank, half submerged. ‘The children had a bit of garden here… and over there in a little field I drove a horse and cart in the days before anybody had all these machines…’ “She was laughing again now. “‘My husband was working on the back of it and wondered why I wasn't driving straight across…’ We were both laughing and looking over the water. “‘I had fallen fast asleep as I drove!’ "At the head of the reservoir we could see Westcott Farm, its windows empty and buildings deserted. We looked in at Roes Farm where the workmen are still building the strong boundary fence to keep stock and any other trespasser from wandering on the marginal land, once so familiar but now forbidden ground. “‘I suppose we’re trespassing here,’ said Mrs Cowling, and we walked back up the steep lane, gossiping cheerfully about a thing that is sad, look at it how you will. Stan and Freddie, two of the Cowling boys home from school, appeared briefly on bicycles. “‘Didn't know you'd come this far! Going off and help with the poultry now, there's good boys!’ said their mother. Then, to me: ‘They can't keep away. They all come back. But this is the first time I've been back since the water rose. Still, I never seem to have the time for this sort of thing; it's been quite an afternoon out for me and I thoroughly enjoyed it.’ “Calling goodbye, Mrs Cowling climbed into her car and went tearing off with the confidence of a driver who knows every bump in the road. “The May blossom hanging in the hedges reminded me - I don't know why - of an evening along time ago when I called at a farmhouse tucked away in a deep valley and was welcomed at the door by a little girl and a boy carrying an oil lamp. “‘Is this Cindercombe Farm?’ I had asked. “‘Oh yes!’ they had replied, as if that were a fact the whole world ought to know and rejoice in.” My father was a bit of a genius when it came to the mellifluous nature of melancholy - and I can never go back to Clatworthy now without remembering this tale of Mrs Cowling, which I first heard as a small boy standing on the shores of the reservoir, excited by such a big sheet of water that could hide so many invisible tales.

It’s not quite a case of “if you go down to the woods today you’ll be in for a big surprise”, but this story has that kind of vibe about it.  Let’s put it this way… There are a great many well-known parts of the much-visited West Country and, conversely, there are even more hidden, out-of-the-way, corners which very few tourists ever get to see.  Given that this is the case, you might imagine that someone wishing to expand a new concept in the world of food and hospitality would aim for one of the better-known visitor hotspots. Why chose a sparsely populated rural location for the seedbed of your idea when you could plum for a large town or a tourist-honeypot filled with potential customers? I was pondering this one day last week as I drove down some of the emptiest, leafiest, quietest lanes in England. I had been invited to a tasting lunch which was being staged by two Sri Lankan gentlemen who have just bought a relatively remote country inn. I was told one of the guys was a highly experienced international chef working at the highest level and that that his business partner was a successful man in the world of finance. So why, I wondered, had they chosen to purchase The Rock Inn at a place called Waterrow? Let me say… I am very glad they have made the choice. Because the multi-course tasting luncheon was one of the best I’ve enjoyed in my home county of Somerset. Waterrow is situated in the peaceful and lovely no-man’s land that exists on the western edge of the Vale of the Tone. The River Tone itself is born high in the Brendon Hills - the easterly limb of Exmoor National Park - and, after it has been captured by the great dam at Clatworthy Reservoir, it descends through a series of deep ravines to meet the wide flatness of the vale somewhere north-west of Wellington. Throughout the early hill-bound part of its journey, the river passes a series of small villages or hamlets with lovely names like Huish Champflower, Chipstable, Stawley and Appley. Waterrow is one of these communities, located on the B3227 Wiveliscombe to Bampton road.  The entire area has a hidden, out-of-the-way feel to it. This is Secret Somerset at its best. What’s not going to be a secret for long is the food being served at The Rock Inn. It’s part of a new concept called the 3 Flavours Kitchen, which is being developed by internationally-acclaimed chef Chanaka Fernando and business partner, Chamila Chathura. The 3 Flavours idea already has a pair of thriving neighbourhood eateries in Barnet and Banbury - Waterrow outlet is the first to launch in the South West, with many more planned to roll-out in the near future.  Chef Chanaka’s vision is to provide an exceptional dining experience that combines culinary excellence with a commitment to fresh, seasonal ingredients and local suppliers. He told me: “I come from a catering background in Sri Lanka, and moved to the UK in 2000, working for chefs like Gordon Ramsey, Marcus Wareing and Mark Hix. So I come from a world of big names, but wanted to build a reputation for myself. We came here and we felt it was a beautiful place that we could build up. And the local people have been so supportive.  “We are working on the menus - the concept is about coming from three regions, from Asia (Sri Lankan) Europe (Italy etc) and Britain. We have already been discovering the local producers here in Somerset and want all our dishes to be inspired by local ingredients. Only this morning I was meeting with a woman who has a commercial herb garden locally - we are seeing some wonderful stuff.” Chamila Chathura explained: “We wanted to find a place where we could bring the ‘3 flavour’ concept to the countryside - where people can enjoy what we are doing in a peaceful surroundings. We fell in love with the area and the building, which dates back 450 years. We’re doing a lot of hard work to bring it back to life - and that work is still happening. We have nine bedrooms here for visitors and they’re all being renovated.  “We were wondering how the locals would greet us, but we have been delighted by the welcome,” he added. “They have been pushing us to open as soon as possible without perhaps getting everything right first. Which is fine because we can work at getting it right.  “That is why we have opened without having fully finished the work,” he says, having bought the inn less than two months ago. “We want to run it as a pub - if people just want a beer then fine - but we also want to offer a variety of food.  The wide ranging menu means you can get more or less anything to suit your fancy, from classic Westcountry steaks and rather exotic and impressive burgers to excellent vegan dishes and amazing Sri Lankan curries. The lamb curry I tasted was the best I have eaten in a long time, but there were other summery delights such as the prawn and avocado salad with a chilli and mango dressing that really hit the spot, as did a refreshing chicken garden salad. Prices are reasonable - a hearty salad (ideal for lunch) cost £11.50, while that superb lamb curry came in at £17.50. We had a superb sirloin steak for £25. John Turner, chief executive of Visit Somerset, was at the tasting… “This was a sleepy vale until two weeks ago and I can see a huge transition - people will be attracted to this area and to The Rock. Places like this celebrate food and also celebrate local produce, alongside world-class culinary skills. Bring those things together and you create a really important driver for an area like this. “This part of Somerset has some of the worst social-mobility problems in the UK and what is happening here could really have a seismic change locally. We need centres of excellence like this.” We spoke to local student, Eli Hinder, who has been taken on by The Rock as a trainee commis-chef during his college holidays. “It’s a really good opportunity - I am learning lots and really enjoying it,” said Eli. “I was sitting on the fence as to whether I would have a career in science or in catering, and this is definitely pushing me towards the catering. It’s brilliant to learn about lots of cuisines from really experienced chefs.” So… a win-win situation. And one in a lesser known corner of the countryside. What’s not to like? 3 Flavours at The Rock Inn is now open for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  To book, call their internet booking line charged at local rate: 05603669529.  (Food photos by Carlos Farinha)

