Gathering again in Glencoe.

Here at Snail Towers we have mixed feelings about Glencoe.

It is, as anyone who has hiked, cycled or driven through it (or seen Skyfall) will know, breathtakingly, jaw droppingly, heart breakingly beautiful. It doesn't matter what time of year you go there, there is always something to delight the eye and thrill the senses. It's a magical location - indeed I've gone on about how brilliant it is at some length in the past.

So why the mixed feelings?

Well, Glencoe is a few miles south of the Caravan Club site at Bunree, and Bunree is our usual stop-over spot on the way south after a visit to Strathnaver. On our way north we tend not to hang around, which means that leisurely visits to Glencoe almost always mean we're on our way home and they can sometimes be tinged with a touch of "end of holiday blues".

So it was on this occasion. We were heading hoime from our blissful break at Grummore in the far north, and had paused for two nights at Bunree, figuring a day off from driving might make us less zombified on our return, as well as giving us a chance to spend some time taking in the aforementioned magnificence of Glencoe.

So, our one full day at Bunree began with a lazy start, a full "caravan breakfast" of bacon, eggs, fried bread and coffee, before we set out to take in the beauty of the glen. The cloud was low on this late spring day, and there was more than a hint of drizzle in the air. It didn't matter.

The heads of the hills on either side of the glen were visible, and they towered over us as we made our way from the sea level northern end of the glen, along the A82, climbing up towards the southern exit of the glen on Rannoch Moor.

If you're coming from the north, the first thing you see as you enter the glen is Loch Achtriochtan. As lochs go it's pretty tiny - you'd lose it a thousand times over in Loch Naver or Loch Shin, but as I've been insisting for most of my life, size isn't everything. This roundish sheet of water often acts as a perfect mirror, and it offers any number of perfect photo opportunities on a bright clear day as the hills and the sky are reflected in its surface. It can be heartbreakingly lovely.

This day, however, was not such a day.

The sky was grey. The clouds were low, the sky was grey and the loch was rippled by a steady breeze, so reflections were out of the question. Glencoe, like so many other stunning locations in Scotland is in no way dependent on the weather for its beauty. We drove on, up the glen, the mountains on either side of us brooding beneath leaden skies, the grey asphalt ribbon of the A82 led us up and on to the northern edge of Rannoch Moor.

Where we promptly turned around and headed back down through the glen.

You see, Glencoe is always a spectacle, but it's far more spectacular when approached from the south. Approaching from the heights of Rannoch Moor, suddenly deep grey craggy rocks rise up on either side of you as the road sweeps you around to the right, over a gorge cut by one of the branches of the rive coe with a huge waterfall on your left.

In the heat of the summer this waterfall, which drops the river coe about forty feet into the gorge, is little more than a plucky trickle. But in the spring, when the rain that Scotland is so famous for joins forces with the snow melting on the peaks of the mountains it transforms into an angry, roaring, frothing cascade. It can be truly breathtaking. The road then carries you on, through a gap cut through a towering wall of (I think) granite to form a door like entrance into the glen itself. 

And then, there you are. Coming from the south the road snakes you to the right and along the right hand side of the glen. But now, instead of climbing up a hill, you're starting high and the whole glen (one of the best exposed examples of what my geologist friends refer to as "cauldron subsidence" - I have no idea what that means, but it sure sounds impressive) is laid out before you, and it's astounding.

This view is widely acknowledged to be one of the most spectacular in Scotland, which to our way of thinking makes it one of the most spectacular in the world. There are two main parking areasto the left of the A82 where you can stop and soak it all in, or start any kind of walk from a gentle amble along the valley floor to a more ambitious attempt on the peaks.

Whatever you do though, DON'T stop in either of the main parking spots if you want to sit in your car and gaze at the view in peace, because the chances are you won't get any. It's inevitable that a place of such beauty will attract people who want to enjoy that beauty - we can hardly complain, we're tourists too! However, if you stay with your car you will be permenantly surrounded by scores of people who have been given five minutes to get off their tour coach, get a picture and get back back on the bus. Let's just say they don't add to the air of tranquility and leave it at that.

And then there's the piper. There's almost always a bloody piper.

