I’ll never forget the drive up to Aviemore – we’d left Edinburgh full of beans, blasting a playlist of cheesy Highland folk tunes, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a massive downpour just past Kingussie. Sheets of rain hammered the windscreen, and I ended up pulling over for a frantic five minutes while we mopped up the coffee I’d inevitably spilled all over the passenger seat. Typical me, isn’t it? But as the clouds parted and we crested that final hill, there it was: Aviemore nestled in the Cairngorms, all twinkling lights and that crisp Highland promise. My heart did a little flip – couldn’t wait to kick back.

Pulling up to the apartment, I was chuffed to bits. It’s one of those smart, modern spots right in the thick of the Highland scenery, with an open-plan living area that just screams relaxation. The corner sofa looked perfect for collapsing after a day out, and that bedroom with its floor-to-ceiling windows? Straight out to the forest – pure magic. There’s a balcony for balmy evenings (well, as balmy as Scotland gets) and a shared terrace with a log burner for when it turns nippy. But honestly, from the off, my mind was on the food. We’d stocked the boot with basics from a quick stop at the Co-op, dreaming of hearty home-cooked suppers.

First morning, we wandered into Aviemore’s high street, noses twitching at the smell of fresh-baked scones wafting from the Old Bridge Bakery. Grabbed a couple of their cheese and onion pasties – flaky, steaming, proper fuel for a gentle stroll around the village. Lunch was at the Cairngorm Brewery’s Mountain Spirit Bar, just a hop away. I went for their venison burger, juicy and gamey with a side of chunky chips that could’ve doubled as weights. Washed it down with a pint of Trade Winds – their hazy IPA hits different up here, all piney and refreshing. We chatted with locals about the best spots for reindeer spotting (didn’t make it, mind, but the stories were gold).

Evenings were where we really shone – or flamed out, depending. The kitchen’s brilliantly kitted out, so we fancied ourselves as MasterChef contestants. Night one: attempted a Cullen skink with smoked haddock from the Highland Game shop nearby. Turned out a bit lumpy, but slathered in cream and served with crusty bread from Mountain Bread, it was bliss. Self-reflection moment: I’m no Gordon Ramsay, but there’s something dead satisfying about chopping tatties with a forest view, isn’t there? Next day, we hit the farmers’ market by the station – picked up venison sausages, local cheeses, and wild mushrooms that screamed autumn. Grilled ’em up on the balcony with a splash of whisky in the sauce. Disaster struck when I overdid the garlic (mate’s breath could’ve cleared the room), but we laughed it off with a bottle of Cairngorm ale.

Pub-wise, The Winking Owl was a gem – cosy nook with banging fish and chips, battered to perfection, and their sticky toffee pudding? Heaven in a bowl. We even squeezed in a curry at the Spice Hut, mild enough for my tender palate but packed with flavour. By the last night, lounging on that terrace with the log burner crackling, tucking into homemade haggis neeps and tatties (nailed it this time), I thought: this is holidays done right. No faff, just good grub, great company, and that unbeatable Highland vibe. If you’re after a base for eating your way through Aviemore, you won’t go far wrong here.