The sun has been out and there have been evenings this week when the temperature has remained warm until late, but that’s not the only excuse one needs to enjoy dinner outdoors. Food cooked over an open fire can taste wonderful - indeed, even ordinary things cooked over charcoal will be promoted to another league of deliciousness if you know what you’re doing. And it doesn’t always have to be a case of meat sizzling on a grill - you can introduce pots, pans and woks to the flames as log as they are sturdy enough to take the heat.  It seems reasonable to assume that we humans are hard-wired to like the flavours of food cooked over wood or charcoal, because we were doing it for almost a million years before anyone invented an electric or gas oven. Archaeologists have found evidence of what they believe to be one of the first examples of hominids cooking with fire, and the site in Isreal dates back almost 800,000 years. A long time for the species to have evolved a universal liking for that curious mixture of sweet and highly savoury which cooking over a live flame can impart.  If you enjoy this article you night also like BBQ Take something plain and simple - corn on the cob, say, or chicken thighs - and cook one sample under an electric grill and another over charcoal… The difference in flavour will be profound.  But as we say, we’re not just talking about items sizzling on the bars of a grill. That might be the usual interpretation of barbecuing, but you can employ many other basic techniques, including the use of pans. This week I’ve been experimenting with hot-smoked mussels. Cooked in a shallow pan inside a barbecue with a lid they are, quite simply, a sensation! And talk about simple… Just scrub the shellfish clean, chuck ‘em in an oven-proof pan and place on a very hot grill, add a few wood-chips (visit the Devon-based https://hotsmoked.co.uk for the ideal selection) to the fire beneath and cook until the mussels open (chuck away any that don’t).  Toast some good sourdough over the flames and you can use the buttered slices to mop up the juices. Alternatively, you can lift the shellfish out then add a glass of white wine and a large knob of butter to the pan and reduce the liquid over the heat so you end up with a highly flavoured and luxuriant sauce.   The nation’s top barbecue expert, Marcus Bawdon, who runs his UK BBQ School ( https://ukbbqschool.com/ ) in Devon, is a big fan of using pans over a live flame.  “I absolutely I love cooking in pans over coals,” he told me this week. “One of my favourite examples would definitely be scallops, which can be excellent with a hard sear in a pan. Cooked in butter, garlic, lemon juice and flat-leaf parsley, they should still be quivering when they’re ready to eat.”  One tip he is quick to add - as explained in his latest book, BBQ for All - is the use of duck fat. “Duck fat doesn’t burn at high temperatures, meaning you get a great crispness to the sear,” said Marcus. Of course, having the right kind of pan to place in the barbecue helps too. For years I’ve used cast iron griddles, but they are often difficult to clean. My latest indulgence is a carbon steel wok made specifically for the Kamado Joe - the wonderful appliance in which I do all our outdoor cooking, even the Christmas turkey.   Indeed, the Kamado Joe company has recently launched its first Karbon Steel™ range - a line of premium cooking surfaces made of carbon steel. As many a chef will tell you, this highly resilient metal offers superb heat distribution, greater durability and effortless cleaning up. As well as the wok, the Karbon Steel range includes a paella pan, a griddle and a half-moon shaped pan, all of which can be used on any cooker, barbecue or hob. Anyone who has ever been to South East Asia or, indeed, to an authentic restaurant specialising in cuisine from that part of the world, will have seen chefs using woks over scary eyebrow-singeing flames. That’s the kind of heat you need to really stir-fry properly. Most domestic gas hobs are incapable of producing that super-heat - and electric hobs don’t even come close. But place an empty dry wok into a round, egg-shaped, barbecue like a Kamado Joe - in which the charcoal has been burning for a while so it’s producing plenty of heat - and the pan will soon reach proper stir-fry temperatures.  Just make sure you have all the ingredients for your meal prepared, ready and waiting, because something like a beef, noodle, onion, garlic and red pepper stir-fry is only going to take a minute or two to cook.  My tip for an enjoyable summer evening supper is to go small on individual dishes and have two or three separate courses lined up ready to put in the wok. There is a great temptation (and I did this for years) to bung everything in and blast away in the vague belief that, because it’s so hot, the wok will cope. It won’t, if it’s overloaded and you’ll either end up with some items being undercooked or something that resembles a stew.   Better, instead, to devise a couple of totally separate dishes that are small in quantity, but fast and simple. Then you can serve, wipe the wok clean, and start heating it up again over the flame in readiness for the next course. Strips of grass-fed beefsteak with onion, red and green pepper and garlic would be a case in point, as would prawn, cashew and spring onions or scallops with asparagus. One tip is to cook meat or fish first, then it take out and keep warm while you go on to rapidly cook any vegetables separately. Combine just before serving, which is when you add any liquid ingredients like soy sauce or flavouring oils such as sesame. Don’t overdo it - choose just one or two vegetables, not half a dozen. Keeping things simple and fairly minimal is the order of the day, as long as you’ve got that super-heat blasting away underneath your pan. Try cooking with the high temperatures directly over hot coals and you will discover that even the plainest of stir-fries will be like the barbecued corn-on-the-cob or chicken mentioned above. In other words, the intense heat will have taken it into a different league.  CHOOSE YOUR CHARCOAL  A train-driver once told me that there was coal, and there was coal. He said his magnificent steam locomotive performed quite differently depending on the quality of the coal his railway bosses managed to purchase. The same goes for the charcoal in your barbecue.  In fact, if you are lucky enough to own a high-performance appliance like a Kamado Joe (there are other makes - kamado is basically Japanese for ‘clay-lined oven'), the choice is crucial. The ubiquitous cheap easy-to-light stuff should be avoided.  For a start, it’s a false economy. My kamado will continue cooking for three or four times longer with the high quality locally-made charcoal that I use.  Woodland manager Chris Silverwood’s Fat Raven Charcoal business is really just a sideline for the work he does in the forest here in West Somerset. The charcoal really is Rolls Royce stuff, and it should be - Chris has been carbonising lumps of English hardwood for over 30 years.  “Basically you’ll find that most British charcoal is a lot higher grade than the imported stuff, partly because it comes from hardwood grown in properly managed woodlands,” Chris told me as I was purchasing half a dozen bags recently.  “I use a variety of timber, depending on what I’ve been coppicing or thinning out. So there’s oak, ash, silver birch, and beech. At the moment I’m using a lot of sweet chestnut. I’m splitting out fencing stakes with a lot of it, but the stuff I can’t use gets turned into charcoal. Otherwise it would just be wasted. And it does make good charcoal - it burns really hot.  “But, as I say, most of the English wood is good. The burning times vary depending on the species - some burn fast, while oak charcoal is slower, being a bit more dense. I think it’s best to have a mixture of different woods.” Chris’s Fat Raven Charcoal includes different sized pieces, which is useful because you can use the smaller bits to help you get up to speed faster, while the big lumps will allow to cook low and slow for many hours.  Chris uses a metal kiln for his day-today charcoal-making, but for demonstration purposes he will also occasionally build an old-fashioned earthen mound, as used historically in places like the Quantocks or on Exmoor in times of yore. “That’s a very smoky sort of business,” smiles Chris. “You’ve got to keep an eye on the traditional earth burns all through the night, as well as day, because the wood can easily catch light and burn away. The phrase ‘charcoal burning’ is a misconception. Actually what we’re doing is using just some of the wood to create enough heat to cook the impurities out of the rest of the wood. You are creating a pure carbon source of fuel. “With the modern metal kilns, we no longer have to sit up all night. In the old days they were terrified of sudden flare up. They could easily lose the lot. I don’t know if it’s a myth, or what, but they reckon the old charcoal-burners used to sit on a one-legged stool all night so if they fell asleep, they’d fall off and wake themselves up!” Chris runs a small business in the West Somerset area - to find out more visit his Facebook page Fat Raven Charcoal or email fatravencharcoal@gmail.com

