AFTER the calibre of the cooking, the most significant aspect in the success of any restaurant is that nebulous and almost indefinable quality, atmosphere. Atmosphere is always something greater than the sum of its parts.
Friendly and knowledgeable staff are part of it, as are décor, location and design, but you can have all four and still lack the vitalising charm. Indeed, perhaps the most melancholy experience is dining in a place that is striving to have atmosphere
; where regardless of the cuisine, a combination of eager bonhomie, wilfully eccentric clutter and a quirky mix-tape burbling in the background seems like a prosthetic personality. You can learn to become a better cook, but you can't take a course in conjuring up atmosphere.
The Ceilidh Place, in Ullapool, has atmosphere in abundance – and the food doesn't let the side down either. It helps that the village is one of the most beautiful places in Scotland, nestled on the shores of Loch Broom and surrounded by almost lunar mountains. On our drive up, the gods appeared to have found the shuffle function on the meteorological iPod, as we went through snow, gales, brilliant sunshine, torrential rain, a sequence of perfect rainbows and horizontal sleet. But entering the bar to find logs crackling on the open fire and the café still serving coffee and superb home-baking all but obliterated the memory of the nightmare weather over Slochd summit.
It also helps in the creation of its unique atmosphere that a restaurant and bar is only part of the Ceilidh Place experience. As well as the hotel, there's an independent bookshop with a selection of titles that shames the Edinburgh chains and an outpost of the Scottish Poetry Library. The restaurant doubles up as gallery space (showing a very fine series of photographic portraits by Robin Gillanders, including one of the Ceilidh Place's owner, Jean Urquhart), and as its name suggests, there was ample room for a band to play in the evening. Sam and I had driven up with two friends for the launch of the Ullapool Book Festival – and we were already planning the return visit.
The Ceilidh Place's menu concentrates on local, organic produce, with a healthy representation of seafood. It's homely without being lacklustre, and keeps the number of starters and main courses to a manageable half-dozen of each: enough to offer a reasonable choice, not so much that you begin to wonder what is pre-prepared and frozen. Probably the best way to enjoy the fare is after a strenuous walk in the hills, rather than a five-hour car trip listening to They Might Be Giants, but unfortunately that's our own fault.
Three of us began with soups, while Peggy had the classic haggis – a neat little ramekin-full with oatcakes, enough for an amuse-bouche, not so much as to sate before the main. My cream of cauliflower soup was perfect: it actually just tasted of cream and cauliflower, without any intrusive and unnecessary flourishes. Colin's hot cullen skink – a sort of soupy kedgeree – was strong on the warmth of turmeric but might have benefited from the bite of chillies as well. Sam's borscht was the least successful. It was more of a broth with beetroot than an intense magenta purée. Not bad, she said, just not quite borscht.
All the main courses came with mashed potatoes, but in each case it was tailored to the specific dish. For instance, my braised oxtails were accompanied by kale mash, the iron flavour of the greens perfectly balancing the toothsome, slow-cooked meat.
Sam's hake, locally smoked, was teamed with a parmesan cream sauce that teetered on, but didn't tip into being almost too rich. The hake was also, she noted, incredibly well filleted for a notoriously bony fish. Colin's venison casserole was hearty and full-bodied, but maybe a tad conventional, and Peggy's cottage pie was deemed perfectly acceptable, but led to a bizarre discussion about why the Scots – as opposed to her Northern Irish stock – "have no arses on their pies". I've never heard of a cottage pie with a base, and presume it's an Ulster speciality.
Only I had any room left for dessert – I chose a chocolate and orange mousse. It was perhaps a little gelatinous for me but had a neat marmalade kick to offset the milky chocolate.
The Ceilidh Place also deserves a special commendation for an exceptionally good breakfast, serving up moist black pudding, fluffy potato scones and crispy bacon. Why most places serve bacon that looks like it was cooked by leaving it on a radiator overnight eludes me.
The Ceilidh Place is one-of-a-kind: cultured but unpretentious, charming without being twee. "Atmospheric" doesn't begin to do it justice.
The Ceilidh Place18 West Argyle Street, Ullapool (01854 612103)
Out of pocketStarters £3.50–£7.50 Main courses £10.50–£16.50 Puddings £4.95–£6.20
Rating 7/10
