I’ll never forget the drive up to Loch Ness – rain lashing the windscreen like it had a personal grudge, and then, just past Inverness, I took a wrong turn onto some narrow single-track road. Cue a comedy-of-errors reverse manoeuvre with a sheepish farmer waving me back, heart in mouth but laughing by the end. Still, as I finally pulled up to this cosy cottage nestled on the pebble beach shores in Milton of Culloden, the anticipation melted away. First impressions? Magic. That stunning view over the Inverness Firth, Culloden battlefield just a stone’s throw, and the place itself screaming perfect holiday hideaway – all welcoming nooks and that fresh sea air hitting you straight off.

But let’s be honest, the real star of my stay was the food. I’d stocked up en route at Inverness market – those plump local kippers, crusty artisan bread, and a punnet of Highland strawberries that were pure sunshine in berry form. First night, I fancied myself a proper chef, firing up the cottage’s well-equipped kitchen for a crack at Cullen skink. Smoked haddock from the fishmonger, potatoes bubbling away, cream swirled in – it turned out half decent, though I overdid the parsley and ended up with a green-tinged soup that looked like pond water. Laughed at myself over a bowl of it with a cheeky dram from the cupboard stash, reflecting on how these daft kitchen fails are what holidays are made of. Who needs Michelin stars when you’ve got the Firth glittering outside?

Next day, we wandered to the nearby Culloden visitor centre café for elevenses – their scones, still warm with clotted cream and jam, were a revelation. Flaky, not too sweet, proper Scottish comfort. Lunch was a picnic on the beach: smoked salmon sandwiches (River Ness trout would’ve been the dream catch, but shop-bought did the trick), washed down with Irn-Bru because, well, when in Scotland. Evening called for the local pub just down the road – think low ceilings, roaring fire, and the best fish and chips this side of the Highlands. Crispy batter, fat chips, mushy peas on the side; I hoovered it up, chatting with regulars about their salmon hauls from the Ness. Fishermen’s tales over a pint – couldn’t ask for better craic.

Midweek, I braved venison stew in the cottage, using meat from the butcher’s slab at the market. Slow-cooked with onions, carrots, and a splash of ale – tender as you like, served with oatcakes. Paired it with a bottle of local gin and tonic, feet up by the window watching the water. One night out, we hit another pub closer to the battlefield for haggis bonbons and tattie scones; sticky toffee pudding for afters had me in a food coma. Self-reflection hit then: back home, I’m rushing microwave meals, but here, cooking simple, sourcing fresh – it’s reset my whole eating vibe. No fancy restaurants needed; this spot’s got markets bursting with seafood, game, and baking goods, plus pubs slinging hearty plates that fuel your days exploring the Firth or nipping to Loch Ness.

By week’s end, I’d piled on a few happy pounds, but who cares? That’s the joy of a Loch Ness holiday – pebble beaches, history on your doorstep, and food that warms the soul. Can’t wait to go back for more.