If there is one thing I love doing on my travels, it is visiting local markets - and they don’t come much better than the one that serves the Madeiran capital of Funchal. Why? Because the quality of just about everything in the market is first class. I have seen some of the best fruits and vegetables in the world being sold there - probably because the island has amazingly rich volcanic soils and plenty of sunshine to help things mature to perfection. Same goes for the fresh seafood. It goes without saying that the island is surrounded by rich and fairly unpolluted waters. Exploring the Central Market in Funchal The Central Market in Funchal, also known as Mercado dos Lavradores, is a vital component of Madeira's capital, reflecting the island's rich cultural tapestry and agricultural abundance. Established in 1940, this market is not only a place of commerce but also a significant social gathering spot for locals and visitors alike. Architectural Significance Designed by architect Edmundo Tavares, the market's structure is a noteworthy example of the Estado Novo style, a Portuguese architectural movement of the early 20th century. The building features a blend of modernist lines and traditional elements, including azulejos (painted tiles) that depict regional themes. These tiles, created by João Rodrigues, add an artistic layer to the market, illustrating scenes from Madeira's agricultural life. Layout and Offerings The market is organized into various sections, each dedicated to different types of goods. The ground floor houses stalls brimming with fresh fruits, vegetables, herbs, and flowers, predominantly sourced from local farms. Visitors can find exotic produce such as passion fruit, custard apples, and the distinctive Madeira bananas. The first floor is dedicated to fishmongers, where an array of fresh fish and seafood, caught in the surrounding Atlantic waters, are available. Here, one can encounter species like the black scabbardfish, a local delicacy, alongside more familiar varieties like tuna and sardines. The market also includes sections for meat, poultry, and dairy products, ensuring a comprehensive shopping experience. Additionally, vendors selling crafts, souvenirs, and traditional Madeiran goods such as wickerwork and embroidery can be found throughout the market, catering to the needs of tourists and collectors. Economic Impact Economically, the market plays a crucial role in supporting local agriculture and fisheries. By providing a direct outlet for farmers and fishermen, it helps sustain the island's primary industries. This direct trade ensures that producers receive a fair price for their goods while offering consumers fresh, high-quality products. Visitor Experience For visitors, the Central Market offers a sensory experience that is both educational and engaging. It provides an opportunity to learn about Madeiran cuisine and agricultural practices firsthand. Many tourists partake in guided tours that explain the significance of various products and their role in local culture. Sustainability and Future Prospects In recent years, there has been a growing emphasis on sustainability within the market. Efforts to reduce plastic use, promote organic farming, and support environmentally friendly practices are becoming more prominent. These initiatives aim to preserve the island's natural resources while adapting to modern ecological standards. Looking ahead, the Central Market in Funchal is poised to maintain its role as a cornerstone of the community. Balancing tradition with innovation, it continues to evolve, reflecting the dynamic spirit of Madeira while preserving its cultural essence. I recommend visiting the market on a Friday or a Saturday when so many locals are doing their shopping and farmers come down from the mountains to sell their wares. The market is a multifaceted institution that goes beyond its commercial function. It is a place where history, culture, and economy intersect, offering both locals and visitors a unique glimpse into the heart of Madeiran life. As it adapts to contemporary challenges, it remains a testament to the resilience and vibrancy of the island's community.

On a recent trip to Madeira I learned all about some of the culinary traditions surrounding dried skipjack tuna - known locally as "gaiado," the fish is transformed through a meticulous drying process, becoming a cherished staple that embodies the essence of coastal life and regional flavours. I’d spotted the strange and unappetising dried fish in Funchal’s amazing market on a busy Saturday morning, and later on tried a dish made of the stuff at a lovely ocean-side restaurant called Basalto. The Legacy of Gaiado The preparation of gaiado is a practice deeply rooted in the coastal communities of Portugal and Madeira. Skipjack tuna, abundant in the Atlantic waters, is carefully selected for this traditional process. Once caught, the fish is cleaned, salted, and left to dry under the sun, often for several weeks. This method not only preserves the tuna but also concentrates its flavours, resulting in a product that is both robust and versatile. From Sea to Table: The Making of Gaiado The drying process is critical to the unique taste and texture of gaiado. Exposure to the sun and sea breeze imparts a distinct character, imbuing the fish with an intensity that fresh tuna cannot achieve. This labor-intensive method requires patience and expertise, as the fish must be turned regularly and monitored to ensure even drying and optimal preservation. Culinary Versatility Gaiado's rich flavour profile makes it an ideal ingredient for a variety of dishes. In Madeira, it is often enjoyed in simple yet flavourful preparations that highlight its natural taste. One popular dish involves rehydrating the dried tuna and combining it with olive oil, garlic, and vinegar, creating a vibrant and aromatic salad. This preparation showcases the fish's ability to absorb and enhance surrounding flavors while retaining its unique identity. Another beloved recipe is "tuna stew," where gaiado is simmered with potatoes, onions, tomatoes, and spices. The stew's slow cooking process allows the flavors to meld, resulting in a hearty and satisfying meal that speaks to the island's culinary heritage. Contemporary Relevance Today, gaiado continues to be a beloved ingredient, not only for its taste but also for its connection to heritage and tradition. Chefs and home cooks alike appreciate its versatility and the depth it brings to modern dishes. Moreover, the sustainable nature of the drying process aligns with contemporary values of reducing waste and utilizing natural resources effectively.

When a well known poet, author and explorer comes up with an idea and invites you somewhere special for a jolly good day out, you’d be mad not to go along with the plan. So when West Country-based James Crowden called to say he’d been enjoying the new Hesp Out West series and that he had a perfect excursion in mind, I listened very intently indeed. “There’s a beach cafe that serves top-notch food, there are plenty of options for wonderful walks along this unspoilt corner of the Dorset coast, and there’s a wonderful organic farm where you can buy some unique ingredients to take home,” said James on the phone.  We set a date and… It poured with rain.  Indeed, we visited West Bexington on the West Dorset coast on the one day last week when the weatherman was warning not only of heavy rain, but of savage gales.  Never mind. The lunch at The Club House down on West Bexie’s windblown beach was truly magnificent and at the Tamarisk Farm shop we met the farmer and bought some of his milled organic barley flour.  As for missing out on a walk it didn’t really matter as far as the writing of this feature is concerned, because a few years ago I did the best hike you can do out of West Bexington - one that takes you way up onto the coastal ridge so that you can stroll east, before descending to lovely Abbotsbury and returning along the coast path past the famous Swannery.  For those who don’t know it, West Bexington is to be found a few miles east of West Bay, the Dorset harbour village where they filmed all three series of ITV’s Broadchurch and the 2015 version of Far From the Madding Crowd, not forgetting two series of an old 1990’s favourite called Harbour Lights. Go east past West Bay’s famous red and (dangerously) crumbling cliffs and you reach a rather lonely empty section of the littoral, which is geography’s way of building up a head of steam to form the long and magnificent Chesil Beach. A high ridge escorts this shoreline as it marches east - and the B3157, which weaves its way along the contours in between, must be one of the most scenic roads in all of England. Halfway between the villages of Burton Bradstock and Abbotsbury, you’ll see the collection of seaside villas otherwise known as West Bexington, stretching down from the road towards the seashore. Most of the community would have been built after World War 2, but there are parts (including lovely old Tamarisk Farm) that are truly ancient.  A single lane served the place by descending directly to the sea and down at the end, almost on the beach itself, is the much-celebrated Club House. I say “much-celebrated” because the place has won not only two AA rosettes but a huge reputation. Despite being a stormy day, the restaurant was packed - we met diners who’d come from afar afield as Gloucester and Taunton just for lunch.  