In the long-held mirage scene in Lawrence of Arabia, Omar Sharif slowly materialises out of the desert to confront Peter O’Toole. Sharif shoots down O’Toole’s guide who has drunk water at Sharif’s well without permission. When O’Toole says, ‘I have drunk from it,’ Sharif tells O’Toole, ‘You are welcome.’
This sums up my feelings about the Real Food Cafe. Well, my feelings are the inverse of that scene. Walkers, cyclists, foreign tourists, camper vans, bikers, hitchers and PMiaV’s emerge from the wilderness to refresh themselves at this ethically sound oasis. Everyone is welcome. No-one gets shot. No-one is as handsome as Sharif and O’Toole.
I have often whiled away an hour in front of the fireplace in the RFC, eating their superlative spicy haddock bites having decided to go East to West or vice versa on the Crainlarich route because I can’t bear the tedium of the M8. One can easily become enthralled by the sexiest tent review of ’25 or most effulgent yet lightweight headtorch recommendations in Best Mountain Gear or one of the other outdoorsy mags lying around the RFC, whilst horizontal rain hits the windows and customers go straight to voicemail.
Full breakfasts are available from 07.30, but today I only had time for a sit-in coffee and cinnamon bun, £7.60. The RFC coffee is perfectly good without any especially defining characteristics but the baking here is always excellent. This bun, with its caramelized dark sugar and billowy construction was no exception. The cooked food, which has a strong ethical sourcing basis, is great right across the menu. Prices are around the norm for 2026, £12-£16 per head but the quality is high. The fish tea fulfils the four sacred criteria: crisp batter, firm haddock, decent size well-fried chips and no grease. You can watch them cook it fresh and those Fryers are fast. The other RFC staff are equally active, friendly and happy. Perhaps this is to be expected as the whole establishment has a wonderful community-supporting approach and intercontinental toilet-twinning ethos.
Outside there are benches and free parking, a bit tight for one’s L2/H2 charabanc but you can sling it in next door’s carpark. The RFC interior has a large, central shared high wooden counter and benches. There are individual tables, practical rather than luxurious, in the offshoot with the fireplace. I seem to remember this was originally a tented add-on but got incorporated after covid. From the window bar-seat you can pity the oncoming northbound drivers who are not inside, eating chips and flapjacks.
Dogs are welcome, provided their people subscribe to the canine Magna Carta proclaimed outside. No child could fail to love any establishment based on home baking, chips and big pumps to squirt ketchup into your own wee cup. The RFC have added an additional takeaway coffee counter outside, currently untested by oneself.
The local joiners and guys working on the road stop here to get their suppers, wet kids doing the Duke of Edinburgh dry out, pensioners are having cake and very fit looking people of all shapes and sizes are demolishing fried food before they strike off up a hill. Minibuses of dazed foreign tourists arrive periodically, cameraphones out. If they’ve come straight from the central belt, they couldn’t really receive a better taste of the Highlands than the RFC: entrepreneurial, ethical, inclusive and conveniently located. I’ve never seen it quiet in here or witnessed an unhappy customer.
RFC is the place where you have a fish supper in your shorts and down jacket, in your £80k camper or in the back of the work van.
Everyone is welcome.
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