You can’t separate the Carse of Gowrie and food.
Its fields have produced some of the most prized crops of soft fruit for centuries.
The remnants of its historic orchards are still active and attracting renewed interest.
Herbs grown here are supplied to restaurants and supermarkets across the world and tonnes of upmarket crisps are cooked in the Carse every year.
At the Dundee end, scientists at the James Hutton Institute tackle problems that threaten the international food supply.
But it is the bacon roll that has been pulling the crowds of a late. Kenny Farquharson’s snack at the Horn milk bar beside the A90 has won the title of the world’s best.
I had my first bacon roll at the Horn 31 years ago. It was perfection and the taste has not changed over the decades.
However, I would have to give the title of the world’s most memorable bacon roll to one served at Errol, a short drive from the Horn.
That not-to-be-forgotten experience took place during my time as a binman. In a previous column, I mentioned I was part of a fast bin crew but, if they were a man short on a commercial motor, I often stood in.
It made a change visiting hotels and business premises rather than homes and there were plenty of perks too.
These included what seems like endless snacks at commercial premises.
Our first stop on a Tuesday was Kilgraston School, Bridge of Earn, where slightly frightened-looking nuns would appear with trays of coffee and home-made shortbread. They didn’t hang about and darted back into the kitchens in a flash.
After a couple of hours we were ready for the big one. The Horn milk bar, the highlight of the week. It was mouth watering even approaching the place. Trays of the best bacon rolls and pots of tea handed into the cab or the lorry. And all free heaven.
The next stop was the diner just off the north-bound carriageway at Inchture where we munched free rolls with sausage. It was a varied diet.
But that most memorable bacon roll was served at the council tip at Errol where we went to empty the motor.
We got there about lunchtime and after the motor was emptied we headed to this large shed where the tip keeper was based. It was like a little restaurant.
He was busy cooking like a chef – bacon, black pudding, fried bread, sausages (pork and steak), mushrooms and tomatoes (fresh and tinned). There was a little pot of beans, racks of toast and dishes of real butter.
On a separate hotplate near little jars of jam, honey, lemon curd and chocolate spread, he was toasting coconut teacakes and warming croissants.
Beside the bottled-gas cooker stood vast pots of piping-hot industrial-strength tea, a bubbling coffee percolator and a choice of fruit teas.
We sat down to the feast in a cordial hush which was only broken when an older binman turned to me and winked, “Aye, you’re no a real scaffie until you’ve eaten something out the back of the motor.”