The young head chef, Will Hickton, is a talented chap who is passionate about using the freshest local produce at the restaurant, which is part of a triumvirate that includes the Hive Beach Café in Burton Bradstock and The Watch House in West Bay. Will’s lobster bisque, which I had as a starter, was one of the best soups I’ve consumed in a very long time. Light, but deeply flavoured, with a hint of citrus. A shellfish bisque would be on my list of Desert Island dishes if I were ever forced to make such a selection, and this was a very good one indeed.  James and I went for the £40 sharing platter as our main and were duly presented. A gargantuan seabass was brought to us on a large wooden board with a few beautifully cooked chips and other sides such as a watercress salad and a creamy slaw. The big fish itself was perfectly cooked - we cleared every last morsel of its succulent flesh from nose to tail. Will, who is an amiable chap, cooks in an open sided kitchen and he seemed happy to have a quick chat while he turned out dish after dish for the hungry crowd. The whole operation at The Club House is overseen by the charming general manager, Ferenc ‘Fefe’ Kovacs, who is not only in charge of the drinks offering as well as running front of house. He brought me a sublime mocktail based on elderflower which is in season right now, while James who wasn’t driving had something equally as exotic but with alcohol. Fefe is a level-three sommelier and his carefully-curated wine list and cocktail collection recently saw the restaurant reach the finals of the ‘Best Bar List’ category at the 2024 Trencherman’s Awards. As we sat there enjoying the food and admiring the wild maritime views I couldn’t help but feel that West Bexington has a sort of John Buchan-esque, 1930’s, between-the-two-world-wars, vibe. It’s a special place. And The Club House would be a wonderful place, indeed, to watch the sunset turning the sea red while sipping a cocktail just before dinner. And talking of wonderful places, Tamarisk Farm - just up the road - also belongs in such a category. I will never forget visiting this place a few years ago when one of the members of the Pearce family, which owns the farm, told me: “We have one or two elderly animals that graze out in some of the fields - and sometimes I think they have such a lovely life, they forget to die.”     It seemed such a wonderfully content and peaceful thing to say in this troubled modern world, that I based an entire newspaper column on the idea of being too happy to kick the bucket. Last week, farmer Adam Simon (who married in to the Pearce family) said another thing which tickled me… “We’re producing really good eggs from hens which are pasture-fed - they live in two nicely painted converted old caravans - one’s called Cluckington Palace and the other is Hensington Palace.” Having bought half a dozen of Tamarisk’s regal eggs, I can report that they are worthy of a Royal Warrant.    The family has been here for the best part of 70 years, farming organically. Indeed, Tamarisk was one of the first registered organic farms in the UK. Long may it continue. I also purchased a bag of Adam’s barley flour with which I made a truly delicious sourdough loaf. Barley flour doesn’t rise as well as wheat flour but what it loses in airiness it makes up for in flavour. Mixed two-thirds to one-third with a strong white bread flour it makes a loaf which acts as an ideal base for the scrambled version of those palace eggs.  So, some wonderful ingredients to take home… And having lunched so well, you might - like me - feel the need to work off some of the calories and enjoy those scenic surroundings… I promise, the following walk is one of the best coastal hikes in the entire South West region.  West Bexington Abbotsbury Circular Walk This hike scores 10-out-10 for views, history, interest, individuality and, last but not least, because there’s such a good watering hole to round things off.  High coastal ridges don’t come better than the great grassy limestone upland that runs west to east along the West Dorset coast. In fact, there’s a wondrous long distance trail called the South Dorset Ridgeway that traverses the entire shooting match. It runs from the West Bexington area to Osmington Mills, a distance of some 17 miles, and offers stunning views of the Jurassic Coast along almost every step of the way. Our shorter circular walk follows a couple of miles of the airy trail, but it begins in the car park adjacent to The Club House restaurant down on West Bexington beach. We walk up the lane to find the footpath which begins its climb out of the village near Tamarisk Farm. In climbing this path we get all the hard work over in one short sharp haul - it only takes 25 minutes to reach the top of the ridge - after that, it’s all either level walking, or downhill. So we turn east on the long distance trail and, by taking the right-hand path where the track splits, we are able to stroll through the high National Trust owned fields to Tulk’s Hill situated above wonderfully named Labour In Vain Farm. We continue along the ridge by crossing the road and heading east toward the big 10-acre earthworks with a trig point, called Abbotsbury Castle. It is believed this ancient hill fort was built by the Celtic Durotriges tribe, who lost control of it when the Romans invaded in AD 43. Apparently they didn’t put up much of a struggle when the second Augustian legion of Vespasian marched along the ridge. Then it’s on to Wear’s Hill where we take the spur down to the village of Abbotsbury. Turn right to walk down to the main road, which we cross to find Chapel Lane just a little way down on the left.  We are now heading seawards towards the famous Swannery, but just before reaching this wonderful tourist attraction, we follow the a path around to the right and pass around St Catherine’s Hill to head for what is the very beginning of the grand seven-mile stretch of Chesil Beach.  We arrive at the beach at the far western end of The Flete, which is the large lagoon which escorts the inland part of the Chesil Beach shingle all the way to Portland. From here, it’s simply a matter of marching along the coast path back to West Bexington and the excellent Club House restaurant.

In this weekend's newspapers, my Hesp Out West feature is all about the wondrous food you’ll find in the little harbour town of Porthleven, down there on the Lizard’s north-western shoreline. I first went there to write about the place nearly 25 years ago in an article for an old newspaper series called Hesp’s Harbours, in which I visited over 50 West Country ports. So here’s the article I wrote all those many long years ago… There's a famous photo of the Bickford-Smith Institute and its gaunt clock-tower surrounded by wild seas. In a way, the picture is an icon that illustrates man's mad desire to be by the sea, regardless of what the elements may chuck at him. He will sail, surf and swim, he will fish and frolic on the beach - he will even build a special place in which to read - just as long as he can be beside the sea. Anyone who's ever been to Porthleven will know the Bickford-Smith Institute because its dark, rather austere old reading rooms dominate the harbour mouth. The adjoining 70 foot clock-tower watches over the town and lords it over the occasional tempest - just like Big Ben watches over the Thames and stands aloft from the boiling cauldron of Westminster. Stark and indomitable the tower seems to say to the ocean - look, you have your mysteries-of-the-deep and your terrible violence; we have intelligence and books. Man meets sea. And when he does he must build - not only literary institutes - but groins and quays, piers and wharves so that he can protect his frail vessels from the mayhem of the waves. At Porthleven that mayhem is kept firmly outside the Baulk, the narrow mouth of the inner harbour where massive beams of timber are lowered to take the punch out of the waves that come hurtling past the pier, past the Institute and into the outer basin whenever there's a sou'westerly howling in across Mount's Bay. It's an odd name - the Baulk. Being in a reading-room frame of mind I looked up the word in a dictionary and it said: "A hindrance, a check; a disappointment." Disappointing indeed if you get home in a storm and find that the harbour staff have used the derrick on the quay to lower each beam into its special place. They're not meant to, and don't without contacting each of the port's vessels, because this is an official Port Of Refuge according to an Act of Parliament in 1860. At least, that's what a local skipper told me and he seemed proud of this curious old-fashioned status. But disappointment can also rear its ugly head when massive waves pick up the big beams and throw them about like match-sticks. I talked to some Porthleven men who were congregated by the harbour-master's shed and all of them had seen the Baulk come unseated in a gale. "It takes a special sort of wave from a particular direction," said John Russell who works at the harbour. "And it has to be big..." Gigantic I would have thought. The pieces of timber employed to create the Baulk are between 28 and 32 feet long and two feet thick. Each one weighs two tons, but John and the other men had seen the beams plucked from their settings like bits of cork. Later harbour master Ken Milburn explained to me that the timbers weren't designed