Collinatriave Hotel: Harris gin and beetroot cured salmon, pickled cucumber and bannock (a type of flatbread)
Summer on the Scottish west coast is a mixed bag. Sideways rain, wellies and waterproofs one day and sunscreen, flipflops and sunglasses the next. Packing for it is a wild ride.
Earlier this month, I spent a week on the west coast of Scotland. Until six years ago, I'd been to Scotland once in my whole life. Despite having a strong Scottish background on my dad's side, I'd only been to Edinburgh once before meeting my Scottish husband. It turns out driving from Cornwall to Scotland with two young kids is not the type of holiday my parents (or anyone…) wanted.
Now every time I go, I want to eat somewhere new and exciting, obviously. This often involves at least a 30 minute drive as everywhere is practically in the middle of nowhere. Scotland is famed for its seafood, and there’s much more of it here on menus than in my hometown of Bude, despite it being right on the coast. But a huge amount of it is exported, even to the likes of Spain. Some figures say it’s as much as 80 per cent, which reportedly brings in a revenue of more than £900m, just behind its whisky exports which are valued at £4.36bn, according to the Scottish government.
The week prior to the trip, I'd read a review of a seafood shack in The Times on Loch Fyne. It didn't take much convincing for anyone to join me in my quest to find it. Food and the chance to be on the water is a "tick, tick". To get to the other side of the loch is, unsurprisingly, quite hard. Something that looks "just over the way" could actually be more than a two hour journey if you were to take the ferry over the loch and then drive around. But being on the water's edge, we took matters into our own hands, and set off in a little motorboat. The wind blowing against us, seawater sloshing over the sides, the driver soaked – we powered on, hungry for seafood. Passing sail boats, we used google maps to decipher the distance. Then… the petrol was low. Forcing our way through the waves, against the wind and tide had used up far more petrol than anyone had imagined it could. We thought we could carry on, the lure of the freshest seafood too tempting to give up. Alas, eventually, we did. Turning around, the wind was in our favour and we pootled back, slowing to a snail's pace to conserve what little fuel remained. My plan for a remote lunch fell by the wayside. A trip for another time, though (I'll write about it then.) And a lesson learned for the seafarers of the family: take extra petrol.
Things were brighter after finding out the village on the other side of the loch, Tarbet, was having a seafood festival this weekend. For those among us that have knowledge of the Scottish islands, you'll know that there are plenty of “Tarbets” and “Tarberts” around, which can get dangerously confusing. The Gaelic translation is something along the lines of "to carry across", meaning it sits in between two bodies of water and the Vikings would carry their boats across the piece of land, then enter the water again on the other side. If that's not determination, I'm not sure what is.
Tarbet seafood festival: Scallop ceviche on the harbourside
The first time I came into the harbour of this little fishing village, which also has a very large marina for the size of it, I was bowled over by its prettiness. And just how much it looked like Cornwall. Of course, the west coast of Scotland and north Cornwall (my hood) share a lot, being on the same coastline. But perhaps I was naive to have not realised just quite how similar they would look.
Tarbet’s oysters were some of the biggest I’d had
A small dilapidated castle sits on top of the brow, just peaking above the waterfront. Along the water's edge to the left and right of the harbour sit Victorian houses. It could be the west coast's version of Padstow, if Rick had got there first. Taking physical centre stage is the Tarbet Hotel, an impressive three story white and black Victorian building which has fallen into serious disrepair. But if only it was open, the potential of the village could be totally renewed. Much like plenty of rural places, its sad decline is visible from restaurants and pubs closing (although for my husband, it's the closure of the curry house that hit hardest) and being left empty, like scars that act as a reminder of what it once was.
The langoustines were coated in a herb rub
The village was transformed for the festival: the water front was lined with little food tents of oysters, paella, barbecued scallops, langoustines, local cheese and (not so seafood) burgers, as well as bric-a-brac, local photographers selling cards of their work and even children's knitted clothes. And the main event? The lorry with entertainment from highland dancers to some sort of clown. It's the epitome of rural life, a good 'ol parade, a sing-along and a knees-up. The pubs were busy, the streets lined, and the rain fell. Oh did it fall, but in true Scot's spirit, it didn't dampen anyone's zest for it, not least the stalls selling three scallops on a stick for a tenner. Oh no, not they. It reminded me of my hometown’s similar events: The Poughill revel, Carnival and Lifeboat day – all calendar-worthy events in my childhood. The oysters were huge, I think the biggest I've ever eaten and also came from the boats in front of us, the langoustines also hefty, and there was even a ceviche, so what did I care if it rained a little? It is Scotland, after all.
Where else I ate
Colintraive Hotel
Recently taken over by a young couple, Clare Banner and Joe Burnett, so far for me, this is the best food I've found. The menu changes regularly: it’s bright, innovative and covers traditionalists with a cracking lamb roast, and someone looking for a spice hit with Korean chicken wings, without it losing its identity and being chaotic. The fish comes from nearby Tarbet or the island of Gigha, too.