Now. I love the pipes. I've always loved them. As a kid my Grandma brought me back a "scottish piper" doll from a trip to Edinburgh, and for a very long time I was determined to learn to play the bagpipes like the kilted military men I saw on the White Heather Club at New Years*. Looking bakcm this was a desire my family paid keen lipservice to, but somehow they never managed to find me a set of pipes to play.**

I have to be honest, I can't say I blame them.

But I do love the pipes. Both the traditional styles of the Massed Pipes and Drums and folk hero stalwarts such as Norman MacLean, and the more modern high octane "BagRock" offerings of the likes of the excellent Red Hot Chilli Pipers. There is something ethereal about a well played set of pipes, and you'd imagine that to hear the strains of traditional bagpipes in the heart of Glencoe would be a truly soulful experience.

Sorry. You'd be wrong.

I should be clear. At no point have we ever stopped in Glencoe and been afflicted by the sound of a bad piper. (Which is a mercy, because bad pipe playing is even more offensive to the ear than the wail of a badly played violin.) It's just that there, in the heart of the most spectacular landscape feature Lochaber has to offer***, I want to listen to the wind, to the rain, to the birdsong. Not to another rendition of "Scotland the Brave" or "Highland Cathedral".

It's really intrusive too. You can escape the crowds by getting out of the car and walking for a bit. The drone of the pipes can be heard from one end of the glen to the other if the wind is right.

Anyway.

The grey snake of the A82 drags you northwards around the side of the glen, back past Loch Achtriochtan, out of the glen and on to the village of Glencoe, a couple of miles to the north, nestling on the shores of Loch Leven.

Glencoe isn't a big place, but it's the biggest place within an hour's drive that isn't Fort William and it boasts all the amenities that you might need. There's a garage, a couple of gorcery stores - including a new and rather well appointed Co-op - a couple of hotels, the local Mountain Rescue Station and a fair number of BnBs. And attached to one of the hotels by the side of the A82 is the duck egg blue brilliance of The Glencoe Gathering.

We've eaten here a few times, but I've only written about it once before, on our first visit when the place was pretty new. On that visit we had an unfortunate incident with a garlicky chicken skewer. The fact that on one occasion we were served under-done chicken and yet we still went back tells you how good this place is.

And it really is that good. And I should stress that the bad chicken skewer incident was a true one off that was dealt with at the time and we've never ever had a problem like that since.

We pulled into the gravelled car park and made our way around the side of the wooden building to the front "Muddy Boots" entrance which leads you into the bar area. The rear door, labeled "fancy shoes" takes you into the restairant area - but both parts of the establishment serve the same menu and the view from the bar is better.

We took our seats, ordered drinks, and settled down to admire the view with menus in hand. Mrs Snail immediately went for the garlicky chicken skewers, while I eschewed the regular menu and ordered the Montreal Steak from the specials board. Then we sat back and took in our surroundings.

The bar area is a relaxed and informal space with wooden floors and either white painted or bare brick walls which are decorated with photographs of people climbing in the ice and snow of the winter Nevis Range. There's an acoustic guitar on a guitar stand in one corner bearing many signatures I didn't recognise, and the bar itself in another little niche.

The waitress who served us was clearly new to the job, and monumentally nervous (she eventually confided that it was her first day), but she was charming and, given it was her first day, rather good at it. The softly spoken bearded gentleman behind the bar who was clearly in charge provided her with gentle and relaxed instruction and all was well.

All was ever weller**** when the food arrived.

Those garlic skewers.. ooooooooh

Mrs Snail opted to give the Garlicky Chicken Skewers another try, and they were very, very good indeed. I mean, obviously if you don't like garlic you'd want to steer clear, but everyone else? Oh, you are just going to want to dig in. The garlic isn't overpowering, but it's strong enough that you're getting that hard alium hit. Married up with the onions and peppers with the slightly bitter earthy background from the chargrill the whole thing balances to create perfect harmony in your mouth.

Not the biggest steak in the world, but oh myyyyyyy, the FLAVOUR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'd raided the specials board and plumped for the Montreal Steak. Now, I claim to be a foodie, and I love a good steak, but I'd never heard of a Montreal Steak until I visited the Gathering. Wikipedia however tells me that this is, in face, a thing. Whatever, it was a taste explosion on my tongue with the heat of Cayenne, the flavours of garlic and pepper and I know not what else. Even better, beneath the seasoning was the flavour of really good meaty char-grilled beef. It was juicy. It was tender. It was sublime.