to be an impenetrable dam, but float in their seatings and act as a calming influence on the big 'runs' that come into the harbour in gale force conditions. "It doesn't even have to be gale-force," said Ken. "If you get a south-easterly swell in certain tide conditions, you can get a run occurring in here big enough to damage things. Anyway, when they were tightening belts in war-time, they narrowed the channel at the bottom so they could use up some damaged pieces of timber and this narrowing had the effect of allowing the beams to float more. But they don't come out often - I can only remember it happening two or three times." "I'll tell you one thing," laughed Jim Allen who has lived in Porthleven all his life. "The timber's a lot better than the steel gates we had about 25 years ago. They only lasted two tides and were so bent and damaged they had to be cut out." Porthleven's problem is that the narrow, natural inlet faces south west, straight into the eye of the worst weather you can get roaring across Mount's Bay. A pier points nobly out to sea on the southerly side of the harbour mouth, but it can do little to prevent the waves from entering the outer sections of the port and building up into what Mr Milburn calls a run. Just past the Institute, the natural contours of the valley curve slightly to the north and this is where the Outer Harbour, with its own small outer quay, offers the first stages of protection. The community to the north of the inlet is called Breageside and it is here, near the Ship Inn, that a second quay forms the Inner Harbour where the boats are moored. You'll see the baulks of timber and the derrick on this quay, waiting for the weatherman to use the words south-westerly in conjunction with the term Gale Force. Just inside this quay are the fishing boats and it was here that I met skipper Robert Williams of the "Girl Penny" who had just been out, in what I thought was a horrible chop, to reap the harvest of his pots. He was kind enough to do us a good deal on a fiver's worth of crabs, but alas we were far too poor to even ask the value of the splendid eight-pound lobster which he proudly hauled ashore. "I remember the days when we could catch 100 of these in the 150 pots which we would put out," shrugged Robert looking down at his haul of about a dozen lobsters. "But a lot of them were really crayfish and we don't seem to get them anymore." I told him that I didn't envy him his work on a day when you could hear the surf booming at the harbour-mouth. "I'd be sick as a dog," I cringed. "I get sea-sick, suffered from it all my life," laughed the skipper. "Sometimes its worse than others. If the crew behave though, it doesn't tend to be so bad..." What about being caught out at sea when the weather's brewed up rough? "You can go to Newlyn, but the harbour master here will always radio to ask you if you're coming back or not. He's got to because its a Harbour of Refuge according to the Act of 1860." I asked Ken Milburn about the shutting of the Baulk: "You usually get plenty of warning of gales and I try to have a word with each crew before they go out to see if they intend coming back. Then, if things get worse, we'll radio each boat. If they say they're coming back, we'll wait 'til they do." None of this was necessary back in the 14th century when Breage on one side, and Sithney on the other, were tiny fishing hamlets surrounding a stream flowing into a small cove. A bar of shingle created the only protection for the tiny boats that worked out of here back then. Work on a proper harbour began in 1811 because of the increasing need for coal and supplies for local mines. It was a good time to start - soon there were plenty of prisoners from the Napoleonic wars to do the donkey work. But even with their help the development took 14 years to complete and was eventually opened in August 1825 with a feast of roast beef and plum pudding. 30 years later Harvey & Co of Hayle leased the harbour and built the inner basin so that trade could increase with imports of coal, limestone and timber and exports of tin, copper and china clay. From that time Porthleven became well-known as a ship-building port. Clippers, schooners and yachts were built in the big flat yard just behind the inner harbour in a trade that survived until the late 1970's. Much of the local fishing fleet, which crowded the harbour 120 years ago, must have been built just a few feet away. No fewer than 144 boats worked out of here in 1880 with a total crew of 583 men and boys. Hundreds of women and children were paid threepence an hour to salt and pack the large catches of pilchards which were processed along the harbour-side and, added to these, were the craftsmen making sails, nets, ropes and other equipment essential to the fleet. So thank goodness for William Bickford-Smith of Trevarno who, in 1883, spent a large sum on finding them all something to do with their spare time rather than drain the contents of bottles. He built his Literary Institute so that they could go down to the sea and have a thumping good read regardless of the tempest that would occasionally rattle the Baulk in this most pleasant of ports. Do say to a local: "Where can I get some good fish and chips?" A good chippie is a rarity nowadays but Porthleven has a great one - Chips With Everything in Shute Lane where "everything" gets fried in fresh palm oil for a lighter taste... Don't say: "Dash" The Dash was a Porthleven lifeboat last used in service during the 1920's. Now she's a rapidly deteriorating hulk in a car park wearing the sad air of the sinkable and some locals are a little ashamed of her demise.

A startling thing happened to me the other day - I was in the middle of a capital city when I was awakened from my early-morning reverie by the one and only cuckoo I’ve heard this year.  We used to hear cuckoos every year in our Exmoor valley, indeed, several of my neighbours have heard the unique and inspiring call this spring, but I haven’t and I miss the old bird. So you can imagine my surprise when, right bang in the middle of Copenhagen, I heard it’s optimistic cry. There was a reason I doubted my own ears for a moment. I was strolling around the area called Christiania which, as many of you will know, is the famous hippie quarter of that fair city. And even though it was early on Sunday morning, I could sniff the strange herbal, earthy, miasma of marijuana smoke. So the moment the bird let rip, I was thinking: “Blimey Hespie…. You must be stoned on the fumes coming out of all these much-graffitied houses!” However, I realised that hallucinations and apparitions caused by second-hand dope smoke wafting about in the open air were most unlikely, so I pressed record on my phone’s video app just to prove to myself and anyone else interested that I really was hearing a cuckoo call right there in a large and busy city. Perhaps the location isn’t quite so surprising when you know that the rear of the Christiania area is ringed by a large rampart from some bygone age and a lake. It’s all been left to go semi-wild - there are woods and thickets - so the place is a haven for wildlife. Unexpected magical moments… I’d spend my life collecting them if I could - they add a sparkle to proceedings and make life worth living. You certainly do not need dope smoke in your lungs to inspire such things or to help you enjoy them when they do occur.  Which brings me to the two elderly ladies I met during the lengthy train journey I endured (and mentioned in last week’s column) on my way to Denmark. It seemed unlikely, but I did wonder if the pair hadn’t been smoking the old weed just previous to climbing aboard the Hamburg to Copenhagen express.  Why? Because we’d got chatting, as people do when travelling in those old-fashioned sealed-off compartments that all trains had years ago and some still do. The ladies asked why I was visiting their country. When I told them I was on a press trip designed to introduce British journalists to the glories of an area called the Triangle Region they demanded, in a very jolly way, to examine my itinerary. I handed them the Danish version and after a minute or two they both began to roar with laughter. I couldn’t imagine what could possibly be inspiring such merriment, but the laughter soon turned into an almost hysterical gasping for breath as the tears flowed. Why? What could possibly be causing such hilarity in a simple listing of visits to restaurants, tourist attractions and castles? That’s when I began to suspect they may have been puffing on something stronger than a cigarette before boarding the train. Eventually, one of them managed to control her laughter for long enough to explain… “They have apparently booked you into a nudist restaurant where the wearing of clothes is banned. You and your journalist colleagues are going to be naked!” I was pretty shocked, I can tell you. And all I could think to say was something about hoping the restaurant wouldn’t be too cold - which, from a male point of view is very much not what you want in a bare-it-all-situation. When I muttered the words, “diminutive in size anyway” the two old ladies collapsed even further into mirth.  