Exploring Edinburgh, from Princes Street to Pitlochry

I’m blinking through floor-to-ceiling windows that perfectly frame a pristine view of Edinburgh Castle, standing magnificent against an improbably cloudless Scottish sky. The elegant writing desk in the Archibald Signature Suite at 100 Princes Street hotel has all the makings of an elevated “work-from-home” set up, but the scenery – and the collection of aged single malt I know to be upstairs – make concentration an uphill battle. This luxury townhouse right on, you guessed it, iconic Princes Street was made for luxuriating, not hunching over laptops.

Ducking into the entrance on Princes Street feels exclusive, like knowing a secret. My Signature Suite is named for Archibald Menzies, the Perthshire-born surgeon and botanist who was the first European recorded to reach the summit of Hawaii’s Mauna Loa volcano. Lavish decor celebrates Scotland’s adventurous spirit – that’s evident from the tree-shaped lamp in my room’s corner, referencing the Monkey Puzzle tree Menzies brought back to Europe.

The hotel manager guides a friend and me through our digs, which feel somewhat like a museum display of Scottish craftsmanship; custom-made tartan wall coverings call out to be touched, and there’s a cabinet of curiosities that once travelled with the Royal family. I know myself too clumsy to be here, stuffing my hands in my pockets and backing away from the huge, custom-designed wardrobe, its top lined with auction-bought pharmacy bottles.

The fun is in the little details celebrating local heritage. A sporran casually hangs on the door, doubling as a “do not disturb” sign; Deeside water and ginger cookies await weary travelers. The hotel’s other exquisite Suite, the Isobel, is named after Arctic explorer, filmmaker and botanist Isobel Wylie Hutchison and shares the Archibald’s commanding views – but I’ll admit we’ve copped the crown jewel.

A marble-lined bathroom features a luxuriously deep soaking tub, rainfall shower and a separate toilet “for visiting guests.” I sink into the high-backed sofa and find myself wishing for a sudden downpour, so we can guiltlessly savor an evening in front of the fire, scarfing shortbread in our robes. Happily, I find two dressing gowns – one perfect for lounging, the other made from toweling so soft, I truly consider stashing it in my suitcase. A search for the television reveals it to be concealed behind the vast mirror taking up one wall at the foot of the bed.

Staff practice an “anything, anytime” philosophy, cheerfully offering to sew my loose button and suggest cocktail bars we can’t be tempted to get dressed up and go to. When I finally close my laptop, I’m guided past magnificent hand-painted murals by Croxford and Saunders, chronicling Scotland’s botanical discoveries from Fortune’s tea plants to Thomson’s Himalayan specimens. Climbing several stories to reach restaurant and bar The Wallace, we stop to look up at a custom French chandelier shaped like an adventurer’s hot air balloon, in glass and bronze. The members-club-style space is resplendent; we’re welcomed warmly by excellent staff clad in custom tartan who delight us further with a dinner service costume change.

More huge windows show off that dramatic castle view, and dark clouds start to roll in. Dinner proves serviceable rather than spectacular – we skip the Haggis bon bons, going for filling potato skins dusted with smoked paprika and local lobster rolls. It’s more than adequate fuel after a long travel day, but a fairly predictable menu meant for international travelers. Heading downstairs for our cozy night in, we plan to chart a course for Scotland’s lesser-known culinary horizons.

We begin our adventure with a stroll down the Royal Mile in the late morning, lining our sights for old-style restaurant the Palmerston, where tattooed chefs passionately explain an inventive seasonal menu. Their approach defies easy classification – whole grilled mackerel sits on chickpeas brightened with chimichurri, while deviled Shetland lamb kidneys are spread on dripping toast. Roast tomatoes pair with lentils and black cabbage, crowned with Greek feta. The sommelier’s natural wine pairings prove effective, especially with a hearty Borders venison and smoked bacon pie. A cold rice pudding with amaretto cherries and almonds cements this spot amongst my favorite discoveries so far.

Finished with flâneuring through Edinburgh’s cobbled streets (well-judged breaks spent back in the hotel’s extensive whisky library), I board the Highland-bound train for the two-and-a-half-hour journey to Pitlochry, where more adventurous hospitality awaits in the Cairngorms. We wind through lush green fields that morph into mountains, forests and lochs.

My pre-booked taxi – essential in this gloriously small town – comes with a history lesson, the driver emphatically recommending a visit to nearby Blair Castle. Here, Queen Victoria granted the Duke of Atholl the right to maintain a private army in 1844. He implores we don’t miss the Pass of Killiecrankie, a scenic gorge about three miles north. We might not have time to take all his advice, but his caution about Highland deer proves immediately prophetic. “You have to be careful. Too many to count in the Highlands,” he nods, as a silhouette disappears into the foliage on the approach to Killiecrankie House.

Entrepreneur couple Tom and Matilda Tsappis have created something extraordinary here, converting a private country residence for a local Church minister into a rather special restaurant with rooms. They left careers in finance and advertising to create a London supper club, before dreaming up a mellifluous marriage of Scottish produce and Japanese technique in Perthshire.

Five impeccable bedrooms in rich colors balance character and comfort, complete with freestanding baths and canopy beds. Downstairs, arrivals mingle over Penicillin cocktails in the smart library and lounge, scouring the huge record collection to play a favorite song. Seated in the restaurant, I find the set tasting menu to be fun at every turn – most memorable is porridge cooked slowly in beef stock instead of water, then fried in dripping. It’s delicious, a nod to the curious old farmer’s tradition of keeping porridge in the drawer (“shelf porridge” – who knew?).

Next come daikon noodles with white crab meat, followed by the showstopper: “The Potato That Wished It Was Rice” – a brilliant mix of seaweed, brown butter, pickled mussels, and smoked potato mousse, deftly dusted with powdered seaweed. As enjoyable as the dishes are the anecdotes and explanations from skilled servers. “Use the beef tendon as a cracker,” we’re advised at one point, struggling to manage the art of scooping bone marrow mayo and trout roe. A finish of matcha ice cream swirled with two-year-aged maple sap and accented by garden-fresh rhubarb borders on sublime. My comrade and I leave musing on how we might trade our peripatetic schedules for a quieter life, stopping still to master Asian cooking and play vinyl.

En route to the train station, another handsome deer appears, grazing long enough for us to admire its shining coat. A fitting farewell from Scotland, land of discovery and master of surprise.