Browse Nourish Stories by Keyword

A Better Mood by Food

Victor Temprano

My third day in Edinburgh, and my stomach groaned ferociously as I stepped out of my cheap hostel across from Ryrie’s on Clifton Terrace. I grimaced as my insides shifted and moaned. Hunger only added to the general malaise I already felt, a result of travelling too far too fast with too little purpose. I kept asking myself why I’d come here, what I was hoping to gain from it — and coming up with no good answers.

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A Burns Supper

Stephen Murphy

The smell of haggis, totties and turnip wafted through the living room. We had just moved to this three-bedroomed semi in November of ‘84 after thirty years in a tenement in Possilpark, where Mum had brought up five of a family. She had a Burns Night every other year but this was the first one I had really taken notice of. It was like a house warming for her as well. There were roughly sixteen people there that night, but we fitted better than we ever would’ve in the old tenement.

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A Moment with Mary Shaw

John Marletta

Mary Shaw told me this story, stressing that despite her age she was not present in the audience. During World War Two a nutritionist was sent from London to help the women of Glasgow make the most of any local food produce. The woman held a presentation in a Glasgow hall that was well attended and among her themes was the making of soup from fish bones. The soup was prepared and after the demonstration, questions were sought. From the audience a woman asked the only question that day – “What happened to the rest of the fish?”

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A New Start

Fiona MacLeod

Alex had long nourished the dream of moving to a Scottish Island. This dream was now a reality. His belongings were packed into a transit van, parked on the car deck of the Cal-Mac ferry.

Standing on the deck, he looked out towards Vatersay. He knew it won’t be too long till the ferry docked. The Castle in the Bay, a clan MacNeil’s holding, looked bleak, as the dark clouds gathered overhead. Driving off the car deck he waved at a familiar face.

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Keywords: 
scotland, travel, home

A Picnic Triptych (on a twelve day pony trip)

Leonie Charlton

Day Four – Kintail to Kinloch Hourn

Suardalan Bothy, with its Rowan tree for shade and its enclosed field, is a perfect place to stop for lunch. They’ve been slow, steep miles since dawn-in-Kintail when Shuna and I tacked up the two ponies, their hooves glassy with dew, and the four of us are now famished.

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A Slice of Cake and a Plateful of Memories

Anne C. Logan

Sundays were very different then. In the early Seventies, there were no shops open, no cinemas and apart from attending church for the faithful, a soporific air pervaded the small town where I grew up. Even the dogs didn’t bark. I grew up in Cupar, Fife with my sweet, gentle Mum, my kind, selfless, comedic Dad and my elder sister, who was also my best friend. Back in those days, children actually got bored. No wall-to-wall entertainment in the form of iPads, game consoles and 24 hour kids’ television. Sometimes there was actually nothing to occupy us except our imaginations.

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Apricots and Toffee

Melanie McAinsh, @mmca256

When we emigrated from Glenrothes to Johannesburg in 1970, Dad said there would be orange and banana trees in the street, ripe for picking. It wasn't really like that but the Van der Meer family next door had an apricot tree in their yard and a swimming pool.

Every morning the sun woke me. As I yawned and stretched I could see any changes in the tree. The blossoms came first, the pale papery flowers opening for what seemed only a moment before giving way to hazelnut sized balls which fattened and developed an embarrassed blush of orange.

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Berries

DJ Fox

People look at me strangely: "Are you allergic to them?", "What's not to like?", "These are straight out the garden, you'll love them."

Strawberries were a luxury in our house, only available in the summer, and only served when people came to tea, which wasn’t often. Snowed under by a mountain of sugar and drenched in Nestle’s condensed milk, I loved them. Then, when I was thirteen, I went to The Berries.

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Bridie

Kevin Addies

I jumped off the bus at Kirkcaldy and straight into the bakers to get a couple of steak bridies. Even in the rain, I wasn’t caring as I did the Scottish version of al fresco dining - eating hastily on the hoof - biting into the first bridie, savouring every fibre, every molecule of the meaty pastry perfection. I paused for breath and that small second was all it took for a seagull to swoop straight in and swipe the bridie right out of my hand. It was so deft I barely saw it happen and the next thing I knew there was the said gull across the street, tearing into the remains of my bridie.

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Changing Tables

Gourock, circa 1985

I’m standing in the small kitchen, at my mother’s side, in front of an aging electric cooker. It’s a Saturday, and I’m learning how to make scones, because we’ll have them on the table later for high tea. Saturday is always high tea in our house. In principle perhaps (although there’s always baking), it’s the day off from cooking for my mum – we’ll just have a shell pie, or boiled eggs, or Findus’ crispy pancakes.

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