So I sat there remembering an old joke from years ago - one which did the rounds when “streaking” became a strange and unlikely pastime. It features two old military types who are attending a hunt ball and chatting when a 90-year-old woman runs by, naked as the day she was born. The joke explained that she’d seen streakers on TV and, being a bit of an exhibitionist, she was determined to have a go at it before going to that inevitable nudist camp in the sky.  As she flitted past, one old colonel looked at the other and barked: “What the devil was that?” The other shrugged and said: “Dunno. Whatever it was, it needed a damned good ironing!” I told the two Danish ladies this joke just before they alighted from the train and it had them falling about with laughter to such an extent they were still in stitches on the platform as they waved and cried: “Enjoy your naked lunch, Martin!” I fretted about that nudist meal, until my Danish minder said: “Don’t be daft. Those ladies must have read it completely wrong. We’re going to a restaurant where everything is stripped back. The food and the service, that is. Nothing to do with nudity.” One flew over the cuckoo’s nest. That was how I felt. You don’t need dope smoke to sometimes feel a little unhinged.  Christiania: Fact File Overview Christiania, also known as Freetown Christiania, is a self-proclaimed autonomous neighborhood located in the borough of Christianshavn in Copenhagen, Denmark. Known for its alternative lifestyle, colorful houses, and unique community rules, Christiania has become a significant cultural and historical landmark. Founding and Early History Established: September 26, 1971 Founders: A group of hippies and squatters Location: Former military barracks and parts of the city ramparts Key Historical Milestones 1971: The area was taken over by a group of activists, artists, and squatters who sought to create an alternative society based on communal living. 1972: Christiania's status as a social experiment was recognized by the Danish government, which tolerated its presence despite its unofficial status. 1989: The Danish Parliament passed the Christiania Law, legalising the collective settlement while maintaining some state control. 2004: Efforts to normalise Christiania's status led to conflicts between residents and the government, resulting in various protests and legal battles. 2011: Christiania's residents collectively purchased the land from the state to maintain its autonomy through the Foundation Freetown Christiania. Culture and Lifestyle Communal Living: Residents share resources and responsibilities, adhering to a community-driven decision-making process. Art and Architecture: Christiania is known for its vibrant street art, murals, and eclectic, handmade houses. Green Spaces: The area is characterized by lush greenery, gardens, and a focus on sustainability and environmental consciousness. Notable Features Pusher Street: Famous for its open cannabis trade, which operates in a legal grey area. The sale of hard drugs is strictly prohibited by the community - when I was there a sign declared this street had been closed because of unscrupulous and sometimes violent gangs. Christiania Bikes: The cargo bike, known as the Christiania bike, was invented here and is a popular mode of transportation in Copenhagen. Cultural Events: Regularly hosts music festivals, art exhibitions, and communal gatherings that reflect its alternative and inclusive ethos. Legal Status and Governance Foundation Freetown Christiania: Manages the area, ensuring its preservation and self-governance. Autonomy: Operates with its own set of rules and regulations

This week I have been thinking about potatoes. A lot of people think about potatoes a lot of the time - chips and crisps, after all, are two of the nation’s favourite things. For me, this love of the humble spud was highlighted by the vast amount of feedback this column received after we featured oven-chips cooked over charcoal in a rotisserie basket - I stand by the claim that cheap frozen supermarket oven-chips prepared in this way are as good as you can get. But when you get down to basics, at this time of year fresh spuds - steamed and eaten immediately they’ve been harvested - are hard to beat. Something happens to the sugars in a potato after it’s been left hanging around for a while - new potatoes cooked and eaten just minutes out of the ground do have a sweeter, more pronounced, earthy, flavour.  The same experience can be enjoyed with good fresh shop-bought potatoes, albeit to a slightly lesser degree. The Jersey Royals in the stores at the moment are a case in point, although many will argue they’re not as good as they used to be. I’d say that Cornish Earlies are just as good. It was 20 years ago that I was asked to write about a marketing push that was being launched to promote Cornish Early potatoes. I went down to West Penwith to find out more about these wondrous spuds (which were being marketed with the tagline “Dirty Delicious”) and we visited a farmer near Land’s End so that we could taste these marvellous pomme de terre. They had a fabulous, almost ready-salted flavour and a firm but creamy texture.  At the time I wrote: “The true ‘early’ from West Cornwall is so delicious, you can happily eat a bowlful with nothing added save for a knob of local butter, a little mint, pepper and salt.” Farmer Jeff Thomas told me he thought the flavour had something to do with the layer of black peaty soil that thinly covers the granite rocks of Penwith. I wondered if it might also be linked to the constant veil of salt spray which comes off the Atlantic. Early potatoes have been grown in Cornish cottage gardens since the mid 1700s when, along with pilchards, they made up the staple diet of most local working families. But it wasn’t until the early 19th century that a market developed for the distinctive new potatoes of Cornwall and the Scillies. By 1808 the first Cornish potatoes of the season were in such demand they were being shipped all round the UK, to Europe, and even as far as Barbados and Newfoundland.  In the Isles of Scilly, top quality early potatoes were the main source of income for the islands’ farmers for a century or more. Alas, that trade has disappeared, although one or two farmers still grow the odd field for local consumption. I spent the entire summer of 1976 living on the Scillies and earned a few quid helping a farmer on the remote isle of St Agnes harvest his spuds. Half a century later, I still maintain that those new potatoes (of the Home Guard variety) were the best I have ever eaten.  To harvest them in the tiny warm fields - surrounded by the tall, protective, Pittosporum hedgerows - you had to clear away a thick layer of desiccated seaweed which the farmer had harvested during autumn storms and put on the land. I am pretty certain this salty fertiliser had something to do with increasing the flavour. Or maybe it was just the fact that we’d eat these wondrous spuds with nothing but a knob of homemade butter, fresh from the farm’s one Jersey milking cow, and a sprinkle of fresh-picked wild fennel that grows on most of the islands.   If they’re top of my own spud-you-like listing, what’s the second best potato I have ever eaten?  I came across them in Japan, of all places. The beautiful northern island of Hokkaido is famous for its potatoes - indeed they grow 99 different varieties in the valleys between the island’s many forests and its scattering of extinct volcanoes. One of the best is a variety called May Queen, a dense, waxy number that’s marvellous for use in salads and the like. I was told by a local farmer that the mineral rich soils, created by so much volcanic action, gave the Hokkaido spuds their pronounced potatoey flavour.  Third in my list of super-spuds are the amazing wrinkled new potatoes cooked in sea salt which are a speciality in the Canaries. Papas arrugadas are early potatoes encrusted with a thin layer of salt - they’re cooked in highly salted water (traditionally, seawater) for long enough that evaporation occurs and the salt forms a crust, giving the spuds a wrinkled look. The dense, velvet-fleshed, orbs have an intense flavour and are usually served with a small bowl or two of the island dips or sauces, known as mojo - pronounced mo-ho.  Having said all this, nothing quite beats the new potatoes you grow in your own garden - the ones you are able to cook and consume with some good butter and garden mint just a few minutes after they’ve been taken from the soil.  QUICK WALK IN NEW POTATO COUNTRY A 300-mile round trip to taste a potato? Sounds mad, but that’s what I did some years ago to report on a newly launched campaign to market Cornish early potatoes. As I mention in the main article today, we visited a farm near magnificent Cape Cornwall just a couples of miles north of Land’s End.  I certainly made good use of the visit. Not only did I purchase a large sack of spuds I took the opportunity to enjoy a walk so that I could admire the stunning coastal scenery. Indeed, Cape Cornwall is one of the most dramatic places I know in which to enjoy a quick hike.  