Both meals came with fairly chunky chips (and they were listed as chips on the menu - none of your "fries" nonsense here) that were pale gold, crispy on the outside nad fluffy on the inside, and packed full of potato flavour and the speciality of the house - the salt and pepper salad.

This was something that impressed us on our first visit to The Gathering, and it continues to do so. It's one of those things - now I know about it? It seems like the most obvious thing in the world, but I'd never have thought of it in a million years.

Rocket is a famously peppery salad leaf. Samphire is a famously salty coastal vegetable. Salt and pepper is perhaps the most basic of flavour combinations, so Rocket and Samphire salad is a no-brainer - but have you ever seen it before? Because I haven't.

In short, lunch was amazing!

Everyone should visit Glencoe at least once in thier lives. That means you should visit Glencoe, if you haven't already had that privillage. While you're there, you're going to need to eat. You should eat at the Glencoe Gathering. To do anything else would be a wasted opportunity!





*And yes. I am aware that this dates me.

**Although I noticed with some amusement recently that they were selling them in Lidl, of all places. I was sorely tempted, but resisited becasue I like being married...

***No small claim for a district that also boasts Ben Nevis.

****What? It's a word. I just wrote it!

A Kylesku surprise

Well, this is a bit of a long one. What can I tell you? There's a lot to say!

The Kylesku Hotel is a place we know well. I've talked about it before and it has the happy distinction of being the only eaterie I can think of that gets just that little bit more awesome every time we visit. We've developed a fairly comfortable relationship with the place - after visiting a couple of times a year for the past decade and a half we recognise some of the staff (they don't recognise us - but that's hardly surprising, they see hundreds of different customers a week and besides, we're not that remarkable...) and even have a favourite table.

Well, we had a favourite table.

As indicated at the end of last week's edition, after discovering that Lochinver was mostly closed we headed north in the sure and certain knowledge that there would be no surprises at the The Kylesku Hotel. We were wrong.

As I've mentioned before the hotel sits just off the main road north, next to what used to be the slipway for the Kylesku Ferry before that service was replaced by the elegant arc of concrete which now carries the road across the narrows and onward to the north coast. Turning down what is now the dead end spur that leads to the hotel we were met with a building site. Essentially the whole building looked like it was being rebuilt.

This gave us a moment's pause - after all, it was lunch o'clock and for us that's the most important time of the day. We'd already discovered that all the places we'd been looking forward to eating at in Lochinver were closed - was Kylesku going to let us down too? With some trepidation we made our way quickly (it was chucking it down) along the front of the building to the steps that lead up to the bar praying silently that we weren't going to have to make an empty stomached trip back to Grummore.

We should have known better. The Kylesku Hotel has never let us down - why would it start now?

It was still a surprise though.

The carpet had gone, replaced by sleek hardwood floors. The rustic stripped pine tables which always looked as though they'd been salvaged from a farmhouse kitchen where they'd been loved by generations were gone too, replaced by crisper, paler, slightly more Terrance Conran style furniture, although some of the chairs were still the old green upholstered dark wood. I suspect they'll all be white in due course. The colour scheme lived in my memory as sort of cream and green. Now it's various shades of pebble grey with the odd brightly coloured "accent" wall.

Visually it's one hell of a change, but I rather liked it. It's perhaps a little less cosy, but it's lighter, brighter and very pleasant indeed. Well, take a look:

They also kept the old ship's wheel on the bar...

Oh, and we have a new favourite table:

Look at that view. Just LOOK at it!

The windows are now much bigger, which also goes a long way to making the place seem brighter, and I should be clear that the picture to the left doesn't even begin to do justice to the view down Loch Dubh.

We could have sat there for hours. In fact, we did. Twice, because we went back later in the holiday. To avoid confusion and repetition I'll talk about both visits at once.

On both occasions we were greeted by the very genial Mark, who I think in a previous blog I believe I described as looking as though he "could have stepped straight off Bondai Beach". He still does, and his cheerful friendliness always makes the room light up a little bit.

He brought the menus and explained which of the dishes listed on the specials menu were no longer available. We both elected to start with the potted lamb. I was expecting a sort of cold pate affair, along the lines of the potted beef we're so fond of in Yorkshire, but what we got was this:

It was delicious.

The lamb was served warm, and had clearly been cooked down over a very long time indeed. It was served with griddled bread and, on the first occasion, a celeriac and grain mustard coleslaw. On the second occasion, pictured above (because you're damn right we had it the second time we went too) a celeriac and caper coleslaw.

