With the arrival of autumn and its rich changing colours and bounty of produce, we had the pleasure of speaking with acclaimed chef Pam Brunton of Inver, a restaurant with rooms set on the shores of Loch Fyne on the West Coast of Scotland. Opened in 2015 with her partner Rob Latimer, who runs the restaurant, Inver has garnered over the years numerous awards, including a Green Michelin Star.
Heading to Inver is like hitting pause on the chaos of everyday life. About an hour and a half’s drive from Glasgow, down winding country roads, it’s the perfect destination for those seeking an escape into tranquillity and, of course, locally sourced food. Situated on the bay, Inver is housed in a lovingly renovated crofter’s cottage that blends seamlessly with the unspoilt, rugged natural landscape.
As we relaxed in comfortable sheepskin-covered chairs by a crackling fire, Pam shared insights into the inspiration behind Inver, the roots of her culinary passion, and her first book, Between Two Waters. The book combines a memoir, a manifesto on the future of feeding the world, and a feminist critique of the food industry, while also documenting the early days of their acclaimed establishment.
How did you first discover your passion for food and cooking?
Well, I first started cooking when I decided, at about 13, that I wanted to be a vegetarian. My mum said, 'You’d better learn to cook because I’m not doing two meals a day, and your father won’t eat vegetables.' So I did, and she ate what I’d cooked instead. The love for cooking came much later, when I’d actually learned to do it.
In what ways did your early experiences and personal journey influence your culinary approach and style?
Food was an everyday craft when I was growing up—pragmatic, nourishing. Mum worked full-time, so it was simple things, but the majority cooked from scratch, sometimes from using vegetables she grew in the garden; there was—and still is—a really old grapevine in the greenhouse where she grew tomatoes. My great-gran lived with us for a few years, so there was always old-school Scottish stuff like potted hough in the fridge too, as well as lots of mince. And nothing was ever wasted! Gran had lived through two wars and has raised mum and my uncle on a state pension. I went to work in “fine dining” restaurants to learn the best way to do things, which was right at the time, but I’m skeptical about much of that style of cooking now! I love craft and connection, sharing and nourishing. Inver food is delicious above all else, and I challenge what ‘perfection’ really means.
What attracted you to the location for Inver, and how does it align with the restaurant’s vision?
The location of Inver really defines what the restaurant is, as much as we do. We had been looking for a site for a few years before Inver (then Inver Cottage) came up for sale—it’s not easy to find characterful sites that are already functioning as restaurants, and we didn’t have the budget to convert a building into one. It’s a stunning spot—right on the shore of a loch, with two castles across the bay. I like to say that the beach is closer than some kitchens’ dry stores! It’s like a walk-out fridge, where we pick all the wild seashore greens. And the building itself is steeped in history. It felt like the perfect spot to tell the story of Scottish food from history to today, and onwards.
You place significant importance on your connection with the community and your network of local producers. How do these relationships shape your work?
The restaurant is like a prism for the community around us—we use Ian’s lambs, Kate and Russ’s vegetables, Alastair’s halibut, Chris’s herbs, Mary’s langoustines, and David’s eggs and apples. It blurs the lines between life and work and gives meaning and resonance to every plate of food we serve.
Winning the Green Michelin Star is a significant achievement. How does sustainability inform the day-to-day operations and overall philosophy?
I think of us as part of an ecosystem—because we are, in reality as well as in a nice metaphor. And that ‘system’ bit is critical: every part depends on the other parts to function at all, let alone well. So if the loch, hills, people, wildlife aren’t thriving—and, in the bigger picture, the climate and global communities too—then neither can we. Sustainability is core to what we do.
Your dishes are often described as ‘modern Scottish’ and noted for pushing boundaries. What are your primary sources of inspiration?
‘Boundaries’ is an interesting choice of word. What boundaries? I’m inspired by stories—produce, people, and the stories that link them to each other and their landscapes, nearby and far away. These are the stories I like to tell with the Inver menus. In a world where food supply is globalised and often managed on our behalf by the people who hold power and purse, connection is a luxury ingredient.
Your book Between Two Waters is part memoir of the early days of opening Inver and part manifesto on feeding the world. What do you hope readers take away from it?
