Eating at the Summer Isles Bar.

I said in the previous post that our interest in the Summer Isles was largely rooted in the shore that overlooks them, and this is unquestionably true.

At the end of that last edition we were just approaching the village of Achiltiebuie - our ultimate destination. Achiltiebuie is much larger now than it was on our first visit back in the mid nineties. There are a lot more houses, a piping school and an excellent village hall which plays host to a regular display of local art and crafts. Sadly it's biggest tourist attraction, the Hydroponicom has been closed for some years and now presents a sorry and semi derelict face to the world.

This is a shame, because the Hydroponicom was awesome. Essentially a massive greenhouse using hydroponic technology to grow all manner of food plants you wouldn't normally expect to find at such northerly latitudes. Amongst the salad crops, fruits and vegetables could be found all manner of exotica - including Bananas! The place also incorporated an exhibition of green technologies and was a genuinely fascinating place to visit. It also provided fresh produce to the Summer Isles Hotel - a vital service in a part of the world where fresh vegetables are still annoyingly hard to come by at times, let alone things like salad leaves that perish quickly.

Well, the Hydroponicom may well be defunct, but the Summer Isles Hotel is still going strong, as is the attached Summer Isles Bar. For us a trip to this area isn't complete until we've eaten here, which means that although there is often a long time between visits we've been coming here regularly for damn near twenty years.

The bar is actually very small, consisting of two rooms that for now I'll call "compact", because calling them "poky" sounds derogatory and I love this place too much to say anything that might sound negative. The bar was originally built in the nineteenth century as a watering hole for local crofters, and has apparently been extended over the last forty years - although if this is the case I can only imagine how snug it must've been back in the day...

You enter through a small porch into the "front room", which boasts patio doors which rather predictably look out onto  a small patio area and the view beyond. These days this room is furnished with dark wood dining tables and chair, and is light and cosy although I rather miss the high backed wooden pew-like arrangements that used to occupy this space to form little booth type areas. Still, there's more room for more people now, and fair's fair - a place as good as this really ought to be able to accommodate as many people as possible.

Beyond this is the bar itself, a small room with an inviting fire and walls covered in pictures of days gone by. There are now windows in this area, all the light coming either from the patio doors in the front section or from lamps. This could make things seem a little gloomy, but actually just gives the place a more intimate feeling.

We actually arrived only just after noon, and both rooms were empty when we entered. We grabbed seats at a table near the patio doors and I wandered into the bar to order drinks and grab a couple of menus. The bar always has an interesting selection of beers brewed in the Highlands, and I think perhaps my only beef with this fantastic little pub is the fact that it sits at the end of a long, narrow and winding road and whenever we visit I'm always driving, which means I can never sample any of them.

I took Mrs Snail's glass of wine and my Coke back to the table and we perused the menu.  The bar is famous rightly for it's seafood, and no review could fail to omit mention of their astonishing seafood platter. For a little bit short of twenty five quid you will be provided with a plate size of a small island piled high with local langoustines, smoked salmon, pickled herring, shellfish and whatever else happens to be in season. It is a sight to behold, let me tell you.

Personally I don't like seafood much, so would never consider such a thing. Mrs Snail loves seafood, and would probably order one every time we came. Sadly, presumably because the culinary gods have a profoundly sick sense of humour she has developed an allergy to shellfish and crustaceans like prawns and langoustines which means the delights of the seafood platter are off limits. One time we were there, she stared so longingly at a neighbouring diner's lunch he actually offered her a langoustine. It really is that good.

But as I say, not for either of us, so Mrs Snail opted for the duo of smoked salmon, and in the absence of my usual burger (the bar is too classy for that) I went for a steak sandwich, which in many ways is the same thing, but in a purer form. There was a little discussion as the waiting staff realised that they didn't have any of the grain mustard mentioned in the menu and wondered whether I'd be happy with English mustard instead.

I assured them I didn't care, and was rewarded with a brown baguette filled with fried steak and onions. There was some side salad nonsense of course, but I'm from Yorkshire, so I ignored it. It was truly lovely. If anything, Mrs Snails smoked salmon duo was even better. Basically her plate was laden with two massive piles of smoked fish, one hot smoked, one cold. Cold smoked salmon leaves me, well, cold. I've never seen much attraction in what is, essentially, raw fish*.

Hot smoked salmon however is one of my very favourite things, however and to my delight the massive piles of piscatorial delight were to big for Mrs Snail to manage so I was able to purloin rather a lot of the hot smoked pile.

It. Was. Astonishing.

Soft and moist on the tongue with that wonderful kick of smoke, it was fish to fall in love with. 

The sky had been looking rather threatening when we arrived (I confess that the picture above was taken as we left) but by the time we'd eaten our lunch the sun was shining so we took the opportunity to adjourn to the patio for coffee. We sat for a while looking out over the stunningly blue sea, out towards the island of Tanera Mor.

As I mentioned in the last post this is the only inhabited island in the Summer Isles, and at the time we were there (August 2013) it was up for sale with an asking price of £2.6 million. I have to say, if I had that kind of money burning a hole in my pocket I'd be making an offer. I've always wanted to live on an island, and an island in such close proximity to such a wonderful eaterie? What could be better?

Of course, from the patio the view is somewhat obscured by the trees that run along the hotel's fence. So, take a look at the panorama you'll see from the beer garden:

Beautiful, isn't it? And the view is always this good. Not always this blue, I'll grant you, but when the weather is poor it just gets more dramatic, not less beautiful.

You really should go.

*Yes, I know, technically it isn't raw because the smoke cures it. But in terms of texture and appearance there is no difference between cold smoked salmon and a slice off a salmon you just dragged out of a stream. Prometheous stole fire from the gods and ended up getting his liver eaten by eagles for all eternity so that we could cook stuff. Given that, it seems rude not to.