It seems almost unfair to review a place as beautiful as Inver. They could have served me gruel on toast and I’d have likely left happy as a clam, desperately raving about how wonderful it was. Luckily, the food was just as good as the location. It’s the kind of remote, gastronomically focused getaway that acts as catnip to burnt-out city-siders who see rural life as a romanticised amalgamation of wonderful views, rambling walks and meals made primarily from produce sourced in the garden, or maybe the local goat slaughtered out back. By city-siders I mean me, who has a tri-yearly fantasy of moving to some rolling green hillside, rearing sheep and cooking hearty, wholesome fare in my Farrow and Ball-painted kitchen (I blame Julius Roberts of TellTaleFood).
While you’re now probably familiar with Inver, thanks to hordes of breathless Brits crossing back over the border and waxing lyrical about the place, for those who are unaware; this is a modern Scottish restaurant and accompanying cabins (bothies, as they call them) found on the banks of Loch Fyne. The drive from Glasgow feels like slowly slinking away to another world – ochre trees line rolling hills that give way to dusky lochs before opening up to boulder-strewn vallies. I don’t need to promote the beauty of the highlands though – everyone knows that. This, however, is a particularly lovely pocket. Arriving at Inver feels like completing your journey to the ends of the Earth – you are truly, magically, removed from modern life.
