Bruce Anderson
ON the west coast of Harris, the Outer Hebrides live up to their name. There is mile after mile of heather, moor, rock, though the terrain is constantly interrupted by sea lochs, and even inland there is the constant sense of the Atlantic just over the horizon. For mile upon mile, too, the roads are empty, seabirds' cries the only sound. This is not a man-made landscape; one has a strong sense of man as a recent, transient arrival in a pri- maeval setting. You do not walk far from one of the few habitations before feeling that you are treading on virgin soil.
One of those habitations is Amhuinn- suidhe — pronounced Avonsooey — the most westerly castle in Scotland. Amhuinn- suidhe is not an ancient keep; it was built in the last century as a grand shooting and fishing lodge. Its current owner, Jonathan Bulmer, has the problem faced by most Highland lairds. He may own a wonderful house and 50,000 acres, but little of the land is productive; some of it is even too remote for deerstalking. It is easy to make a small fortune in the Highlands; you just have to start off with a large one. So Jonathan had to decide how to make his castle pay, or at least how to curb the drain on his income. He decided to diversify from fishing and stalking and to organise a cook- ery course for those who understand the basics but want to enhance their repertoire.
When I heard about this, I was sceptical. Why go to ultima Thule to learn how to cook? So I arrived expecting pretentious- ness and disappointment. I could not have been more mistaken.
There were about ten of us, mainly strangers, all wondering in a polite way how we would fare in one another's company for the next week. But our reserve was instantly broken down by a combination of cocktails and a cook. Everyone has heard of the two fat ladies, and everyone associated with The Spectator is still mourning and saluting our indomitable, life-enhancing friend and colleague, Jennifer Paterson. But it would be premature to assume that fat ladydom is threatened with extinction. There is a third fat lady, at Amhuinnsuidhe: Rosemary Shrager.
Rosemary is the cook from central cast- ing. She is roly-poly, noisy, cheerful and roaringly enthusiastic. She dominates her kitchen, with nothing to learn from Gordon Ramsay about exacting the highest stan- dards from her staff, albeit in rather more ladylike language. But one sees instantly that the staff are revelling in it, and her; they have come to learn, and from a teach- er who demands every bit as much from herself as from them.
She does all this without intimidating the guests on the cookery courses. It is made clear from the outset that they are volun- teers on holiday. But Rosemary's joy in her craft was so infectious that everyone rushed to participate, with the partial exception of your correspondent, who decided some time ago to concentrate on the theoretical aspects of cooking, leaving the actual skil- let-work to other hands. I was, however, induced to perform various roles, including opening scallops. Those who photographed my efforts were laughing so much that with any luck the pictures will not come out.
Scallops: they are one of the keys to Rosemary's success. The castle is surround- `We're not dawdling, mum — we're playing at Virgin trains.' ed by the living larder of the hill and the ocean. On Tuesday morning, the fisherman arrives, the castle's own mobile Billings- gate, and offers Rosemary his scallops, lan- goustines, lobsters, squat lobsters and crabs. She then teaches her pupils how to make those ingredients sing. Their efforts are, of course, further encouraged by the knowledge that within a few hours they will be eating what they are preparing.
The meals at Amhuinnsuidhe were of the highest class: an easy two rosettes, with individual dishes and indeed meals fully worthy of the third. Her cured duck breast with lentils and herb salad was the best duck I have ever eaten; her carpaccio of venison with aubergine, black olives and balsamic vinegar was equally good. There were the langoustines, on their own or in a feuillete with scallops and spinach; and she is as good with game as she is with shellfish. Then there were her souffles: lobster souf- flé, cheese soufflé, prune and armagnac soufflé: all of them sensational.
I am writing this many miles from Harris and several weeks later, but I can still taste Rosemary's dishes. They were admirably complemented by Jonathan's wines, includ- ing a Nuits-St-Georges ler Cm Les Boudots and a Bernardus Marinus '94, a first-class Californian Cabernet/Merlot blend. As for whites, there was a Meursault ler Cm Charmes '95, a Bernardus Chard- onnay and a Rabaud-Promis '95 for the pudding.
By the end of the week, Rosemary's pupils had flourished under her tutelage. You could hear them talking excitedly about future dinner-party menus, though wondering how on earth they could recap- ture the freshness of her ingredients. It is not necessary to want to learn to cook to come to Amhuinnsuidhe; people also come to paint, or fish, or just relax; there are also musical weeks. Equally, wives can cook while husbands kill things. But whether or not you help to prepare it, you eat Rose- mary's cooking at meals, and there is no finer food in Scotland.
Amhuinnsuidhe has been refurbished to high standards of hotel comfort. It is on the sea in one of the most beautiful and remote areas of Scotland, To add to its enchant- ment, there are the locals, with their lilting voices and a way of life still based on fish, sheep, peat and the Kirk, though there is the occasional backslider who is keener on the whisky bottle.
For all this, lasting from Saturday morn- ing to first thing on Friday, Jonathan was charging only £1,200 this year (£1,900 for a couple). I do not believe that there is a bet- ter cookery school anywhere, or one more beautiful, or one which provides finer meals. If some television company is wise enough to sign up Rosemary for a fat lady series, I only hope that they allow her time to cook at Amhuinnsuidhe.
The castle can be contacted on 01876 500329. It has a website at www.castlecookcom
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