Personally I preferred the mustardy coleslaw, but since both were excellent, that's by the by.

It was warm, rich, perfectly seasoned and had a flavour so deep there was practically an echo. On a cold, wet, slate grey day it was the perfect comfort food - sort of distilled stew. We loved it so much on our second visit we asked our server if she'd ask the chef for the recipe. She told us with a smile and a twinkle that the chef "never reveals her secrets". I can't say I blame her. If I knew how to make something that perfect I wouldn't tell anybody either.

We'd arrived fairly early on that first visit and had been the first customers. We were in the middle of this unbelievable festival of flavour when the next customer arrived. It didn't occur to me to ask his permission to write about him, so I won't mention the name of this excellent old gentleman, although any regular of the Kylesku Hotel will doubtless know who I'm talking about, because he's something of a fixture.

We'd met him once before, on a previous visit when he'd regaled us with tales of his childhood around Loch Dubh during the war when his father had almost shot one of the top secret midget submarines that trained there after mistaking it for a seal. He sat down to his lunch of Loch Dubh spineys (think small languostines) just as our main courses were arriving, after dispatching Mark to collect a terracotta bust (actually he said "I've got a head in the boot of my car - could you go and get it for me?") which I believe is now displayed in a position of honour in the hotel.

Convivial as he was, when his spineys arrived he directed his full attention to his meal - as is only right. We did too. On that first visit I'd opted for the "Burger of the Day" (yes, I know, no shocks there) and Mrs Snail had gone for an old favourite, the Beetroot and Goat's Cheese Salad.

I won.

On our first visit of the trip the "Burger of the day" was a "Moroccan Lamb Burger" and it was utterly magnificent. I'm wishing I'd taken a picture because it was unutterably beautiful to look at. It was even better to eat. The Lamb patty was juicy, moist and wonderfully seasoned with spices that frankly I didn't recognise but really wanted to get to know better. The chips were, as in the past, about as close to perfect at it is possible for a chip to be - fat, golden and crispy on the outside, white, fluffy and steaming on the inside. There may have been salad. We don't speak of such things here.

Mrs Snail's Beetroot and goat's cheese salad looked amazing - there was more than one colour of beetroot on display which made the plate look exuberant rather than a charnel house - but it was also clear that the cheese did very much belong to the goat, and the goat was less than keen on sharing. There was not a lot of goat's cheese, is what we're saying. Indeed, the shortage was so severe that I didn't get to taste any, which means I only have Mrs Snail's word for the fact that in combination with the beets the effect of the breaded deep fried (we're still in Scotland, food lovers...)* nuggets of goat's cheese was exploseively good.

She wouldn't lie to me though - and if your only criticism of a meal is that you didn't get enough of it, that speaks pretty well of the food...

Our second foray to Kylesku was about a week later. As you already know, we both went for the insanely wonderful potted lamb as our starter, but we like to experiment, so our main choices were different.

Well, alright, I toyed with going for the burger of the day again, but the jovial and omnipresent Mark begged to make a recommendation. "Try the haunch of Venison," he suggested, "they serve it just pink, which is the only way to have it!" Well, you can't move in thois part of the Highlands for red deer, and they look not only magnificent, but also tasty, so how could I resist? Mrs Snail, who lacks my appetite for dead things, opted to try the cheese platter - normally a dessert - as her main. We ordered and settled back to watch the oyster catchers mince their way up and down the slipway, while a pair of herring gulls harrased the prawns that were swimming near the shore.

After a surprisingly short while our server - whose name I never quite got, I think it may have been "Elle" or "Ellie", whatever she was called, she was wonderful - brought our meals out to us. Just take a second and look at this:

I mean, where do I start?!

Haunch of Venison, some kind of braised greens (the menu told me what they were but all I can remember is that they were nice), mashed neeps, straw chips and dots of different vegetable purees, with a potato an haggis dauphinouse.

It really shouldn't have worked. Cheesy potatoes with haggis in them? With Venison? Really?

YES!

I guess many readers have not eaten venison. Let me explain. Imagine the finest beef fillet you have ever eaten.  Times that experience by three. That's bog standard venison. This though. Take your bog standard venison, multiply it by pi, add on your birthday than stick on a few more noughts. It was astounding. The bitterness of the braised greens and the sweetness of the neeps counterpointed each other, and the haggis dauphinouse was, well, interesting.

