Escaping back from or unfortunately driving towards Aberdeen, one can loop one’s van off the A90 into Stonehaven. There is a lot to like about this town. Stonehaven has a large bay and coastal respite from the North Sea. The long, pebbled beach has a bit of sand at low water and concrete defences to remind you what the sea here is really like. Close by is the brutal and impressive Dunnottar castle. The fortress and its history are spectacular. The coffee truck and its coffee are not. Based on this coffee, my planned siege of the castle would not succeed. Every morning joie de livre would be sapped from my forces while the defenders mocked us with their AeroPresses and pelted us with their used single origin limited edition grounds. But I digress.
As the filthy lucre ebbed out of Aberdeen, Stonehaven seems to have slipped from a quaint place to live with a short commute to work to a town teetering on the top step of an irreversible decline. Lots of flats for sale and empty shops. But for the moment Stonehaven still has a surprising amount of amenities for a small town. The seaside pleasure vibe is still lingering. I found 2 chippies open at 7.30 on Monday night in November, each with an adjacent ice cream shop, also open. The harbour has two pubs and a fish restaurant in the old Toll house but I prefer the beach and promenade, with its air of a mini Portabello. One can happily eat chips watching the sea provided you keep an eye out for violent gull chip-bandits, but I already had my eye on Molly’s Café Bar. This is a one-storey glass fronted shack facing the sea, near the open-air Lido – a Stonehaven idiosyncrasy that also survives. There is a second café/ice cream place next door and a café in the adjacent soft-play area but a PMiaV can only do so much. Enjoy copious free parking right along the seafront at the Lido end. Camper vans and the odd lorry are parked here overnight so you can take your time.
Molly’s is basically a local bistro. The fear this genre of establishment holds for the PMiaV on a mission is of course that the service will be too slow, the prices too high as coffee leads into a main dish and a pudding, and it will all just take too long. But Molly’s is not like that. Inside, what was probably a low-ceilinged industrial fishy space with a few concrete pillars has been well-disguised. It’s a rectangular room with a bar along one wall and 11 tables. Windows give onto the sea view and a few outside seats. The ubiquitous dark-matt green café paint is here, but so are a selection of interesting wicker hanging lights, art, bits of seaside kit. Best of all, the bar is decorated with psychedelic portraits of various creatures. I saw a badger and a toucan in pink military uniform with a monocle, done in the style of Victorian Imperialist portraits. Fleetwood Mac is playing but I don’t let it get to me. The place is full of local OAPs, couples and groups of pals. Sitting down on a metal chair avec cushion I look about and have my order taken immediately by a friendly waitress. It’s very laid back here and something about the staff, décor, customers and staring at a bar make me feel not only at home, but that I’d quite fancy a lunchtime drink. Which I can’t have. Looking more closely, the fairly standard tables reveal that are wheeled and you could push them aside. This place would be a great little music venue. Or a place for the premier of the wildly successful movie dramatization of this blog. Starring James McAvoy as me. Or perhaps I will play myself and we’ll shoot it from my POV. I’ll let McAvoy direct.
The menu is a bit more brasserie than café; light meals with some interesting twists but I try to stick to the PMiaV budget. A king prawn sandwich comes extremely fast and is excellent. Bloody Mary flavour mayonnaise no less. Well, now I am going to have a pudding with the coffee. These also come with startling speed. Quite good custard tart, the coffee is average to good in a reasonable cup but this doesn’t take away from just how pleasant it is to have lunch in Molly’s. The staff and kitchen efficiency are spectacular. A well-run happy place.
I stroll along the concrete sea defences that prevent the beach disappearing. It’s busy with parents, kids, OAPs and dog-walkers. Pebble-dashed pensioner hutches face the sea view, some are housing association but a lot of the private ones are for sale. High turnover. Fortunately my musings on mortality and the human condition were interrupted by an A-board announcing, ‘Picos Spanish Deli’. Say no more. I walk up a lane past the long-converted net stores and onto the main road. Picos is on a corner, one room, a bit like someone’s front room or the way shops used to be. Picos does takeaway coffee and is a cultural hoard of interesting Spanish groceries. The amiable proprietor and I discuss mojo rojo hot sauce, why he says it’s better in the Canary Islands and the fact that this particular mojo rojo will improve almost anything. I get a perfectly acceptable takeout double espresso, two bottles of sauce and am pleased with life.
That evening I returned to Stonehaven, you kind of want to. I have a drink in the Marine Hotel, a proper, friendly bar in the old harbour with a pleasingly half-finished décor of old tables, bits of fishing gear and a bare wall covered by a blanket. Then I walk and get a fish supper from the Carron Fish Bar. The Carron claims to be the origin of the deep-fried Mars bar. Which I can’t see on the menu and am too uptight to ask for. The guy is friendly, the fish supper is fine, not spectacular. I eat it in the moonlight on the seafront, safe now the gulls are asleep. The moon is huge over the sea. Moonlight glints off the offshore windfarm array. There is a sole, odd, unmoving high circular cloud in a clear night sky. It’s going to be a fine day tomorrow.
Escape from the A90 and try Stonehaven.
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