SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC—Flying home from Scotland, I feel two things at once—tired and thankful. Travel always does that to me. For the first half of my life, there wasn’t much travel outside of work. The only time I made it to Europe before age fifty was on a honeymoon trip paid for by one of my food suppliers. These days, every trip feels like a gift I don’t deserve but am grateful to receive.
Of all the places I’ve been in Europe, Scotland and Tuscany speak to me most. Different in scenery and climate, but the same in spirit. The people are warm, they welcome strangers, and they take hospitality seriously. That spirit carries over into meals. Dinners have their place, but lunches often become the real heart of a journey. The first day, right off the plane, we drove an hour out of Glasgow into the lake country. The streams, woods, and rolling hills looked so much like North Carolina that it hit me why so many Scots ended up in Appalachia. It felt familiar. Lunch that day was in a greenhouse on an estate. Grapevines hung heavy overhead, a small grill smoked just outside, and a chef turned out plates that were simple and perfect. Sourdough with salted butter. Beets charred just enough, paired with smoked yogurt and hazelnuts. A tomato salad with capers, anchovy, and basil that let the tomato taste exactly as it should. The next day we took a boat across to the Isle of Mull. That meal may have been the most local dining experience I’ve ever had. John, the husband, is a fisherman. He caught the lobster, crab, and fish that morning on his boat. His wife, Carla, grows the vegetables and does the cooking. Herbs and flowers foraged right outside topped the plates. Every dish came from their land and their water. The following day we climbed into vintage Land Cruisers and drove up a mountain to a bothy. I didn’t know what a bothy was until then. It’s a small stone hut, usually in the middle of nowhere. Ours had a wood-burning stove inside. Lunch was venison salami, smoked ham terrine with parsley, smoked salmon, and Scottish cheeses—Arran cheddar soaked in whisky, a brie from Clava, even a blue called Blue Murder. There were oatcakes, hummus, grapes, and sourdough. A spread that fit the place. Rustic, hearty, filling, perfect on top of a mountain.
Later in the week, we had lunch in a castle hosted by a member of the King’s Archers. His five-times-great-grandfather left Scotland for America in the early 1800s and spent time out West before returning. The massive dining room was filled with art and remembrances of that journey. The stories were almost as good as the food. Another day, sitting by the Firth of Forth with the sea breeze and a view of the three bridges, we ate halibut with courgette, apple, and Sandeman white port. Our last day in Edinburgh, after fourteen straight Scottish meals, we went back to a Chinese place my wife and I know well. Good Chinese food is nearly impossible to find back home, so it’s something we always seek out when we travel. One afternoon we sat down to a farm lunch served family-style. Platters of roast chicken, potatoes, and vegetables came down the long table, and everyone passed dishes as if we’d known each other for years. Later in the week came a playful murder mystery dinner in a castle, and then the final night, the most Scottish of all. We dressed in full Highland dress—kilts and jackets—while a piper played us in. Our host Bill rose and recited Robert Burns’ “An Ode to a Haggis.” For a night, we stepped into their tradition, and I’ll carry that with me. The older I get, the more I realize just how rare these moments are, and how blessed I am to experience them. Meals like these would be worth remembering for the food alone, but what made them unforgettable was the company. Harvard tracked a group of men for decades and proved what we already know—happiness isn’t about money, it’s about relationships. Another survey I read once showed that people who eat with others regularly feel less stress and better health. None of that surprises me. I’ve been blessed with outstanding friendships all my life—some going back to childhood, others made in just the past few years. Traveling with friends is good for the soul. And I’ve realized something about the Yonderlust tours we host. My wife and I have never been into group travel. But after seven years and around 1,400 travelers, I finally figured out why ours never feel like group tours. It’s not the itinerary or the sights. It’s the three meals a day we share at the table that turn strangers into friends. It happened again in Scotland. We laughed together in a greenhouse under grapevines. We passed bread across a castle table. We warmed ourselves by a fire in a mountain bothy with cheese and venison. The food was excellent, but the people around the table are what I’ll remember. For me, meals have always been about more than food. When I was a kid, Sunday lunch after church was less about what was on the plate and more about who sat at the table. The same is true in Scotland, Tuscany, and Mississippi. The food is the excuse. The table is where it happens. And the friendships—old and new—are the true feast. Somewhere over the ocean now, gratitude is what keeps coming to mind. Grateful I can still sit at a table with childhood friends, and grateful I’m making new ones in my sixties. But mainly thankful to the Man Upstairs for opening life up to me after 50 in ways I never expected. The table is the real destination. Onward.
Chutney Mayo 1 Tbl Olive Oil 2 Tbl Yellow Onion, minced 1/4 tsp Salt 2 tsp Garlic, minced 1/2 tsp Curry Powder 2 Tbl Sherry 3/4 cup Chutney 3/4 cup Mayonnaise In a small sauté pan, heat olive oil over low heat. Place the onion, garlic, salt and curry powder and cook for 1 minute. Add sherry and cook until almost dry. Remove from heat and cool completely. Once the cooked mixture is cooled, combine with the remaining ingredients. Store covered and refrigerated until ready to serve. Yield: 1 1/2 cups
