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I would rather not tell you about this restaurant, for the purely selfish purpose of being able to get a table in the future. So it pains me even to reveal the existence of a hotel that resembles an adjunct of Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But, damn it, you can’t keep a good restaurant secret for long and this is one of the best. In Alyth, a pleasant half hours drive from Dundee and Perth, the Lands of Loyal Hotel is a magnificent Victorian mansion overlooking the Vale of Strathmore, with a living room straight out of JK Rowling’s wildest imaginings. The massive hall-cum-lounge is hung with old paintings, stag’s heads and leopard skins, with a row of sofas and long-backed recliner chairs ranged around a towering marble fireplace stacked high with logs. The magical atmosphere has been carefully nurtured by the owners, Patricia and Karl-Peter Howell, who have continued the slow but detailed restoration of the property which dates back to 1830 when Sir William Ogilvy, on his return from Waterloo, chose the Loyal Hills above Alyth as the site for his mansion. On a cool, wet night, the great hall was busy with local guests and non-resident diners and the log fire burned bright. And, although the Lands of Loyal is Victorian to its stone foundations, it avoids the kitsch heaviness and inverted snobbery of many country house establishments and the welcome is warm and unfussy. The menus arrived just as we were ushered to fireside armchairs, sinking back to watch the night sky through the vaulted skylight. Soon we were seated in the minstrel gallery overlooking the hall, the dining room with a row of French windows opening to a ten-acre tiered garden. The wine list is a well chosen selection which features an unusually extensive list of half-bottles at reasonable prices. We ordered a half of Pouilly Fume to accompany the starters and a Chateauneuf du Pape for the meaty main courses. Chef Maureen Moonie oversees a menu steeped in country tradition yet which has a fresh and imaginative flair. My opening soup de moules was a good example: a muscular mussel dish in a bowl completely covered by an umbrella of the lightest puff pastry that, when pierced with a spoon, slowly collapses into the freshest mussels cooked in white wine and herbs. My partner’s fennel and mushroom soup also produced swoons, smooth and bursting with flavours of a just-picked fennel and wild mushrooms in a creamy broth. The bowls were swept away as the aroma of my main course, filet mignon, wafted up the staircase. The Aberdeen Angus steak was, as requested, well done and sliced with an ordinary knife – no sawing through thick meat slabs required. Flambéed in brandy, the sauce was somehow rich but light, allowing the taste of the steak to filter through. My partner’s venison casserole, cooked in port and Guinness, was a hill of meat on a fluffy bed of creamed potatoes, pickled walnuts and sweet red cabbage. We leaned back and groaned in satisfaction, already eyeing those fabulous sofas. But the deserts had appeared and the only gripe is that the puddings did not live up to the majestic main courses. The apricot and brandy trifle and fruit pavlova were a little to sticky and sugary though, as expected the fruits were plentiful and fresh. But that is a minor point and we were allowed to collapse and sip coffee by the fire. The only problem was getting up from those chairs and the vague feeling, as you fade into a magical doze, that one of those ancient staircases moved. |
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