Margot and Fergus Henderson
Chef owners, The Rochelle Canteen and St John
Margot I grew up in Wellington, New Zealand and never went on beach holidays – we took the beach for granted. Sun-lotion was put on once, each morning, so my sister and I would get huge blisters from the beach and Mum would have to cut our T-shirts off us. Our holidays were inland on South Island, taking the car there by ferry – me trying to sleep to avoid vomiting – and then maybe camping by Mount Cook, en route to stay with grandfathers and uncles in South Canterbury who were all sheep farmers. We had amazing times – helping out on farms, eating lots of lamb, shooting guns. My cousins were driving cars by the age of 12. I’ll never forget a cousin taking me rabbit-shooting at nights. My family is really massive and I’d see lots of cousins on holiday and always have a crush on one or another.
Fergus Isn’t that illegal?
Margot They weren’t actual romances, Fergus. Don’t look at me that way. Crushes on big, strong older cousins are all right – just running after them going, “Oooo-hooo”.
Fergus I grew up in London and my family took holidays on Tiree. My father travelled a lot with work but Tiree was our time together. I first went there on my fourth birthday. The journey up was always part of the fun. Oban, the gateway to the Western Isles, has been a grim town for as long as I can remember, with its Victorian hotels of lost lustre. But the fish and chips there are splendid. Once on Tiree, in a rented house on a hill, with a lean-to kitchen with amazing views, we’d eat haggis and lamb and also make use of goodies purchased by Mother in Soho and packed into the Range Rover – salami, parmesan, olives and so forth. They have pesto on Tiree now but back in the day there was still a wartime mentality – one jar of Marmite on the shop shelf. The butcher, who passed away a few years ago, would wring her hands and make funny noises when we ordered a leg of lamb and then it would arrive at the house, still warm, in the afternoon.
Margot Because of EU regulations, the abattoir next to the butcher’s on Tiree isn’t used now – sheep are taken to the mainland for slaughter.
Fergus Tiree’s about recharging the batteries and sheep and smells and simplicity and memories, but everything’s based on the weather, which is terribly changeable. Dad used to do barbecues on the beach but Margot does that now.
Margot After moving to London at 20, as soon as I met Fergus I was taken off to Tiree with his parents. I think it was a test, whether I would love Tiree. It’s very beautiful, but very cold and there are no trees. But I’m a fierce finder of driftwood. I like the purpose of a walk being to find enough wood to build a good fire on the rocks to feed everyone. You have to wear raincoats because it could pour at any minute.
Fergus Thank goodness – it keeps people away. But we do take the car to the picnic and barbecue spots, with crates of wine in the boot.
Margot But twice I was on Tiree for a month’s holiday with the kids but Fergus for only two weeks, because of business, and those times dragged. And the kids increasingly wanted to get back to London. Nowadays all they want to do is go to festivals. But as Mark Hix says, “All people do at festivals is get trashed, then drive home and need a holiday to recover.” Fergus has organised food stalls at Wilderness and our daughter came with us and she said, “Mum, this isn’t like the festivals I go to,” and I said, “Thank God for that, darling.” Why go to the countryside to be around 10 billion other people? I prefer to be around no one. But Tiree nights can be grim.
Fergus There’s always playing-cards.
Margot I remember once you sat upstairs alone and later mentioned you’d enjoyed boiled sweets and I said, “Oh, you had boiled sweets, did you, fucker? You’re supposed to share.”
Fergus I’ve loved going to New Zealand with you and us driving around the South Island with lots of Pinot Noir.
Margot I probably annoyed him, always asking, “Isn’t this absolutely beautiful? Isn’t this just as beautiful as Scotland?” But we both love cooking in NZ and we love shopping at a huge Pak’nSave [superstore], where there’s just bags and no packaging. But I’ll tell you a good holiday. We went to visit my friend Anna, north of Wellington, and her bloke is a fireman. They asked us if we wanted to go on a picnic and we went to the coast and the fireman dived in and brought up sea urchin and lobster, and laid them all on the rock. That is one of the great moments of our life, isn’t it, Fergus?
Fergus He shoved the lobster into a boily and we had a very good lunch.
Margot When I went travelling around Europe in my twenties with my friend Debbie, we survived from day to day, and I remember some Italian guys in Greece diving for squid to cook on the beach and asking, “Will you join us?” We said, “Er yeah!” And I had my first calamari parmigiana, one of my favourite things, with wine, at a restaurant outside a convent in Venice we stayed in because it was so cheap.
Fergus I remember once visiting a friend in Paris and seeing through a window a man drinking wine with 16 women. It changed my idea of holidays and restaurants.
Margot I started really missing the ocean after living in London a while, then someone said, “Oh, I’ll take you to Brighton, you’ll love it.” I mean, I do love Brighton now, but the first time, I just thought, “Oh dear God, that little brown bit of muck is a beach?” There were no sticks of rock and kiss-me-quick hats back in New Zealand but the best fish and chips. Why do people here have a problem with waiting for something that’s really good? Your chips in Britain are soggy and the fish usually pre-fried and laying around, whereas ours are cooked to order and we wait.
Fergus Your chips are crisp, dear.
Margot We often go, as a family, to Ciao Bella on Lamb’s Conduit Street and pretend we are on holiday in Italy. So we don’t have to go on holiday. It’s difficult to leave your business behind. But fucking great also.
