We were fare spoiled at the Farm
Feel at home and enjoy some high-quality food
Arriving at Ballintaggart Farm, it’s immediately clear that this is not an agricultural establishment. It’s far too clean and tidy.
The gravel has been recently raked and the Farrow and Ball-painted buildings are so sharp and smart they could have been ironed. A delicious smoky smell from the fire pit reaches us in the car park.
Inside the converted steading that makes up a restaurant, lounge and two B&B rooms, the scent changes to fancy candle.
It’s homely, if your home is regularly featured in interiors magazines and has a hefty reed diffuser budget.
When hunger strikes on a drive in Perthshire, this is not the place to rock up unannounced.
It’s strictly bookings only in a restaurant operation that is run from what is basically a domestic kitchen.
During the week, you may, like us, be the only guests.
At the weekend, or on their regular seasonal feast nights, the dining room and adjoining library are full.
Breaking the habits of a lifetime, I had my lunch in Ballintaggart arranged, booked and in the diary. It’s a bonnie drive from the central belt, up through Birnam Wood.
What I had failed to put in place was a chauffeur, so had to forgo the many charms of the cocktail list. Senorita, who claims her legs are too short to reach the pedals, was immediately off, discussing an unusual rosé vermouth and taking a photo of the bottle. I had to make do with an alcohol-free Seedlip Grove and the admittedly magnificent - view.
The table was waiting in the grand but toasty library for a £25 three-course set lunch just for us.
The chef, one of three women working in this four-person set up, brought out each course and explained what we were about to eat. We did our best to concentrate but the freshly-baked sourdough with whipped butter commanded most of our attention.
A hay-smoked courgette stuffed with Inverloch goats’ cheese and more sourdough in the form of breadcrumbs was an admirably meat-free and autumnal dish. But hollowed-out vegetables with goats’ cheese will forever remind me of my vegetarian 1980s and this was not a happy reunion.
The exterior shell had not been cooked for long enough. It was still chewy and squeaky on the tongue. The filling was crying out
for a herb, a poke of lemon zest or a hit of garlic. Instead of dots of Katy Rodgers crème fraiche, it needed garnish with a bit of kick.
With the main course, the kitchen changed gear. Scrabster coley in fennel crown butter was a really well judged late autumn lunch. The fish was just perfect, fat pearly flakes beneath perfectly seasoned crispy skin. Substantial but not heavy or too filling, which was just as well because the lovely waitress brought us more of the epic bread to mop up the sauce.
Mmmmmm. Sauce. A classic butter emulsion with very finely chopped flowers from a fennel plant that’s gone to seed, with shredded spring onion and baby gem lettuce that’s almost melted in. Sometimes daubs of jus and reduced whatever are not what is required. This was one such occasion.
Senorita begged for a short mercy break before dessert. This gave us time to finish the wine flight and reflect on what a treat it was to have someone bring us three really unusual but brilliantly matched wines. There was plenty for me to have an inch in the bottom of the glass to taste and her to have a proper glassful.
Bramble mallow and sorbet came surrounded by more breadcrumbs, these ones fried in butter. This is a kitchen where nothing is wasted. The sorbet, the colour of Chanel’s Rouge Noir nail polish, was as sharp as a good manicure. The mallow was a ring of Italian meringue, dotted with specks of dried fruit to give it bite.
Coffee comes in cafetieres only. It was served back in the lounge, where the evening’s overnight guests were arriving – one couple for the fourth time. They were also drinking coffee, and cutting fat slices from a crumbly plum cake.
With some regrets we got back in the car. In the future, all Scottish hospitality will be like this.