It’s SePtember and P is the operative letter. Pike, porcini, pfifferling. Porridge.
Plums. That’s how it goes up here. Huddled in a wooded glen near the
banks of Loch Lomond there lies a Lodge. It’s beating heart is the warm
kitchen. It’s scent is fruit cake and surrounded by belching pots of porridge and
piled progeny from the hands of hill-wandering huntsmen, glides one little cook….
Angel Wing oyster mushrooms, I think. Lovely to see but inedible.
"It was such a pleasure to have you with us for the last week.. Your cooking was just stunning & we all agreed that it had been quite the best holiday knowing you were there coping in your wonderfully unflappable manner. "
V Lowes