The Royal
The tiny village of Tighnabruaich was a Victorian summer retreat for nearby wealthy Glaswegians in the Victorian era, and so is lined with Victorian villas. Now a hotel, which has in the past few decades had multiple owners, the current owners of The Royal have been there around a year. I had more oysters, which were excellent and shucked, and the fish and chips looked on point, while the view over the water was well worth going for alone.
Fyne Ales
This family run farm brewery founded in 2001, uses water from the hills and brews in converted farm buildings and sits right at the top of Loch Fyne. It’s a tiny building with beers on tap, in bottles and in mini kegs, which you can also buy to take home. My favourite beer is the avalanche, a light and hoppy pale ale that’s refreshing. Outside is a little courtyard to enjoy beers, and you can order a big sharing plate of nachos too.
Loch Fyne Oyster Bar
Controversial opinion – the namesake place does not serve up the best oysters. Unless they are breaded or deep fried, they're not shucked. To me, that's not a properly shucked oyster – it shouldn't be DIY. I've been twice, and both times the oysters had bits of shell in them too. Once can be seen as a mistake, but twice can't. The first time I sat down in the restaurant and ate lots of other fabulous dishes, and the second time I got oysters to takeaway. The deli and shop is always worth going to though.
Wasson:
Cornish translation = it basically means “what are you up to?”
In this section, I’m going to champion great things I’ve seen, eaten, bought, listened to or maybe even written (!). My personal favourite slot is “slave to the crave”, where I can talk the most nonsense, and I’d love to hear about other people’s weird food cravings too.
Put your money where your mouth is
Oysters are big business in Scotland. And being a lover of spice, I love giving my crustaceans a fiery kick. Enter this sauce. I've nick-named it the “crack oyster sauce”. La Mole sauces are made in the highlands, and this one is specifically designed to go with oysters.. Named "crustacean libation", it's made with key lime and aged naga ghost chilli which gives it its deep smoked, almost fermented type of heat and is well worthy of its pretty heft pricetag of £5.45.
What's on the menu?
Jose Pizarro is known as the godfather of Spanish food, and the chef to really bring the authentic dishes of Spain to British shores. If you've not been to any of his restaurants, he has plenty to choose from. The OG is his tapas restaurant on Borough Street in London, while he's recently opened a fine dining restaurant in the RA, and a pub, The Swan Inn is Esher. His sixth cookbook, The Spanish Home Kitchen, dedicated to the village he grew up in, launched last month, and I reviewed it here.
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Slave to the crave
It's a bit of a divider, but at work we've been talking about hashbrowns and…. mayonnaise. If you know, you know. If you're hating the sound of it, please try it – then get back to me. It's best appreciated hungover. For me, it was a snack born out of necessity: ie, I had nothing else to eat, and I was too hungover to go to a shop. Try it, and thank me later.
Word up
Last week, I went to the 50 Best Restaurant Awards with a colleague. Celebrating its 20th anniversary, the awards began life to be the antithesis of the famed Michelin guide. But, dear reader, that it is not. I wrote my editor's letter last week about the sheer lack of diversity there. I don’t think I’ll be invited back for its 21st celebration.
Chewing it over
Although I'm the one writing about food, my husband is the main cook at home. His speciality is spicy Asian food. My favourite dish at the moment is beef noodles. Five years ago, I would never have chosen a stir-fry. For me, sloppy overcooked noodles and limp veg in a dish that relies way too heavily on beansprouts was far from appetising. Fast forward to now, it's a weekly staple. The secret is all in the sauce, but I can never quite recreate it as well, or so I tell him. Note to self - don't take photos of excellent food on my ugly (but useful) metal garden table.
Did you hear?
Earlier in the month I went to one of Kew Gardens' talks, Imagining a menu for tomorrow, which is part of its Food Forever series, that runs until September with three more events left. Food writer Jenny Linford chaired the panel, which included Nick Saltmarsh from Hodmedods, British farmers specialising in growing pulses and grains, chef Chantelle Nicholson who until recently ran Treadwells, a vegan restaurant in the capital, and now runs Apricity, and Kew scientist Dr James S Borrell. The conversation was engaging and inspiring, where I furiously typed notes on my phone, much to the demise of my neighbour who probably thought I was scrolling on Instagram. Remember: everything is copy. My favourite takeaway was Chantell saying "it's not enough to sustain anymore, we need to regenerate". Watch out for my piece coming on that topic soon.
Next time:
Another food-themed trip in Bristol that was cut short, some very cool people I met fishing in Brixham and my favourite places to eat near home (Bude).
You can follow along on my Instagram too: @emmahendy_
Happy eating,
Emma