What pleasure it is to be invited for a sporting weekend in the country with associated quality comestibles and copious imbibables. Especially so as the location was gourmet Aunt’s wee Highlan’ Hame. I did beg her to not thus describe it. So I loaded Rocco and headed north on an enviable drive to the moonscape of Sutherland.
The estate infact proved to be part of an invasive, far wider one with a surprisingly un-Highland moniker: AirBnB. The home was temporary and the sporting opportunities were limited to swerving hither and thither pursued by an untiring pack of midges who considered us the game. But the views were stunning, the food good and the relatives stimulating.
On to the coffee as we turned south.
I’ve always found Ullapool – summer version – charming. Rocco enjoyed a long descent along Loch Broom above a pleasing fjord whilst a ferry berthed, dwarfing the quay. Ullapool is architectural unusual for a West Coast Scottish port with the houses set back from the front in rows of terraces with lawns and trees in a satisfyingly Scandinavian way.
Like the summer sunshine and the wind through what would be my hair if I had much, parking is free and easy in the streets behind the front.
I strolled in to sample the Cult Café, Argyle St, Ullapool.
This cult seems to be one of purity, what with the hard surfaces, wicker chairs, clean white walls sans art and white cup and saucer. There is a sort of efficient asperity to the interior, but Cult café is not a space designed to linger in. Service was quick. The £3 coffee was decent. Strong enough, no 2-shot dilemma but a smidgeon over-roasted. All pleasant enough, I reflected, as I sat in the plain sit-ooterie, but overall Cult does have a slightly anonymous feel. This is a Cult which failed to indoctrinate me.
Across Argyle street is the West Coast Deli, Ullapool.
This is impressively stocked with what Sancho and I call nicey things to improve the general nourishment tone in one’s van. The chatty staff sold me a decent enough flapjack and an I would surmise Brazilian coffee. Possibly Colombian. £6 for the pair I think. The coffee and flapjack, not passing South American chaps. Drinks are served in takeaway cups although you can sit outside at basic tables. Which was lovely in the sunshine. Although I must remind you of the words of a wise Highland pal. In summary; all ideas, plans and innovations which seem to be inspired when the sun is shining in Scotland must be reconsidered in the depths of a dark winter with horizontal rain.
I have nothing against Brazilians, nor Colombians and presume that they are in fact characterful, richly flavoured and interesting but this coffee was not.
I drove on.
The Bakery, Tomnahurich St, Inverness.
Handily on the road south out of Inverness is The Bakery. The name implies that The Bakery probably doesn’t consider other local baked goods outlets any real competition and I can see why.
This is a high-functioning, take no prisoners, constantly busy proper bakery with a basic café space. Even the staff banter is efficient. The Bakery opens from 6 and the shelves were almost clear by my arrival at the tail end of luncheon as customers constantly came and went. The food is big and filling. I know having wrapped the chompers around a classic pan-European combination of a macaroni pie, chocolate croissant and double espresso for £8.90. Gold to the French item with Italy taking Silver. The Scots contender took Bronze: a little underperforming taste-wise. Post-match analysis would suggest heretically borrowing some garlic from the French. All was good value if not incredibly memorable by my absurdly high PMiaV standards.
It’s not simple to park as the Highland Council offices are just up the road but you can stop on Ardcross street in the bays free for 15 minutes. Plenty of time.
Call in, get the refs and go go go. The Bakery is THE BAKERY in Inverness for a PMiaV. Thus far.
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