Officially speaking, a cape is the point of land where two bodies of water meet - and the reason this mighty finger of rock earned itself the name was because, until the Ordnance Survey came along and mapped Britain properly, it was believed that Cape Cornwall was the most westerly point in England, dividing the Irish Sea and English Channel.  There’s a car park on the shoulder of the cape and from here walkers are spoilt for choice. You could, for example, take the coast path south - above Priest Cove - to walk along the top of the high cliffs which would take you around Carn Gloose, past remarkable Ballowall Barrow, and down into the deep valley where another footpath will take you sharp right down to the tiny cove at Porth Nanven.     I elected to go the other way by turning my back on the cape and cutting across from the car park to find the coast path heading north. This took me around the steep seaward slopes into the Kenidjack Valley, which is riddled with old mine chimneys and workings. The path wends its way high along the contours between the fields and the wild terrain of the steep slopes, but eventually it descends down towards Kenidjack Farm.  At the bottom, by the stream, a track leaves the coast path to head off down the valley towards the sea, and (not for the first time - this is one of my favourite places in Cornwall) I walked down it to visit the rough and rocky beach at Porth Ledden, before retracing my footsteps back the way I’d come.  Only this time I left the coast path up on the ridge of Cape Cornwall to extend my short walk around the head-land itself - which you can do by following a footpath that heads out along its north-facing ramparts to round the chimney that marks the head-land for miles around.  What a place in which to go mining… That is what I always think when I visit this place. The mine was operated intermittently between 1838 and 1883 - and the chimney was, sensibly, retained as a navigation aid.  Around the corner heading back now towards Priest’s Cove you might see traces of how the former ore dressing floors were converted into greenhouses and wineries - now long gone alas.  Like so much of this coast, the cape is now in the hands of the National Trust and so preserved for the nation’s enjoyment. And enjoy it you will - I promise - if, like me, you go out there for a quick hike after you’ve bought some of the delicious local Cornish Earlies. Fact File Basic Walk: around Cape Cornwall, either by heading south above Priest Cove for a visit to Porth Nanven before visiting the cape, or by walking north, as we did, to Porth Ledden, then enjoying views from the old mine chimney.  Recommended map: Ordnance Survey Explorer 102. Distance and going: anything between one and three miles.

It didn’t last long, but we did have a few days of warm and sunny weather - which was enough to make millions of us head outdoors to cook and eat under blue skies. After a long wet winter, it seemed like a good idea. Essential even. Hopefully a proper summer will be with us soon.  So this week the phrase “Out West” translates to simply going outside for lunch or dinner. Dining al-fresco has come a long way. A large industry has built up around the concept of outdoor cooking and today there are appliances and gizmos that can have the humble home-cook preparing outdoor meals as well as any chef. Having said that, the basic idea remains as old as the hills. Kindling a fire and cooking over the flame is what our forebears were doing thousands of years ago - but what many of us love today is the innovative marriage that has taken place between Stone-Age and Space-Age cookery. My only regret, as I admire the chicken revolving slowly on my Kamado Joe with its clever rotisserie attachment, is that none of this new-old technology was available 50 years ago when I started cooking. If I knew at 17 what I know now… If I’d had the remarkable array of appliances and gizmos… then I’d have been dining in much greater style for decades.  Take that rotisserie, for example. In former times only well-equipped professional kitchens had such devices - and even then they were heated by electric or gas, not the live flame of charcoal which can impart such deep flavour. Now manufacturers like Kamado Joe have developed kits which allow you to rotisserie in your own backyard. Even better, not only are you able to cook evenly over charcoal, you’re also getting the slow-cooking qualities of a clay-lined oven (which is what ‘kamado’ means in Japanese). Some might think the idea of a rotisserie is a gimmick, designed solely to show-off delicious looking items turning golden in a restaurant window. But anyone who has ever burned anything on a barbecue will know the concept is spot-on… When only one surface is facing hot coals - as in a piece of meat lying on a grill - then that’s the bit which is in danger of burning while the opposite surface stays raw. By slowly revolving an item you, to some extent, remove the danger of burning. I leave a chicken spinning slowly in my kamado for an hour or more without having to check - and I do this with even more confidence if I’ve taken the trouble to inject the carcass with melted butter or garlic oil so the meat doesn’t dry out. Special meat-injectors being another useful and inexpensive gizmo in the modern al-fresco cook’s armoury. Of course, the idea of a hunk of meat revolving over a live flame is hardly new - many a rural-life museum will have antique fire-irons which show how the art of the rotisserie was in use centuries ago - although, it did require some poor blighter to sit there for hours turning the crank. Now we just press a switch. What is new (to me, anyway) is the concept of the rotisserie basket. By clamping some kind of fireproof cage onto your spinning crank, you can rotisserie much smaller items. Simple delicious things, such as panzanella - an Italian dish consisting of toasted hunks of bread, cherry tomatoes and prawns…  Drizzle chunks of stale sourdough with a little olive oil and place in a rotisserie basket, then spin over the coals for three or four minutes. Add the cherry tomatoes for a few more minutes, before eventually bunging in the raw prawns to revolve over the fames until they’ve turned pink. You can tweak by adding cloves of garlic, or herbs or a sprinkle of species, like paprika. The point is that the tumbling action inside the turning cage will help blend the flavours together, resulting in a delicious but ludicrously simple starter.   Chicken wings, drumsticks or small hunks of some other meat rotisseried in a basket alongside new potatoes and whole shallots are a sensation. Again, add a drizzle of oil and herbs or spices to your own taste.   If you want the best shop-bought frozen oven-chips you’ve ever tasted, just spin them for ten minutes over hot coals, to which you’ve introduced a pinch of oak or applewood chippings for a bit of aromatic smoke. Then loosen your belt. I warn you, they are extremely more-ish.  Simple - and you don’t have to be a good cook or even a mediocre one to do any of this. There are plenty of inexpensive rotisserie options which will fit most barbecue appliances - but, like everything, it is a bit of a learning curve. However, the results should be delicious from day one.  THE MEAT MEN Whether you have the most sophisticated barbecue set-up or you’re relying on a simple grill, you’ll be needing the right stuff to cook on it - and for a great many of us that means meat.  I cook many things over a live flame - from different kinds of bread to a wide variety of vegetables - but I am a meat-eater, and as such I have always been choosy about where I get my carnivorous fix from.  A few years ago I came across two Somerset lads who were developing what has now become one of the most exciting meat-industry businesses in the West Country. Scott Cartwright and Edward Davies - both aged 33 - are two of the youngest Master Butchers in the region and it is refreshing to discover and support two talented individuals who are making a name for themselves in an industry which, nowadays, is attracting very few youngsters.  Scott and Ed, who have both worked in the meat-industry since they were boys, have only been running their Somerset-based Meat Men business for six years, but in that time they have built a remarkable customer-base which includes more than 30 high street butchery shops as well as hundreds of restaurants and high-end chefs, not to mention countless thousands of domestic consumers like me who buy from the company’s website (https://www.meatmen.co.uk/). I am one of the latter because the quality is second to none. So I went to meet them at their base just outside Taunton this week because I was interested to discover how it was that two such young men came to be running such a successful business in an industry which no longer attracts many youngsters.  Despite being comparatively raw in years, they have amassed a wealth of experience between them. Ed began helping out at a local meat business as a teenager and Scott started working as a general dogs-body for a well-known Somerset butcher at weekends while still at school.  Not surprisingly after nearly 20 years experience apiece, both are now accredited Master Butchers.  