Caledonia

This seems like a decent bar in which to pass some time while waiting for a flight. It’s at the window edge of the departure lounge so has some great views of the runway and the hills beyond. It’s quite classy, as airport bars go, and has a good selection of gins, and a great selection of whisky — obviously showcasing our fine Scottish products.
We didn’t try any of the food on offer, we just had a couple of fresh OJs, which were very nice. Prices are so much better than the other bars in the airport. It felt like normal bar prices, rather than stupid ‘let’s rip off the captive audience’ prices that you get in other airport bars *cough — Wetherspoons*
They also have a bottle of genuine whisky from the SS Politican, the ship that sank off the coast of Eriskay losing its cargo of whisky, the story of which forms the basis for the film Whisky Galore! It’s replete with barnacles and very nicely presented, which makes for a nice wee distraction while waiting.
I’ll make this my go-​to place for pre-​flight drink whenever I’m next in Glasgow airport.

Don’t order the Eggs Benedict. They were out of poached eggs but could substitute for scrambled eggs, eh? It didn’t really work plus the sauce was not hollandaise despite claiming to be. Salty buttery slightly cheesy disappointment. Couldn’t finish. The fry up was also very dry. I would advise to avoid both.

Surprised this place is sitting at two and a half stars, can’t we do minus stars yet?!
Guy waiting the tables must have PhD in blanking customers, eventually gave in and went to the bar where I heard two interesting customer transactions. Firstly though why are these places at the airport so sloooooow, why are we suddenly queuing behind people rather than dtanding at the bar?
Anyway a couple of pet hates, first one, about five people at the bar, girl serving «right, who’s next?» eh that’s your job to know that! Girl in front of me asked this melted cheese croissanty thing. «ye help yerself to croissants» girl says she wants the melty cheesy thing off the menu, «naw that’s off». Haha whit?!
Next transaction, Guy up ordering a breakfast of some sort that includes poached eggs. Eggs hollandaise maybe. «we don’t have any poached eggs» wait for it «we’ve got fried or scrambled». haha double whit?!
So after about 10 loooooong minutes I gets served. A pint, a cider, two rolls and links two rolls and bacon. I think I got a pound back out of thirty, wowzer.
Second pet hate, floury baps. We have great rolls in Glasgow mainly mortons or mcghees and we’re serving up this nonsense to locals and travellers alike. ⁵⁄₆ quid a pop too. The floury baps were the size of a decent sized side plate, inside though were two, hard bacon medallions. The sausages weren’t much better, they had the consistency of eating a sweetie with the wrapper still on. We tried to make the best of it by making one big tough floury roll but it was just eating for eatings sake.
This place is very nice to look at and has a nice view, it must cost a fortune for the concession. It must survive only due to the captive audience, if it was in the city centre it’s doors would close pretty sharpish!
While I’m moaning, the gate for Paris is at the very end of the airport, I pretty sure I could smell the sea it’s so far away. I’m no airport designer but I would have thought you should have an equal ration of seats on plane vs seats at gate (to a degree). Most passengers were on the floor, toilets miles away.
Anyway Paris was awesome! :)

This isn’t their morning– coffee machine is down so no tea or coffee, they’re out of the wine I was thinking about and no eggs, which writes off at least half the menu.
Staff member was really nice though, and was patient while I settled on a roll and bacon with a tattie scone, and a wee Bowmore 15 —
Their spirits list is pretty nice with a good list of single malts for such a small bar.
My food leaves a wee bit to be desired, but the bread is nice and soft

Quite genuinely I didn’t even realise that this little bar and restaurant existed until recently — despite my regular work-​fuelled visits to the airport (I never ventured up the big ramp and felt like I’d found Narnia when I first realised there was a whole other section of airport!).
Since I was on a mid-​afternoon flight and hadn’t had lunch, I thought I’d pop in here before my flight to grab a quick bite to eat. Not being too hungry I opted for the potato wedges and aioli. At only £2.45 (cheap for airport standards) I can’t say I was expecting much, but it arrived in about 5 minutes max. A healthy portion of wedges with some of the nicest — and therefore strongest — aioli I’ve ever had (sorry fellow passengers!)
I can’t give it more than 3 stars just now as I only had a small side dish and while it was nice, I’m sure the wedges had been sitting out for a wee while — and *maybe* microwaved. They also got my drink order wrong. However, its a nice change from the airport Wetherspoons and has a really great view over the airfield — if you’re into that kind of thing.
Décor-​wise this is a nice upmarket looking bar/​restaurant, specialising in drams and craft beers. A much nicer place to spend the waiting time before a flight — I look forward to trying more of their food.

The Picasso of Salads
A salad can be many things. Abstinence. Forbearance. Seasonal. Vegan. Caesar. Waldorf. You name it, it be it.
A salad can also show you many things. Skill or lack of. Thought, or lack of. Care, or lack of.
To illustrate.
I went to the Picasso Museum once. In Malaga. I intended to go. I was not just passing. I did not know it was Picasso’s birthday. I expected to pay. But, it being picasso’s birthday, the good folk let everyone in free. And I enjoyed it that much more because it was free. I felt I was one up on the rest of the world tramping through those hallowed doors on the other 364 days of the year.
Hang in there…
One of the exhibits had you huddle up to a TV playing a film of the master himself, wielding brush, standing on the other side of a plate of glass.
Fade in. The master wields his brush. A pass in the air materialises as a stroke on glass. Another, and another. The image is complete.
Picasso paints a bull. In a dozen strokes, the thing is done. A bull is more than a dozen strokes but that was all it took. In the hands of a master, a series of passes became a ton of testosterone and beef.
True mastery means distilling things down to its essence. As Leonarda Da Vinci said, simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.
Back to the salad, then, as a work of art. As its finest, a salad is demonstration that the unremarkable can become remarkable with enough thought.
Take for example, the salad Nicoise. Simplicity itself: some tuna, a boiled egg, beans, herbs, green leaves, dressing. You could pick up the ingredients without having to venture any further than the canned vegetables aisle.
Had Picasso chosen salad making instead of art, he would have done a few key things. Simple but key.
Discard the beans with brown bits on them. Blanch the rest. Don’t serve them raw. Cut them to a size that doesn’t stick out of your mouth. Don’t shred the lettuce. Soft boil the egg. Get some real tuna.
Make a dressing. That does not mean just olive oil. Season it. Serve it on a plate that isn’t too small. Give us a knife that cuts rather than brutalizes.
Had Picasso chosen to make salad, these simple strokes, assembled with thought, would form one memorable image. On your tongue, given, but an image nonetheless.
Picasso never worked at the Caledonia Bar and Restaurant at Glasgow Airport. He never even flew over it. That much was obvious.
I feel I’ve made up for not paying to get in to that museum. I paid for that salad Nicoise. And boy did it hurt.
Watch the master himself on Youtube: