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If mountains could be awarded Michelin stars, I’d give Liathach three of them straight off the bat. Let me explain. In a former life I was a food writer. Occasionally I glimpse opportunities to blend my twin passions of cuisine and crags; generally when talking about cooking mad stuff on the side of a hill. Once or twice, the idea of reviewing a mountain like a restaurant has drifted through my mind, but I’ve never quite found the right mountain for it. Until now.
As I sat down to process my most recent trip to Liathach, it hit me like gold brick wrapped in a slice of lemon: this mountain is a gourmet experience. It could be reviewed as such while only just (I hope) stretching your credulity. So I do hope you’ll indulge me for the following few paragraphs, and then, with any luck, travel northwards to Torridon to see what I’m on about and to gorge on everything this fine establishment has to offer. So grab knife, fork and napkin, because here we go.
It all starts, of course, with the chef. In this case, the cordon bleu behind this exquisite peak is Torridonian Sandstone, whose other successful ventures include Beinn Eighe and Beinn Alligin. Liathach, however, is the most avant garde of the franchise, leaving tried and tested menu choices behind in favour of bold and technical prowess at every turn. If you want safety – a gently braised ascent with a side of pleasant exertion – this is not the place for you. May I suggest the nearby Ben Damph as an alternative; they welcome walk-ins.
My dining companion and I arrived on a pleasant day in early summer, and immediately we were struck by the timeless elegance of Liathach’s setting. The original architect, Lewisian Gneiss, included two separate dining establishments of Spidean a’ Choire Leith at 1055m, and Mullach an Rathain at 1024m, as well as enough outdoor terraces to bully any Parisien bistro into submission.
Though many of the offerings here are seasonally dependent, there is always something geological on the menu – denudation, alluvial deposits, and some heavy glacial action to name but a few elements of Liathach’s amuse-bouche enticements.
On arrival, the mountain’s hospitality is excellent. By around 150m in, my companion and I were being invited to remove our coats and drink unlimited homemade mineral water from the fast-flowing Allt an Doire Ghairbh. Before we knew it, we were onto our first course: a steep but well-crafted zigzag path, which really helped to set the tone for the experience ahead.
There is some light scrambling involved in this delicate first course, but this only adds to the charm. In fact it did what every first course should do, by whetting our appetites for the excitement to come. At around 600m, just as the ambience was threatening to become a little stuffy, the air conditioning came on. I was grateful for the cooler air, not just for my own comfort but for the structural integrity of that chocolatey sandstone, which looks like it could melt if overheated.
Our second beverage of the day arrived just after: we drank in the view down the corrie and over to the north side of Torridon, which was both fresh and invigorating.
A well-placed cairn on the ridgeline signalled the end of the first course, and we were then invited to try an optional second course eastwards. For a small supplemental fee (another 300m in distance and around 60m of extra ascent), the peak of Stuc a’ Choire Dhubh Bhig offers a locally sourced vista of the neighbouring establishment of Beinn Eighe. This is often served with a light dusting of low-level cloud, but we found it to be equally good unadorned. If you can afford it, it’s well worth spending the extra time on this intriguing diversion.
The menu really opened up as we headed west along the ridge. Here we found a fun and inventive third course of crunchy quartzite boulders, scattered around two small but perfect bites of Stob a’ Choire Liath Mhor. This gave way to an absolutely phenomenal topside of Spidean a’ Choire Leith, a conical and perfectly panoramic Munro embellished with more of those quartzite boulders (a staple of the region, it seems). Our glasses were then filled to the brim with a spectacular vintage of Torridonian Viewpoint, this time with a slightly spiced edge to it. (Just to be clear, I literally mean an edge – and a sensational one it is too.)
All good establishments need exposure, and happily, Liathach doesn’t rely on Instagram for this. At the point the OS menu calls Am Fasarinen (Gaelic for “the teeth”), things get distinctly bitey for a few hundred metres, and options split according to dietary preference. Carnivorous scramblers are invited to chomp their way through an esoteric meat-stack of sandstone pinnacles, aged for a billion years for maximum flavour. This is a properly hands-on experience, and as an acquired taste, should only be undertaken by confident diners.
If you prefer to keep your hands clean, you may opt for the vegetarian way round – but don’t go thinking this is the safe choice. The incredibly spicy bypass path is piped delicately along a 600m drop, and is only suitable for those without a height intolerance.
Both options ultimately result in whole-body shivers, but in the most rewarding of ways. This is the crescendo of the meal, and it makes you feel utterly, completely, and terrifyingly alive.
After this course, a welcome palette cleanser appeared in the form of an uphill climb, refreshingly unsullied by dizzying glimpses. This was the perfect preparation for our dessert, which, after a short break to recoup our senses, appeared as a sweet and earthy slice of Munro called Mullach an Rathain, doused in a split sauce of relief and awe.
It matched perfectly with yet another highly drinkable Viewpoint, this time of a west-facing vintage with notes of Skye and other Hebridean flavours, backdropped with undertones of Beinn Alligin. We lingered a while over this one, enjoying every last drop, and every last crumb. It is perhaps the best pairing of the day, so do make the most of it.
The cheese-course descent was surprisingly generous. Funky, contrastive and sharp in places, it included a variety of hard-aged stony paths and softer, earthier scree, washed in Torridonian rainwater. Halfway through, we also were presented with one small, freshly baked Toll Ban, grassy and green, which helped round out some of the more challenging flavours of this course; my only complaint is that I could have had a few more of those delicious morsels of respite.
All in all, we found some of the descent options to be reasonably piquant, but really, in comparison to our pinnacle course, nothing was too difficult, and everything slid down nicely in the end. We were ever grateful for the option to rest on one of the many sandstone wine terraces here, and enjoy another glass of Viewpoint before ending our meal.
By the time we’d finished, we were reasonably tired, but happy and very satiated. The whole experience so far had taken eight or so hours, and as a wind-down and final farewell, we were invited to come through to the A896 for a couple of very flat kilometres of easterly tea and coffee. This is more pleasant in sunny conditions than drizzly ones, but if you’re pushed for time, you can forgo this frivolity and an unofficial taxi will take you back to your car in exchange for the sight of a thumb.
The bill is paid by your thighs over the next few days, but whatever pain is inflicted when getting out of bed in the morning is more than worth it. This is a bucket-list venue; one whose demands are steep, but whose rewards are higher.
Now that I’ve got the restaurant review/mountain article mash-up out of my system, you’re unlikely to see it ever again in these pages, perhaps to your relief. On the other hand, I stick by my claim that if any hill lends itself to culinary judgement, it is Liathach. Book a table, give it a try, and tell me I’m wrong.
VERDICT: Brash, boisterous, creative and bursting with flavour; Liathach is as much a menu as a Munro.
About the author
Fliss Freeborn is a writer and gear tester for Live For The Outdoors. During her time at university, she spent considerably more days in a tent in the Scottish Highlands than she did in the library, which she highly recommends as a study strategy. Fliss also believes that life is too short to eat bad food outdoors, and that cooking good scran while in the hills is easier than you might think with the right kit and some forward planning – yes, you can always do better than a pot noodle.
