Scottish

I adore pearl barley, yet seldom remember to cook it. But at least once a year, in late spring leaning toward summer, when the weather is still chilly, I suddenly have a notion to make Scotch broth. It is essentially a homespun celebration of root vegetables bolstered by and enriched with lamb. The usual vegetable selection includes leeks, carrots, turnips, rutabagas, kohlrabies, and parsnips. Hamburg parsley, which is grown for its root rather than its leaves and is popular in northern European cooking, is also a good addition, adding herbal appeal. Unfortunately, it is so far not widely available in U.S. markets, but a garnish of fresh parsley nicely fills the herbal niche. Lamb neck and bone-in shoulder chops, the customary cuts for Scotch broth, create a meat broth as the soup cooks. Here, I turn the lamb into sausage and use a quick and convenient-to-make vegetable broth. That way the meat is thriftily stretched while still providing its depth of flavor to the soup. I add a tablespoon of tomato paste for color and a hint of acid: perhaps a shocking sidestep to staunch traditionalists, but I think the soup appreciates it.

The highland sheep of Scotland and Ireland graze in rugged terrain with sparse vegetation. Fittingly, the seasoning for a lamb sausage one might find in those northern isles is somewhat understated. A few well-chosen aromatics, along with salt and pepper, suffice to make a tasty sausage that evokes that landscape and its restrained fare.

This is what we imagine old Scots at the turn of the century in the Montreal’s famed Golden Square Mile neighborhood ate for breakfast: steak, kidneys, kippers, and a few eggs. After a gin festivity, it would be exactly what it takes to get you back on your feet. It’s delicious with a little watercress salad.

Bland and mushy are forever banished; this is oatmeal for grown-ups. Steel-cut oatmeal (also referred to as Irish oatmeal) has a wonderfully nutty taste and a texture that is at once creamy and chewy. As a kid I always loaded my oatmeal with raisins and brown sugar; now I cook tart apple slices with the same ingredients for an unexpected yet familiar treat to layer with the oatmeal. A sprinkling of turbinado sugar and a quick hit from the broiler create a sweet brûléed crust and an extra touch of decadence. Crack the crust with your spoon and pour in the cinnamon-scented cream . . . oh yeah, you’ll be in love with oatmeal after this.

The dish was the Queen Mother's favorite and one we always put on the menu when she came to stay. It was also served at the wedding breakfast of Princess Anne and Captain Mark Phillips in 1973.

A traditional Scottish dessert usually served on Burns' Night, cranachan or "crowdie cream" uses oatmeal and Scottish heather honey, rich amber in color and with a caramel flavor. Raspberries or loganberries are the traditional fruits, but any soft fruit can be used. Likewise, Scottish pinhead oats are best here, but the similar steel-cut oats will work too. Serve with a dram of whisky and a piece of shortbread for extra authenticity.

This buttery shortbread is a treat for all ages. Kids can help stir the dough with a wooden spoon.

Perfectly textured inside and out, these scones truly are the real deal. Just a touch of butter or your favorite jam is all the embellishment they need.

This speedy version of the long-cooked classic is light and brothy, but it's still substantial and flavorful enough — thanks to lamb, kale, and barley — to be a great winter meal.

Editor's note: The recipe and introductory text below are from Christopher Trotter's book The Scottish Kitchen As Trotter mentions, black bun is enjoyed at Hogmanay, which is the name for New Year's in Scotland.. This is a very traditional Scottish sweetmeat and is usually associated by most Scots with Hogmanay when it is eaten with a nip or two of whisky! It differs from most fruit cakes in that it is baked in a pastry case. It should be kept for several weeks to mature.

•Look for a sharp, white Cheddar that is on the dry side, such as English Wensleydale Farmhouse Truckle or Extra Old Black Diamond Cheddar.
•It's important not to whip air into the dough — simply mix until blended.

Editor's note: This recipe is from Ming Tsai's Simply Ming. This recipe only uses 1/4 of Ming Tsai's butter shortbread cookie dough. Use the rest to make his five-spice shortbread, double chocolate-ginger shortbread, and caramel macadamia nut crunch.

While this calls for four herbs, just one or two—rosemary and thyme, for example—would be fine.

These slightly sweet rounds are a cross between a cookie and a cracker. Eat them plain or with jam for breakfast, or top them with cheese for a snack.

This classic cookie combines two of my favorite sweets: buttery-tender Scottish shortbread and satiny lilting English lemon curd. The problem has always been getting a firm enough topping and avoiding a soggy shortbread base. The special technique discovered for this recipe virtually guarantees success. The clean, refreshing flavor of lemon makes these the perfect sweets to follow a rich Christmas goose.

They're delicious served warm with butter, preserves or honey.

Try jazzing up the shortbread with chopped toasted nuts. We particularly like pecans, hazelnuts, and almonds. Use your favorite fine-quality butter for the best-tasting cookies.

Inspired by a trip to Scotland, where some cooks make their Christmas pudding and hard sauce with their favorite Scotch.

Can be prepared in 45 minutes or less.

Shortbread is the ultimate sugar cookie, crisp yet tender, and bursting with buttery flavor. It's a good cookie to make when the cookie monster in you growls but you don't have any eggs in the house. Gluten-free rice flour (cornstarch can be substituted) is used with regular flour to give it a delicate crumb.

Translated from medieval Scottish, farl means, "the fourth part." In this version, quartered rounds of dark bread are sweetened with treacle, which is similar to molasses, and lightly spiced with ginger. The mixture may occasionally include a handful of raisins or other dried fruit, but the bread is always served sliced and buttered, with a cup of tea.

Baking drop scones was always a spectator sport in my house. As soon as the smell started wafting out of the kitchen, my mum would find herself accompanied by her two daughters, perched on kitchen stools and close enough to receive a light dusting of flour. She'd pour the batter into the piping-hot frying pan, and we'd watch, transfixed, as the bubbles rose and she flipped them over till they were golden brown. They'd then be tossed into a bowl lined with a dish towel, and another towel was thrown over to keep them warm. While Mum was distracted with her griddle work, my sister and I would stealthily sneak our hands between the towels and snatch the first drop scones. Buttering them (an essential part of the process) was more difficult to do under the radar. I've often thought of the drop scone ritual over the years, but it's only now that I've asked for the recipe. Perhaps I'd filed drop scones in the childhood drawer in my brain. Now I think it's only fair to try it out myself and create more memories for my own children.