I know what's in haggis. Essentially, it's all the bits of a sheep you really wouldn't eat, minced up with oatmeal and shoved into a sheeps guts. In spite of that, I rather like it - so long as it's made to be crispy, something that the traditional steaming cannot do, and something that is never going to happen if you put it in a dauphinouse. Essentially, on paper, it's a bloody stupid idea.

And yet it worked.

Brilliantly.

The whole plate just came together to become the best meal I have had in some time. It was thge kind of meal you hated to finish. The kind of meal you wanted to be hungry enough to eat again. The kind of meal that makes you wish you were an Michelin inspector so that you could give the place a couple of stars. That good. I'm just going to go on record and suggest that any chef that can put those elements on a plate and make it work is a flat out genius.

By way of contrast Mrs Snail was somewhat less overwhelmed by her Cheese and Biscuits which seemed a little peremptory - three slabs of cheese with a couple of oatcakes, three grapes and a sort of onion marmalade sort of thing which jst didn't pack the pickly punch that a chutney would have provided. This is not a complaint (yes I know, it sounds a lot like one, but honestly it's just when everything is so good the little things that aren't quite perfect really stand out) as such, and although this was a bit of a low point in the culinary experience, the platter had an unexpected saving grace that made even the low point pretty darn high.

Did I mention that their chef was a genius and their waiting staff are awesome?

Well, I'm going to say it again.

Sitting quietly in the centre of the Cheese and Biscuit platter were three little balls of sesame seeds. Mrs Snail nibbled tentatively and then very quckly ate the whole thing - her expression melting into something approaching delighted content. She passed one of them to me and insisted that I try it.

It was amazing. We've christened these nectareous** nuggets of noshableness "sesame brittle", but in fact they were not quite crunchy and not quite chewey, but somewhere rather fascinatingly in-between. They were also sweet but not too sweet, with that nutty toasted sesame flavour that is almost but not quite bitter. They were so good that when our server came over to see if we wanted anything else, we asked for a bowlful, which she very generously provided. Told you the waiting staff were awesome!

On that second visit we skipped dessert - we were in a bit more of a hurry and settled for the sesame brittle balls. On our first visit the weather was so uninviting we did stick around for a third course. I went for their tablet ice-cream, while Mrs Snail went for a Pear tarte tatin with poppy seed syrup.

People who haven't spent much time in Scotland may be unfamiliar with Tablet. Mrs Snail, who doesn't really have a sweet tooth, once described it as "gritty fudge", but to me it is the finest of confections. It is sort of fudge like, but drier and crumblier. It is also outrageously sweet. My two scoops of vanilla ice-cream were loaded with huge nuggets of the stuff. It was heavenly, but it was Mrs Snails tarte tatin that was the real star.

I confess I was intrigued by the "poppy seed syrup". So far as I was aware the only syrup you're going to get from a poppy seed is opium - which would be an innovative approach to ensuring repeat custom, but I'm guessing it would also attract entirely the wrong clientele. The tarte was just about the right size, just the right texture and actually tasted of pear rather than suger. The syrup was not in fact opium, but a regular suger syrup with poppy seeds in it. They seemed to be a strange addition but they did add an interesting flavour and another layer of texture to the dish. The tarte is supposed to be accompanied with a scoop of Run and Raisin Ice-Cream. I have no idea whether that would have worked, because both Mrs Snail and myself regard Run and Raisin as an abomination so she asked if they would kindly swap it for pouring cream, which worked brilliantly.

And that's the all new Kylesku Hotel. It still gets better every time we visit.

Ultimately I think that the wonderful old regular said it best when he told us "The only thing you can do at the Kylesku is start at the top of the menu and work your way down."

He wasn't wrong.






Postscript:

I loathe prawns in all their forms. Mrs Snail adores them, but now suffers from the kind of allergy to them that makes your lips turn blue and inflates your tongue like a balloon. This is why neither of us ordered what I maintain is the hotel's most spectacular dish - a platoon of langoustines skewered on what is basically a sword which hangs, Damocles like, above a dish of garlic butter. I'm please to report that on our second visit I observed a fellow diner being served with this insanely cool seafood sensation. I'm pleased to see that it's still on the menu and that the presentation has not changed. I'd love to show you a picture of it, but I balked at invading a person's privacy to ask if I could photograph their lunch. If anyone from the hotel is reading this and wants to post a picture in the comments I'd be most grateful...