But that’s only part of the reason behind their success - the other element is their passion. Scott’s idea of a “gap year”, for example, meant working in butchers’ shops around the world.  “At 19, I wanted to learn as much as I could about the butchery trade, so I decided to go travelling. I went to New Zealand and Australia, and worked in France,” he told me, explaining that he’d picked up on all manner of alternative and interesting ways of doing things during his travels.  Then, in 2018, the friends decided to develop their own business. “We thought we’d have a crack at going out on our own. So we began with events like the Bath and West Show and Badminton Horse Trials. We were preparing food initially - steak sandwiches, burgers- things like that. “I’d been doing this kind of thing for another company, so I knew the scene - but we were doing it differently and it really took off,” said Scott. “We were being asked to come back next year by all the shows.” The pair put their money into a catering van (which required a last-minute dash up the motorway so they could purchase it at a bargain price) and everything was looking very promising indeed. “Then Covid came along. Everything was cancelled. So we had a bit of a choice to make. Because, although we had invested everything, we still had decent jobs.  “However, we had set ourselves up - we’d made our projections - so we thought about it and realised there can be such a thing as good luck and good timing. Covid meant no one was going to the shops - they wanted stuff online - so we set up a Facebook page and put together some barbecue packs. Within two days it had 35,000 hits, which was absolutely crazy.” The business grew rapidly from that moment, but the lads knew the lockdowns would not last forever, so began adapting their business to also provide a wholesale offer supplying other butchers, chefs and restaurants.  “That’s where the premium quality has to come in,” explained Ed, who does a lot of the buying, much of it at Sedgemoor Market just down the road.  The Meat Men focus on Westcountry-based produce - they have started fattening much of their own beef and do so to the highest of standards, while all the pork comes from just one award-winning Devon farm (“By far the best pork I’ve ever dealt with,” says Ed). Lamb is all sourced within the region.     The pair work hard not only to maintain high standards, they also create all manner of new and interesting cuts which keep the high-end chefs happy, not to mention domestic customers. And the business is expanding - this summer the Meat Men processing hub will grow to three times the size - which means Scott and Ed will by purchasing a lot more West Country grown meat.  Which is good news for the region’s farmers, and good news for us home-cooks.  Something to slurp with the BBQ? Did you know that Thursday (23rd May) is International Chardonnay Day? No, I didn’t either. There are so many special days in the calendar nowadays you could fill a newspaper with them and nothing else.  However, I mention this one because a PR from Tesco recently sent samples from the supermarket’s new Chardonnay range, and very good they were too. The range spans various continents and includes no/low alcohol options. I particularly liked the D’arenberg Witches Berry - a wine fermented and matured in old French oak for seven months. Witches Berry is apparently a weed that grows in the vineyards. Italian women once put the juice of the berry in their eyes which dilated their pupils, making them appear darker and more beautiful. Since 1912 the Osborn family have tended vineyards in McLaren vale, South Australia. Today, family member Chester is making distinctive wines using traditional and sustainable methods. Delicious, and I reckon ideal to go with some of my rotisserie delights.

A grand afternoon tea is a wonderful thing - there are people in this world who’d survive on it and nothing else if they could - but most of us like to ring the changes. And when we’re somewhere as maritime as Cornwall, we like to eat as much seafood as we can. Cornwall’s seafood capital, Newlyn, sits snug in the most sheltered corner of Mount’s Bay just a mile or two west of Greg’s high tea. It is one of the largest and most important fishing ports in England, and I love the place. But years ago there was something puzzling about Newlyn which I could never get my head around. Although the boats were bringing in some of the best, freshest, most beautiful, fish in Europe and the large auction facility was selling it daily by the meg-truckload, there was not really anywhere in town cooking or preparing the stuff so you could eat it on the spot. That would not happen anywhere else in Europe! Indeed, when I first visited Newlyn as a journalist, a whopping 96 percent of the catch was being exported to Europe! That has changed. I first noticed the change a decade ago in the form of a queue of hungry looking people. I have seen this line of folk many times since, standing outside a small but jolly-looking establishment known as the Mackerel Sky Seafood Bar. So, while visiting St Michael’s Mount recently, I went there for lunch to find out what the fuss was all about.  A much-deserved fuss… Because the food served at Mackerel Sky is every bit as good as that queue would suggest (it partly exists, by the way, because there is a no-booking policy at this small restaurant).  The place was opened in 2015 by Nina and Jamie MacLean and the tag-line of the place is: “We aim to bring you the freshest and most local produce. The plates are ‘taster’ size, so order one or two, plus a side to make up a meal - or just go ‘tapas’ style..”  Which is what I did with my local friends, Newlyn born and bred seafood expert Robin Turner and his wife Rebecca, who is the mastermind behind the excellent Indulgence Catering business.  It was really first-class. We’re talking about dishes such as crispy sole with katsu curry sauce (£9.00), grilled local white fish with samphire and capers (£9.75), beer-battered local white fish with tartare sauce (£9.00), grilled mackerel, pickled cucumber, horseradish (£9.00), crispy monkfish burger, seaweed mayo (£11.50) etc etc… Like Greg Milne, neither Nina nor Jamie went to catering college or had a background in cooking. Jamie had a degree in Russian history and classics, although Nina did do a Masters’ in international hospitality management. As is so often the case in life, a bout of foreign travel changed things for the couple. In Australia they found themselves working in catering establishments and so, literally, got a taste for the world of catering. They returned to London where they worked for several years in various restaurants, before moving to Surrey and then to Cornwall, where they bought a lease on a cafe.  To cut a long story short, they now operate their much-acclaimed seafood bar in Newlyn, which they recently enlarged by annexing a shop next-door but one. The property between the two Mackerel Sky outposts is about to become their own delicatessen, specialising in Cornish delights, and should be open by the end of next month.  In a way, I’m sorry to be adding to the constant queue by writing this review - but I do so because I reckon every harbour town in the West Country deserves to have such an establishment. Check out their ever changing menu at https://mackerelskycafe.co.uk/

I began the last Hesp Out West article by saying that sometimes it’s a good idea to climb a mountain or hill in order to get a better view of the world that surrounds you. Being up high can literally lift your spirits and somehow help to put the complexities of life into perspective.  The South West region has a variety of summits which will do the job, but some are better than others when it comes to supplying the drama of that all-round 360-degree panorama… Five West Country eminences which give you that “closer to heaven” feeling… Burrow Mump: Hills don’t have to be mountains to make you feel very high indeed - Burrow Bump, which looms above the hamlet of Burrowbridge in the heart of the Somerset Levels, only rises 80 feet from the plain, but will give you views second to none. Brent Knoll No single bit of terra firma in the entire West Country is more obvious than Brent Knoll – the great big mini-mountain that presides over the M5 motorway just north of Bridgwater. It looms like some vast sentinel guarding the very gateway to the region.  Godolphin Hill: Down in West Cornwall, this eminence does a similar job - despite only rising just over 500 feet above sea-level, that’s enough to show you a massive slice of the far west. Lewesdon Hill: At 915 feet, this is the highest point in Dorset, and well-worth a visit. Not many climb this out-of-the-way eminence, but you are rewarded with stunning views of the West Country’s heart-lands if you do. Dunkery Beacon: A relative giant at 1703 feet. What makes this hill so remarkable is that it’s only a couple of miles from the sea, so you really do feel on top of the world. On a clear day you’ll see no fewer than 15 different counties from the cairn at the top, and may even spy the sparkle of the English Channel 50 miles to the south.