Diary of a Shopkeeper, 26th February
We recommend peeling and chopping before cooking.
Several big supermarkets chains have rationed sales of vegetables this week, amongst shortages of lettuce, cucumber, tomatoes, and other regulars in our five-a-day regime. Bad weather in Europe and North Africa – where much of the UK’s winter supplies come from – seems to be the main cause. Closer to home, rising fuel costs have meant a reduction in quantities of such crops grown in heated glasshouses. Brexit seems to have played a part too: the increased paperwork and fees for transporting goods into the UK have encouraged some food producers to prioritise supplies to easy EU destinations rather than the rebarbative Brits.
In response, the UK environment secretary, Thérèse Coffey, told parliament, ‘It’s important to make sure that we cherish the specialisms we have in this country. A lot of people could be eating turnips right now rather than thinking about lettuce and tomatoes.’
I don’t know about you, but I already am eating turnips right now. To be exact, clapshot. It’s the supreme winter vegetable dish, never better than at this time of year, for two reasons: one, the neeps are at their most flavoursome, having had a bit of frost; and, two, you need something warm and weighty to heat you up and give you some ballast against the wind. Clapshot is the boys, as Glaswegian comedian Tommy Lorne used to say.
Well, nearly. Lorne’s catchphrase was actually, ‘Sausages is the boys.’ He loved them so much that he invented a flat version that could be cooked quickly in his music hall dressing room – and wouldn’t slip out of a sandwich as he hurriedly gobbled it down between acts. Hence that west of Scotland staple, Lorne Sausage.
At which point I can’t resist mentioning that I was at a wedding yesterday, sitting next to a very pleasant guest who introduced herself to me as, ‘Lorne, like the sausage.’ Ten minutes later she said to another guest, ‘I’m Lorne, like the sausage.’ Later that evening I heard someone call her Lauren. ‘No,’ she said, ‘It’s Lorne. Like the sausage.’
‘How many times a day do you compare yourself to a sausage?’ I said.
‘Nine or ten,’ she replied, rather grimly. ‘Every. Day. Of. My. Life.’
Every day of my life I wonder where clapshot got its name. Even F. Marian McNeill, Holm-born expert on everything connected to Scottish food, didn’t get to the bottom of it. The best theory I have is that ‘clap’ derives from ‘claps,’ an old Orcadian word for the jaws. That term is related to ‘klap,’ Danish for trapdoor, and indeed to ‘clapdoor,’ a rare English word indicating a door that swings or slams shut. So from that we get the vigorous mashing or chapping necessary to make good clapshot. As for the ‘shot’ part, could a clue be found in the occasional alternative spelling, ‘clapshaw’? That would suggest a link to the shaws of the neeps.
But of course we don’t put turnip greens in clapshot. Or at least, not anymore. However, in his classic 1922 book, Reminiscences of an Orkney Parish, John Firth wrote, ‘kail or turnips boiled with pared potatoes were mashed together and…eaten with bere bannocks. This vegetarian dish bore the curious name of “clapshot.” ’ Could it be that the garnish of chives that so many recipes suggest is a refined throwback to the greens that were, in poorer times, added to our local favourite?
Taking a leaf out of Thérèse Coffey’s book (see what I did there?) we should probably consider a return to eating neep shaws. The Italians have never forgotten to do so: in Orkney delis, cime de rapa can be seen preserved in olive oil and sold in stylish jars. An ideal accompaniment to your Salsiccia di Lorne.
This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 1st March 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