*Sorry. I do love a good stereotype. And I have visited the chippie in Stonehaven that claims to have invented the deep fried Mars Bar, so it's not like I haven't seen evidence for the idea that the Scots will deep fry anything.

**Sorry again. I wantedto use alliteration so I asked my Facebook friends for a synonym for "delicious" beginning with "N". They have a wide vocabulary, my Facebook friends...

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.

Lunch in Dornoch, Seals and a Castle.

We learned some time ago that if you're approaching Dornoch from the north it pays you to approach a little obliquely by taking a narrow little left turn off the A9 a few miles north of the town and following the banks of Loch Fleet towards Skelbo Castle - especially if you happen to be visiting when the tide is low. On this visit the tide was just coming in, but we took the detour anyway and were rewarded with a fine view of the large colony of Harbour Seals*that calls the loch home.

They really are endlessly entertaining. Some loll like corpulent Roman dignitaries on exposed sandbanks, some swim and play in the shallow water - water shallow and clear enough, incidentally, to make it possible to make them out as they swim beneath the surface - some leap in and out of the water doing a passable impersonation of a dolphin while others rest on submerged sand banks, assuming what I've always thought of as the "banana position", bending their bodies so that their heads and tail flippers protrude above the waves. It looks most uncomfortable, but the seals seem to like it.

Seal watching is clearly a popular pass time here. The road is predictably single track, but there are a few capacious laybys to allow you to stop and stare to your heart's content. There are even benches to sit on and display boards to tell you what you're looking at - because there is an awful lot more here than just seals, entertaining as they are. Depending on the height of the tide, the season and the weather, you can see all manner of wildfowl and wading birds here too. We've spent hours here over the years - but as you may recall from the previous post we'd been driving for some time, it was lunchtime and we were hungry so we moved on after a mere quarter of an hour or so, scooting along the little single track road which leads you directly into Dornoch's main street.

I call it the main street, because "Town Square" is a bit of a strong word for it, but in fact I mean the open paved area at one end of the main street. Here can be found several parking spaces (although when it's busy there's an excellent pay and display car park on the next street over),the main bus stop,  the town notice board, a few shops - about which more later - the town hall and the Dornoch Castle Hotel.

In all our years of visiting this fantastic little town we have only eaten in two establishments. On our first visit we were with Mrs Snail's parents and we had lunch at the Royal Dornoch Golf Club. This was years ago, and I remember almost nothing about it save for a faint memory of being impressed. Every visit since we've either had a picnic, not been there at lunchtime, or made a beeline for the Dornoch Castle Hotel. It's a little forbidding from the outside perhaps, but once you learn a little about its history you begin to understand why.

The origins of Dornoch Castle are shrouded in the mists of time. It is believed that the current building stands on the site of the original Bishop's Palace, built for St Gilbert - who also founded the Cathedral - at some point in the thirteenth century. At what point the oldest of the current buildings was constructed is open to question - but look at it, it looks pretty old...

We do know that the place left ecclesiastical hands in 1557 when Bishop Robert Stewart gave it to his Brother in Law, the Earl of Sutherland. It remained in Sutherland hands until the family sold it in 1922. In those three hundred and sixty five years the building served as a palatial residence, court house and  gaol**. In 1570 it withstood a vicious siege when the Murrays of Dornoch rescued the young Earl Alexander of Sutherland from Dunrobin Castle (just up the road - I'll tell you about it someday) where he was being held by the Earl of Caithness.

The young Earl of Sutherland, it seems, was under the guardianship of the Earl of Caithness, who had married him off to one of his daughters - twice the young man's age - and proceeded to rule both Caithness and Sutherland with the proverbial iron fist. Clan Murray were opposed to the dominance of Caithness and the Clan Mackay (the clan who ruled the area around Strathnaver) and so snuck into Dunrobin and spirited the youngster away.

Naturally the Clans of Caithness and Mackay, and the Sutherlands of Skelbo, weren't going to take this lying down and gave chase. There were days of bitter and intense fighting but the people of Dornoch were outnumbered and the town was sacked. The townspeople held out for a further week in the towers of the castle and adjacent cathedral. The invaders were determined to force the people out though - and that's when things in the history get a little weird, involving a thirteenth century curse, a furious - if dead - saint and the Devil himself. I'll probably come back to that when we visit the cathedral later...

