With the aim of shooting, plucking and of course eating red grouse in time for lunch on the first day of the four month season – the ‘Glorious Twelfth’ of August – I had come in a prowling Land Rover to the magnificent Ardtalnaig Estate. Located off the shores of Loch Tay in Perth and Kinross, these beautifully humbling 8,500 acres were transferred into Gottgens’ tenure just one month before. In addition to a network of tenant farmers and a full time ‘forager’, the acquisition not only secures Ally’s future, but also provides a supply of lamb, game, beef and berries to Gottgens’ Eden, the Ardeonaig Hotel.
Along with his English wife, Sara, Pete rejuvenated this once lowly inn into a television-free retreat, bringing a South African influence to Scotland’s natural charms. Springbok hides, inner cow tusks, a personal library and family photos warm a buttermilk décor. Luxurious colonial style thatched cottages (or ‘rondawels’) dot the grounds besides a burn. Pete’s cooking is gutsy but precise, showing off his beloved Plancha grill’s versatility.
These days ‘nothing’ would tempt Gottgens back to the big smoke. At the estate’s cosy bothy, so remote and free from distractions including electricity that an author has already bagged it for winter writing, the cream of Pete’s kitchen and front of house laid out a decadently un-bothy like feast on linen. Even modest lettuce became compelling in this setting, flawlessly grown from the hotel’s edible gardens by an extremely sited vineyard of hardy American vines. Young Maris Peer potatoes the size of thumbs had ivory centres. Game pie was moist with brittle pastry and game terrine expertly layered and almost ravishingly succulent. Trout fished from the rippling silver loch beside the hotel was subtly but profoundly smoked. Drizzled with Saxenberg olive oil, a salad of tomato and fennel was uplifting. But our grouses provided the main act.
As my teeth easily sunk through such extraordinarily fresh morsels, a fellow journalist from ‘The Scottish Field’ asked me if I had experienced guilt when I shot ‘my’ bird. I hadn’t. Aside from bringing economic benefits to a remote region, I saw the shoot as death in the name of dinner rather than dalliance, whilst respecting the rules laid down by the historic Game Act of 1831. And rather than having it easy, instead of seeing tame specimens beaten to the air, we had actively stalked our prey with no guarantee of ever encountering a bird.
Until his Scottish vineyard matures, Pete only serves bottles from home. From his cellar, which I am told is the largest South African stash in the U.K., a rested, but still tangibly fruit driven eight year-old Shiraz, Pinotage and Merlot in equal proportions (Quoin Rock) bevelled the meat with fine, crisp tannins.
After jubilee strawberries and a wee Scotch snifter, we blasted clays (my aim seemed improved), took tea with blonde scones plastered with intense homemade jams, rescued a sheep struggling to cross a burn, and went on to enjoy a tin drum barbecue.
Douglas Blyde stayed at the Ardeonaig Hotel, shooting at the Ardtalnaig Estate, where guests can arrange to walk, stalk and also ‘photo stalk’ red stags, red hinds, ducks and grouse.
In addition, the inaugural Ardeonaig Festival of Food and Wine takes place 15-18 October.
To glimpse the very best of Scotland in autumn, visit: www.visitscotland.com/autumn