Diary of a Shopkeeper, 12th January 2025
I like a tall tale as much as the next person, but when I’m reading something factual, I like to be able to trust the facts. It’s getting increasingly hard to trust anything, what with politicians’ “alternative facts,” newspapers reporting speculation and opinion more than news, and Facebook announcing last week it was abandoning fact checking.
My few paragraphs here each week can’t dam a flood of misinformation, but I feel obliged to do something. So for a few weeks I’ll avoid stories about my lovely customers and their exploits, or my own mishaps while engaged on shop business. Instead I will stick strictly to the facts. Can they be as interesting as fiction? Let’s see, as I begin my A to Z of deli life.
A is for ansjovis. Straight away I’m into potentially confusing territory, for ansjovis, in their little rectangular tin with cute drawings of fish on top, are not anchovies. I have nothing against anchovies, in fact they’re one of my favourite foods. That intensely salty, fishy hit is something I love whether on pizza, pasta or – best of all – on sourdough toast with a good slerp of sweet butter underneath, and a thin slice of raw onion on top.
But ansjovis are actually a different kind of fish entirely: sprats. Never a top ten fish in Orkney, preserved sprats are a much-loved ingredient in Sweden. They contribute their unique sweet and fish flavour to one of the two great potato dishes Sweden has given the world: Jansson’s Temptation, an oven-baked indulgence of matchstick tatties, chopped ansjovis and cream. The other great tattie dish from our eastern neighbours is Hasselback Potatoes, that ingenious method of putting thin vertical slices along the top half of each tattie before roasting, ensuring a lovely series of crunchy, buttery ridges.
Orkney can boast one of the world’s great tatties dishes – clapshot – which is the same number as France – Gratin Dauphinoise. But already I’m straying away from facts and into opinion. Back to the straight and narrow!
B is for Barolo. Anyone who takes any interest in wine will be familiar with the name of this very famous North Italian red. Some will even have tasted it. Why is it not drunk more often? Because its fame, and the small, hilly vineyards it comes from, make it painfully expensive. Drinking the wine can sometimes be painful too, or at least challenging. Barolo has none of the sweet fruit of many new world reds, nor even the food-friendly sour-cherry tang of a good Chianti.
Typically, Barolo is pale in colour, low in fruit, and very dry. It has an enticing aroma that somehow mingles tar with rose petals, and its tannins can be a good match for a hearty beef stew or a mushroom ragu. But of all the great wines of the world it’s the one I recommend least. In my opinion, another B from north-west Italy – Barbera – is much more appealing, and better adapted to drinking with a range of dishes, or even by itself. But there I am, venturing an opinion again! Let’s hope I can stick to pure facts for C.
Or rather, double C: Crottin de Chavignol. I could have given you the lowdown on Cheddar, Chesire or Camembert, but the tiny goat’s milk Crottin – about the size and colour of a squashed ping-pong ball – is one of my all-time favourite cheeses. It originated in France, specifically in the Loire valley. The finest Crottins come from Chavignol, a small village in the east of the valley. It’s no accident that its neighbouring village, Sancerre, makes the best wine to accompany it: Sauvignon Blanc that’s restrained in its aromas but refreshingly citrussy alongside a cracker piled with rich, creamy goat’s cheese.
Young Crottins are white and crumbly, but they dry out as they age over a few weeks. Their rind becomes chewier, and flecked with grey. The cheese itself becomes denser and more intense in its flavours. Some prefer young, mild Crottins, some older more powerful ones. If you can’t find examples specifically from Chavignol, then others – labelled simply Crottin – are made in many parts of France. A New Forest dairy, Rosary, makes an excellent English version.
One of the best things to do with a Crottin is slice it in half crossways, then grill it till it starts to caramelise and melt. It’s an unbeatable snack on a piece of toast, or a starter on a bed of salad. Unknown 50 years ago, you’ll now find it in every bistro in France. The story goes that, sometime in the 1970s, an old woman walked into a café in Paris and said, ‘Tell your chef to grill half a Crottin and serve it on some rocket. It’ll be a coup de cœur!’ It became an overnight sensation, and swept the country. The old woman walked out of the café, and out of history, leaving neither her name nor the source of her inspiration.
I see I have strayed into legend once again. Next week: facts, facts and more facts!
This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 16th January 2025. A new diary appears weekly. I post them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations, and occasional small corrections or additions.