After all those adventures a large part of the castle complex became a hotel in 1947, and it manages to walk the very tricky tightrope between the opposing challenges of remaining true to its heritage as a stronghold and stately home and being a comfortable place where tourists can relax and enjoy a good meal. Indeed, it walks that tightrope very well. The walls of the lounge/bar/reception area are of the same split get stone that the exterior walls are constructed from, and I suppose that this could make the place seem a little cold and forbidding.

It doesn't though, partly because of the huge fireplace dominating the wall on the left hand side, which is so large you could use it to garage a fleet of small cars, and which on damp rainy days is guaranteed to make even the soggiest of visitors feel warm and welcome.

 The decor also helps. There must be a terrible temptation when you own a castle to fill the place up with stags heads, suits of armour and heavy red drapes. As regular readers may recall me and Mrs Snail like a good castle and we've seen many places that have fallen into this trap and consequently look as though they're being used as a set for a medieval B movie. The Dornoch Castle Hotel has deftly sidestepped that particular design faux par, and instead has light modern looking wooden table and chairs down the outside wall - If I'd paid more attention to Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen programmes in the nineties I cold probably tell you what kind of wood they are - it certainly looked too classy for pine - but frankly I have no idea and it isn't actually relevant so I'm not going to worry about it. The fireplace is surrounded by deep and comfortable looking leather sofas - well, they look like leather at least, I confess I didn't actually check, and the bar itself, tucked away in the far corner, is also resplenant in light polished wood - with not a horse brass or shield mounted claymore in sight.

We grabbed a table by a little window looking out onto the street. A tall young woman with dark bobbed hair and a dazzling smile brought us menus and confirmed that yes, they did offer free WIFI. She handed me a slip of paper bearing the WIFI access code and left us to choose our lunch. My choice was, of course, very easy. I already knew I was having the burger - I knew from happy experience that the burgers at the Castle Hotel are awesome, and to be honest the lunch menu isn't all that extensive - so I directed my attention to downloading the recent Monaco Grand Prix from the BBC i-Player.

Myself and Mrs Snail are massive fans of Formula One but we'd travelled from Killin to Grummore on the Sunday of the race and while one of the things we like about Grummore is its lack of TV signal and internet provision, that does make it difficult to keep up with events in other countries. Of course, it also makes it easy to avoid finding out the result of a race that had taken place days earlier, so with the race downloaded we were looking forward to some motor racing action when we got back to the 'van.

 The waitress with the dazzling smile reappeared briefly to take our orders, and to apologise that they were all out of Beef Burgers and, although burgers were still on the menu, all they had was venison. I was slightly amused that she presented this to me as though it might be a problem - personally I couldn't have been happier, I have no issue whatsoever with eating Bambi and vastly prefer venison to beef.  After a little ummin and ahing Mrs Snail opted for a tuna and red onion sandwich.

I was not in any way disappointed. The venison patty was beautifully rich and well seasoned with a tangy tomato relish which cut through the richness of the meat. There was, I confess, some salad, but since I was on holiday I paid it no mind. Far more worthy on notice were the chips (none of your "fries" nonsense here, thank you very much) which were thick and crisp and golden. Indeed, about the only issue I was presented with during the whole course of the meal was the fact that the chips were so crispy the salt kept bouncing off.

Yes, I know, it is such a hard life isn't it?

Mrs Snail declared her sandwich to be "very nice", but was clearly not totally blown away. It looked good, but was a little light on the red onion front.

Overall, well, we definitely still love the Dornoch Castle hotel. The food is good, if perhaps a little limited - and I have to say I'd rather it was limited and excellent than fancy and poor, so that's not much of a criticism - and the service is brilliant. The staff are attentive enough that you're never waiting long for anything you might want, but discrete enough that you don't ever feel as though you have somebody hovering on your shoulder.

With lunch over it was time to move on and have a bit of a wander around one of Sutherland's prettiest little towns - join me next tme for a little light shopping...

*They're also known as "Common Seals" but I just can't bring myself to refer to these extraordinary aquatic mammals as "common".

