I experienced the best Scottish hospitality at the Highlands' classiest luxury hotel restaurant
This heavenly venue is worth the road trip
Amy sounds like an awfully benign name.
I imagine she’s a prefect, who always turns up ten minutes early for appointments.
However, it was that eponymous storm that had violently booted us up the A9 towards the Black Isle, while flicking branches at our windscreen, as we were driving en route to this hotel and its one-year-old restaurant. Not so sweet, after all, is she?
It was quite the journey, with Indiana Jones levels of high adventure.
Thankfully, this is the exact type of destination you’d want at the end of a gusty road. The coorie levels are off the charts.
The converted 18th-century former farm steading, which boasts a Michelin Key, feels a bit like a luxurious refuge, with monastic or finca vibes. It could be the bare stone, theatrical room divider curtains, whitewashed walls, or the way the staff move, soft-shoed and discreetly around the space.
There’s a plush library and lounge, with games like Bananagrams and a bar at its end, where we tried a glorious umami martini (£14) with seaweed gin, a baby gherkin and bitters, among other savoury ingredients, and a smoky and zesty mezcalita (£15). Just a few sips in, and these heady drinkies made us feel like we were sinking deeper into the upholstery, like never-to-be-found-again television switchers or balled up tissues.
Thankfully, we were soon ushered through to the twinkly restaurant, where the head chef is Matt Heeley, formerly of The Newt and 28 Market Place, both very far away in Somerset. He’s not to be confused with former MasterChef winner, Matt Healy, or the similarly named lead singer of The 1975.
For starters, I tried the vegetarian option of charred hispi cabbage (£15), which, in its green girth, resembled the Big Hungry Caterpillar and featured savoury and Marmitey notes, thanks to a glossy pickled walnut reduction, parsley emulsion and a feathery spine of toasted yeast.
We also had the last-hurrah-of-summer cold starter of burrata (£16), with slivers of caramelised peach, as well as pickled fennel stalks and their wispy fronds and a toupee of crispy onions on top.
There are four options for mains, including the priciest and most sybaritic option of linguine with 24 month aged Parmesan and autumn truffle for £42. Or, the veggie miso grilled courgette, tempura flower, pumpkin and pine pesto (£22).
However, I was in a fishy mood, so I opted for John Dory (£38), which I haven’t seen on a menu for aeons. It was rather gorgeous, with two firm pieces of butter-tanned golden flesh and a rich balmy beurre blanc-ish magnolia-hued sauce. There were also four fat mussels jiggling around , lots of bright green broad beans and a few semi-dried sliced tomatoes for acidity.
He tried the pork loin (£34), which came as three matchbox-sized chunks of bouncy meat with some interesting wintery accessories, including the neep-y pulp that is a smoked turnip puree, a quenelle of rumbledethumps-ish parsley root, and a neat bright red stub of Heidi potato fondant.
We’d ordered a few extra spuds, too, with a portion of the joyous new potatoes, garlic and parsley butter (£8). They had almost a whole pat of the stuff melting over their skins and forming a plunge pool in the bottom of the bowl.
Pudding choices here are equally sophisticated. There ain’t no sticky toffee pudding at this place.
I had the very grown-up elderflower, honey and whisky parfait (£12), which was like a creamy igloo, with brekkie-style inhabitants that consisted of fresh fig quarters and crumbled bits of hazelnut. There was a honeycomb biscuit grid on top, for top notch fine dining aesthetics.
We also tried the warm, golden and almondy financier (£12) and I thought that, if one of us was a financier, we would be able to eat here every day. If only I’d had a better career advisor at school.
This was buttery and warm, and served with a heap of stewed plums and their maroon juice, a handful of toasted almonds and vanilla flecked clotted cream.
Who needs sticky toffee pudding anyway?
So, I suppose I should thank Amy, because her rough treatment made our visit to this restaurant feel even more gratifying.
It’s a wonderful destination, and a perfect port in a storm.
Newhall Mains, Balblair, by Dingwall, Ross-shire (01381 832032, www.newhall-mains.com). From November, the restaurant is open in a limited capacity, from Thursday to Saturday in the evening, and Sunday lunchtime. From April to October, it returns to being open seven evenings a week, and Sunday lunchtime.
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