I want people to feel empowered to think differently. The biggest problems the world is facing right now stem from deeply entrenched, habitual thinking which has become normalised over the last few centuries. Writing “Between Two Waters” was an intentional process of decolonisation—which means changing the stance from which you view the world, decentralising yourself. It is very enabling—once you know that you can teach yourself to think differently, anything seems possible. I hope readers feel this too.
The book also offers a feminist critique of the food industry. How do gender dynamics impact the culinary world, and how do you address them at Inver?
Gender dynamics in the culinary world mirror those in the rest of society. We live in a world shaped over centuries by the decisions of men (mostly white men). Women in the UK only gained the right to vote on the same terms as men less than a century ago, in 1928. This was after the Michelin Guide was established as a motoring guide, written for the men who would be driving the car and paying the bills.
The feminisation of kitchens goes beyond just headcount; it’s about changing how different kinds of food and cooking are valued, recognising and rewarding all the labour, lives (human and non-human) and landscapes that contribute to the meal on your plate. At Inver, we strive to make space for whole human beings, allowing each person what they need to thrive. Sometimes, this means changing what the job or the food actually is. It certainly decentralises the chef's ego!
Holding a Master’s in Food Policy, what do you identify as the most pressing challenges and opportunities in sustainable food practices?
Waste. Every time I see a stamped-out or squared-off vegetable, I think, where’s the rest of it? It didn’t grow like that. I’m much more interested in finding ways to maximise flavour and make plates look beautiful, celebrating natural form and ‘imperfection’ (the crispy, chewy bits! The burnt edges!), without following certain fine-dining formulas that generate so much waste. When you start to refuse waste, it really does start to challenge the way you cook and present food, and ultimately, how you think about beauty and form. Food waste stats are staggering: currently 25–30 per cent of the total food produced globally is wasted.
The UK wastes 156 kg per person per year, a phenomenal amount, worth £20 billion. That waste is associated with 20 tonnes of greenhouse gas emissions including potent methane, which is produced when food rots in anaerobic conditions, such as in landfills.
As a chef and author, how do you balance the creative side of cooking with the analytical aspects of writing?
I think this might be what you call a false binary! Both cooking and writing are simultaneously analytical and creative. In fact, all creative processes involve some form of analysis. I enjoy both aspects of both crafts.
How do seasonal changes, especially autumn, impact your menu and local sourcing?
I love autumn; it’s the best time to cook, especially where we are. The wild mushrooms are out, literally on the doorstep; there’s venison on the hills and berries everywhere—elderberries, brambles, blaeberries, sloes. There’s still plenty going on in the garden, mackerel in the loch, and awesome shellfish. The air crisps, the fires go on, and the mist starts to drift around the herb bed and hang over the loch. It’s an immersive, multi-sensory, evocative time—a lovely time to be in the kitchen and an antidote to lives lived through screens.
Your restaurant and guest rooms include personal touches like textiles and hand-crafted ceramics. Is there a particular item with special significance?
They all have special significance! Many things at Inver are hand-made by friends who share our love of craft. We opened with plates, bowls and jugs by an old friend, Rebecca Proctor, who was then just starting out as a potter in Cornwall. These days I’m also really proud of our friend and colleague Ciara Gilmartin, who retrained as a herbalist while still working at Inver and now supplies us with a wonderful range of beeswax lotion bars, bath salts and oils
Looking ahead, what are your aspirations for Inver?
I hope we have contributed to the country’s sense of itself, in a small but meaningful way, and that we continue to matter to our community too—the people near us and those who come to visit.
One kitchen gadget you find indispensable?
A spoon
The most unusual ingredient you’ve ever used?
I guess anything unusual to me is probably pretty usual to someone else, right? But what about honey? It’s a pretty unique product. There are not many insect secretions that so many people worldwide love to eat. Plus, one teaspoon of honey is a single bee’s entire life’s work.
A dish you love to cook at home?
Porridge. Or chicken broth—like a minestra of all the vegetables in the fridge, bound with the deeply comforting, golden, fat-rich chicken broth we make at Inver.
Your favourite food destination?
Mexico or Japan
Follow Inver @inverrestaurant
Pam's book Between Two Waters is available from 12 September.
Photography by Alexander Baxter
