Diary of a Shopkeeper, 8th October

Fair fa your honest, sonsie face

Great chieftain o the rowie race!

Abune them aa ye tak your place

Bread, bun or bagel.

Weel are ye worthy o a grace

At ony table!

Ye Powers, wha mak mankind your care,

And dish them out their bill o fare:

Try a croissant? Let’s be spared  

Sic French-like luxury.

But if ye want oor grateful prayer

Gie us a buttery!

‘Address to a Buttery’, Robert Wellfired

I was in Edinburgh for a few days’ work last week. On my final morning, I had some time off and went for a wander round the city centre, which was as beautiful as ever. After a few hours, I looked around for somewhere I could rest my feet and get some lunch. To save its blushes, I won’t name the café I went into. Suffice to say it was part of an important institution and has a high reputation. The friendly service and excellent coffee justified that reputation. But there was one major problem.

Who, in the name of all that is Doric, had the idea of serving a buttery topped with fried wild mushrooms, a mound of cream cheese, and a green salad? And who thought a bucket of chips was a necessary accompaniment? Hear that thunderous sound. It’s the tackety boots of Annie Lennox, Denis Law, and the entire cast of Scotland the What as they march along Princes Street protesting against this abomination!

The buttery is one of Scotland’s greatest foods, and, along with MV Hrossey, undoubtedly the best thing ever to come out of Aberdeen. Seeing it on a menu, even in bizarre fancy dress, was too tempting for this exiled Aberdonian to resist. Maybe I should have…

How best to describe the classic buttery? The name gives a clue: it’s full of butter. But that’s not enough fat. It’s essential to balance the butter content with lard. An alternative name for buttery is rowie, which translates into English as roll. So: a roll transformed into a rowie by the addition of large quantities of fat. That doesn’t sound very appetising. But when baked, it transforms into a glowing butter-gold piece of deliciousness. Firm in the hand, even slightly crunchy, once bitten into it reveals multiple sedimentary layers, which break beautifully in the mouth, releasing complex flavours: sweetness from caramelisation and saltiness from the generous salting of the dough.

I’ve seen the buttery described as a squashed croissant, which is not entirely wrong. But butteries have a solidity to them that their airier French cousins lack. A buttery for breakfast or at fly-cup time will power you through hours of physical work. A croissant will set you up for a brief discussion of poetry. One French poet you might discuss is François Villon, and his famous nostalgic line, ‘où sont les neiges d'antan?’ Just like the snows of yesteryear, the butteries of fond memory seem to be hard to find nowadays. A few years ago, I spent a memorable holiday driving around Buchan stopping at every bakers to sample their butteries. Many were mediocre, usually because they were too soft and bready. Undersalting was also a common fault. Murdoch Allan of Fraserburgh were the best: you can tell they take their vocation seriously, they offer both standard and well-fired versions.

So, how to eat a buttery? Good ones are best eaten plain and slightly warm. You don’t really want to toast them, but gentle heating softens the fat and gets the flavours flowing. You never split a buttery: if you want jam or butter on yours, just spread it on the flat side. That’s why there is a flat side. My granny liked to have a thin slice of cheddar on a buttery, and so do I. Delicious.

It’s all about simplicity. The buttery itself should be the star. The Edinburgh café version was a disaster: the umami flavour of the mushrooms clashed with the sweet crust, the cream cheese was claggy, and the salad was overwhelmed. The buttery was, as it should be, a substantial, doughy slab of carbs. Even I found the side bucket of chips too much.

I don’t know if non-Aberdonians find this desecration of the buttery as painful as I do. An Orkney equivalent might be a mince pattie served on black truffle risotto with a redcurrant jus. Sometimes simple is best. After all, you can’t improve on perfection. And a good buttery is simply perfect.

This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 11th October 2023. A new one appears weekly. I post them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations., and occasional small corrections or additions.