**Or "Jail" if you prefer. But I'm British, and can spell, so "gaol" it is.

Eating in Glasshouses

There are a lot of excellent places to eat in Ambleside, and everyone who knows the place has a favourite. I have fond memories of Zeffirelli's(popularly known as "Zeff's"), a rather good Pizzeria on Compston road which has its own cinema. My sister, who lived in Ambleside for a while, will expound at length the virtues of the The Apple Pie, on Rydal Road. Both are excellent, and I highly recommend them to you.

They're not where we went for lunch, however.

Our lunch spot of choice on many recent visits to Ambleside has been the the Glasshouse Restaurant, also on Rydal Road, and in point of fact, just on the edge of the main car park in what used to be a fulling mill - don't ask me, something to do with textiles, given that it's situated in an area rather over blessed with sheep, I'm going to hazard a guess that it's something you do with wool. The water wheel that powered the operation is still there, presumably because the building - which dates from the fifteenth century - is listed.

 We discovered the place on a cold, dark, damp January day a few years ago when we were still new to caravan living. We'd spent New Year pitched up at the Troutbeck Camping and Caravanning Club site on the A66. (There is also a Troutbeck just outside Ambleside, whatever you do, don't mix the two up - the Ambleside Troutbeck is at the top of a steep hill that even after years of taking the Road Snail to the Highlands I still wouldn't fancy tacking with the 'van...)

Ambleside, like most places inside the Lake District National Park is mostly built from the local deep grey Cumbrian slate. On a cold drizzly afternoon in early January this architectural conformity does not in any way add to the gaiety of nations.  Something about the Glasshouse attracted us on that miserable winter afternoon and we were not disappointed. I recall an excellent meal, good service and a warm (in every sense of the word) welcome.

Also their bread, oil and balsamic vinegar is utterly irresistible.

This time around we were ushered  to a table on the first floor, with a rather nice view out onto the famous  Bridge House (about which, more later) and began to peruse the menu. We found it relatively unchanged from our last visit, and with the kind of reckless "let's try it and see" abandon that regular readers of this blog will have come to expect from me I did what I always do and plumped for a cheeseburger with bacon. (I always go for bacon when it's an option because, well, it's bacon, and bacon is awesome...)

Mrs Snail, who is rather more discerning in such matters actually read the menu and selected a chicken salad sandwich on focaccia bread with spring onion mayo. We sat back in the dazzling sunshine that streamed through the window and waited for the food to arrive while we inspected some of the artwork displayed on the wall.  I can't remember when restaurants started displaying artwork for sale on their walls - perhaps they always did and I only started noticing recently - but it makes sense, although I'd have to say the oil paintings displayed near our table were hideously over priced...

Anyway. I'm no art critic, so let's get back to the point.

The food duly arrived. My burger was fat and juicy in a bun stuffed with lettuce and tomato. The cheese was tangy, the bacon was perfectly cooked (and believe me when I say I'm really fussy about bacon) and the chips were deliciously crisp, thick and golden. All as expected - the burgers are always good at the Glasshouse. What I hadn't been expecting was the pot of Aioli that came along with it. I don't remember that from my last visit - the Glasshouse always seems to give just a little more each time. I'm going to guess that the Aioli was made on site, because I simply don't believe that you can buy it that strong - you could actually see the little bits of crushed garlic in there - it was awesome! I love garlic and having something this powerful to dip my chips in was the unctuous garlicy icing on the cake.

I pronounce myself to have been happy, happy, happy.

Mrs Snail's chicken sandwich was every bit as impressive - at least initially.

For a start, it was huge! I mean we didn't measure it or anything, but I reckon that focaccia rectangle it must've been about ten inches by six inches. That's a lot of sandwich. Inside were thickly sliced slabs of roasted chicken and plenty of salad. It all looked fantastic, but was pronounced to be merely "OK" by Mrs Snail, who was somewhat disappointed by the spring onion mayo which in her opinion was rather light on the spring onion. Given the punch packed by my Aioli this was quite surprising, but there you go...

Personally I was stuffed, but Mrs Snail was determined to have a desert because she remembered how good the Raspberry Creme Brulee was. She was right. While I sipped an excellent Latte she cracked open the amber gold sugar glazing covering a richly vanilla custard that sat atop a wonderfully sharp mush of raspberries at the bottom. This was declared to be "fabulous" - which coming from Mrs Snail is praise indeed as she's something of a brulee connoisseur.

I love the Glasshouse. The service is friendly, the location is fantastic, the food is brilliant, what more could you wish for at lunchtime?