The Grandtully Hotel by Ballintaggart

After a previous stuff-ourselves-silly stint at Ballintaggart Farm, my sister and I pull up to sister stay the Grandtully Hotel by Ballintaggart with a similarly indulgent agenda (and hearty appetite). As delicious as the at-home suppers are at the self-catering main farmhouse, we’re eager to experience the much-lauded seasonal tasting menu as well as the Tully’s more casual eats (and this time, leave the cooking to the experts). Taking note of the ‘coffee, lunch, negroni’ board and fragrant herb gardens out front, followed by reception’s generously-stocked shelves with homemade jams, granola and other farm-fresh goodies – tell-tale signs of the treats to come – we check into light-filled Room 7 to freshen up. Kicking off my wellies, the whisky-scented bath oil and rolltop bath tub are a most welcome combination. 

Preparation for our first night’s feast had involved an energetic afternoon amble along the River Tay, passing through lamb-dotted pastures, sun-dappled forests, and rolling hills carpeted with bluebells. The recent late spring rain followed by this wonderful sunny spell means that the hillsides and fields are lusciously green beyond belief, and the bright yellow gorse is in full, coconut-scented bloom. Fortunately, the sunshine sticks around for our stay – making the Grandtully’s proximity to rivers, lochs, and waterfalls all the more pleasing. More on these later…but first, food.

We’re seated in the Tully bar by the cosy fireplace with a couple of the hotel’s signature Negronis on the way, dilly-dallying over what to order. We usually like to pre-examine menus online, but the dishes here change almost daily, so we’re reading through temptation after temptation with fresh eyes. Hence, the indecision. Eventually, we order all the sides to accompany the buttery halibut, and brioche-sandwiched pork burger stacked with smoked applewood cheddar, sriracha, and tempura gherkin. Although my childhood was spent in Japan, I’d never tasted a tempura gherkin before – but I now fear that I can’t eat a burger without one. Dessert is usually my favourite course, and this sweet pairing doesn’t disappoint. The rhubarb and white chocolate pavlova is almost too pretty to shovel your spoon into, and the cinnamon ice-cream which sits atop a salted caramel-soaked date sponge (the hotel’s clever take on a sticky toffee pudding) could be sold by the bucket-load. 

On our short stumble back up to the room, we spot a ‘press for whisky’ button in the wall and an intimate private dining area tucked around a corner. We later learn that the dining table is upcycled from the inn’s former bartop, still studded with marks from dancing high heels and hints at its spirited past. Thankfully, today’s crowd seems less rowdy – and, as bedtime draws near, we’re grateful to be hitting the hay without any whisky-fuelled shenanigans unfolding downstairs. Enticing though it might be to press that button…

Despite the hotel’s proximity to the road, we awake to the sound of birds chirping and the rather amusing sight of two oarsmen carrying an extremely large canoe over their heads while crossing the neighbouring paddock, taking admirable care not to trample the bluebells underfoot. Paddleboarding, white-water rafting, canyoning, and wild swimming are all daily activities for some of the weather-hardened locals around here, and although we don’t actually get out onto the water this time, we plot our route to encompass as many waterways as the extended daylight allows. Energised from our breakfast – highlights include smoked Scottish steelhead trout from family-run Campbells & Co, lighter-than-air butter from artisan dairy farmer Katy Rogers, and locally foraged wild mushrooms on homemade sourdough – we hit the woodland trails around the Birks of Aberfeldy (named after the abundant birch – or ‘birk’ – trees). Heeding the lyrical advice of Robert Burns, ‘Come let us spend the lightsome days / In the Birks of Aberfeldy’, we cross several bridges over the babbling Moness burn, steadily climbing the gorge to reach a series of enchanting waterfalls. It’s easy to see why this poetry-inspiring place draws ramblers and nature enthusiasts from all around the world.

After a leisurely paddle in the cooling waters of Loch Tay in the waterfront village of Kenmore, we venture further along the shoreline to the Falls of Acharn (a particularly picturesque part of the Rob Roy Way). With the promise of a hermit’s cave, cascading waterfalls, and a Neolithic stone circle, we brave the steep ascent and breathlessly admire wonder after fantasy storybook wonder. Sadly, we are not transported back in time to the rugged embrace of Outlander’s Jamie Fraser when touching the Schiehallion Mountain-facing stones, but then we would have been several centuries too early for the Grandtully’s tasting menu. And that really would have been a shame.

Appetites well and truly worked up, we return to the hotel for seven farm-to-fork courses, which celebrate the finest seasonal Scottish produce. The so-called ‘snacks’ include refined hunks of milk and honey bread (best dunked in the wild garlic butter, don’t bother with your knife), a beef tartare-topped potato terrine, and a delicate goat's curd tart. There’s a garden, game, fish, field and cheese course before the grand dessert finale, with the option to add Loch Fyne oysters with your choice of glaze. The wild duck ravioli, Perthshire pork, and herb-tossed gnocchi are all veritable stand-outs, but the Nashi pear tarte tatin paired with Hebridean blue cheese and salted caramel sauce steals the show. That is, until the lemon verbena curd comes out, garnished with Italian meringue, pink peppercorn, rhubarb, and lovage ice-cream (made with herbs picked just metres away from our table). Seventh heaven, indeed.

For one last impossible-to-resist treat, we pay a visit to the hotel’s next-door neighbour: the Highland Chocolatier. Truffle specialist Iain Burnett creates beautifully boxed chocolates using fresh cream from herds of Scottish Friesians and local heather honey, which we raid for our road trip back to Edinburgh. The scenic drive takes us through yet more of Perthshire’s rolling hills, past riverside paths and stone-clad villages with pretty bridges and bountiful farm shops – seemingly Scotland’s answer to the Cotswolds. ‘Don’t you mean the ‘Scotswolds’?’, my sister grins. That’s exactly what I mean, and to the ‘Scotswolds’ we shall be hastening back.