Cookery lessons

I’m waiting for Billy Campbell, the recently appointed Executive Chef at Glasgow’s four-star Thistle Hotel, who has kindly offered to show me how to make some of his signature dishes, and give me a tour of his kitchen. I’m initially somewhat nervous, for – as far as I’ve been informed by moving pictures – a chef is a particularly shouty breed of deathly critical monster. I see slipping knives, fatal over-seasoning, blood-stained whites...

Fortunately for me Billy defies media stereotypes, turning out to be such a thoroughly lovely chap that I feel instantly calmed and welcome. He leads me into the (relatively) small outer kitchen, part of the restaurant itself, and talks me through today’s five course menu. Hearing him describe the extravagant sounding dishes is hypnotising stuff, but before my salivations overflow I’m taken on a tour of the main kitchen, and given my very own hat. Seriously! Like what actual chefs wear!

That’s right folks, I’m a total food nerd, and when Billy confronts me with the jet-engine sized stockpots, my knees turn to the most exquisite jelly. Each vast, mysterious loch of meat, bones and vegetables takes a good three days to boil down, ultimately producing only enough stock to fill a large teapot. It’s incredible stuff: I know, I’ve tasted it. Such reduction is crucial to creating the best stock, but the real secret, says Billy, lies in not seasoning the liquid until it’s actually being used. Our conversation is sprinkled with such practical tips, and I learn far more from Billy in a few hours than I have from any cookbook.

My first task is to prepare some bacon for a very special Caesar dressing, to be completed later. Billy demonstrates exactly what is needed, though my attempts to copy even this simple technique (in the industry I believe it’s known as ‘chopping’) are slapdash. He explains that the most valuable piece of kitchen equipment is a good quality knife kept razor sharp. It should be clear, dear reader, that I’ve never spent any time in a professional kitchen, and so I am truly dumbstruck by Billy’s knife skills. Shallots, tomatoes and raw salmon alike are diced smaller than smartphone keys, whilst spring onions and chillies are swiftly sliced into the prettiest of ellipses.

The opening result of all this expert knife-wielding is a lively dish of asparagus and sautéed mushrooms with a ginger, chilli and soy dressing, swiftly followed by a light, refreshing salmon and avocado gateau. Combined with cucumber and horseradish and topped with crème fraiche, the subtle range of delicate flavours hosted by this beautifully layered creation left me uncharacteristically lost for words. I find out there’s a secret to this one too, for Billy tells me that (within reason), you really can’t overseason salmon. In order to demonstrate, he poaches a fillet in a Dead Sea sodium bath, and sure, it’s a little salty on the surface, but otherwise plump and delicious.

Another good tip for the keen home cook is to invest in some decent, flavourful oils, the slightest addition of which will add a new dimension to dressings, soups and sauces. An example of this is in Billy’s sumptuous Caesar dressing, which I taste before and after the additions of fresh lime juice, and the real winner: walnut oil; which in this case establishes an almost earthy baseline in the tangy dressing, over which hovers the saltiness of the bacon and the sharpness of the lime.

Next up is the main course: a loin of lamb coated in a chicken and basil mousse, wrapped in savoy cabbage and Parma ham, sliced and served atop cabbage and pancetta, alongside a layered ring of crushed new potatoes and ratatouille. That marvellous stock here comes into play, reduced further and seasoned to create a fabulous sauce. This grouping is a fine demonstration of Billy’s guiding ideal of carefully balanced flavours, with no single ingredient dominating the plate.

Dessert is a simple but delicious Ecclefechan butter tart, a sweet, dried fruit filled crumbling delight, with no hint of its surprise levelling ingredient – a dash of vinegar. After demolishing a decent slice in four uncivil chomps, we retire to the restaurant for a drink and a chat. Billy entertains me with culinary history, describes his upcoming winter menu at the restaurant, and talks passionately about the continuous production of bespoke menus for functions in the 1000-seater banqueting hall.

Billy relishes the tangible seasons of Scotland, and considers Scottish produce amongst the best in the world. For the home cook too, knowing when fresh ingredients are at their peak is crucial to creating the tastiest meals, but there’s more to it than memorising charts. For example, vegetables purchased the week after particularly heavy rainfall will typically require extra scrubbing before use, as their surrounding soils will have been churned up and dispersed amongst leaves by the downpour.

The chef's enthusiasm is such that I could listen to him talk food and restaurants for hours. For me, cooking alongside this master chef and his cheery team was a truly educational experience, though happily I lack the scars to prove it.