The Horn Milk Bar is the most iconic roadside diner you’ve never heard of. Sitting somewhere between Americana and the 1970s, if I were to describe it in one sentence it would be this: The Double R Diner of Perthshire.

The Horn imbues the legacy of Little Chef, or at least, the childhood half-memory of what the long-since defunct chain once was: a family treat, a special restaurant, not just an opportunity for a burger and a comfort break on a long stretch of motorway.

I have my family with me on this visit to a roadside diner, too. I thought it would be fun to bring my grandmother, who is 85, as well as my daughter, eighty years younger. My aunt rounds out the group, four generations of Beedie women. We pull into the car park off the A90 on a hot, late-summer day, already arguing.

There is a cow on the roof. A child’s toy, blown up one thousand percent, staring longingly out at the last green fields of the estate with the intensity of a long-term hostage. When the cow went off for a spring clean in 2023 the staff were inundated with messages, emails, and even phone calls asking what was going on. By coincidence, owner Kenny Farquharson’s second business is “the only company in the UK that supplies a variety of life size model plastic animals.”

The cow has been in place since the seventies. It’s part of what makes The Horn iconic, and the reason it has been used in everything from a Vogue photoshoot to music videos.

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Pulling into the carpark, we’re excited. This is a welcome change from the garden centre tea rooms that are our usual group haunts. Our delight is short-lived. The wheelchair ramp is crumbling and narrow, and rattles my grandmother’s bones. Another customer helps us semi-lift the chair with her still in it. The door to the restaurant opens outwards, making it almost impossible to manoeuvre the wheelchair around and through the entrance. In 2016 Farquharson was granted planning permission to move The Horn 100m up the road after stating the parking lot was declared “not fit for purpose.” So far, no movement.

Stepping into The Horn Milk Bar, halfway between Perth and Dundee, is a strange thing: we have time-travelled. This is the place my parents (and maybe yours) are longing for; the spaces they insist still exist. Instead of the cloying nostalgia of brand-new retro-styling, this place is visibly old. We were expecting the polished vintage world of the music videos by Autoheart and Logan’s Close—this is not that.

““...we have time-travelled. This is the place my parents (and maybe yours) are longing for, the spaces they insist still exist.””

Shades of brown and beige wash over us. Wipe-clean plastic chairs and tables surround us. Outside it is bright, one of the clearest, bluest skies we’ve had since May, but the sunlight struggling through the wall of windows does not penetrate the suffocating room of wood veneer.

A long wooden countertop is overhung by wooden signs declaring ‘CHILLED WINE AND SOFT DRINKS. HOT MEALS AND HOT ROLLS.’ Seeing the little bottles of (brown) malt vinegar gracing each table, I hadn’t realised how unusual they had become.

Taking my grandmother on her weekly outings can be difficult. We need to go somewhere with food she’ll understand and enjoy, and I often have to flat-out lie about what things cost. She doesn’t accept that £4.50 is standard for a coffee now and, honestly, I think she’s right. This is where The Horn is a winner: the food is cheap. Sandwiches are between £3.90 and £5, (slightly more to have them toasted.) What’s more, they are recognisable to Jessie. Ham salad, egg mayo, cheese and coleslaw. I breathe a silent thanks that I don’t have to try and convince a woman born before the start of World War II to eat avocado.

Right along with her is my daughter. She, too, does not care for your fancy pieces. She has half a cheese sandwich and a paper bag full of crisps and chocolate. The Horn caters for all ages, as long as those ages are under 8 and over 80.

My aunt Janet and I opt for the bacon rolls. She tops hers with a fried egg, I keep it simple. The Horn claims to serve the world’s best bacon roll after winning an online poll in 2009. With a statement like that, I feel it would be foolish not to give it a try.

When it arrives, it contains more bacon than I have ever before seen inside a single roll. It is deep fried to a kind of brittle leather texuture. I eat half and am still full at dinnertime. Good value, I suppose. Janet enjoys hers—we hypothesise that the addition of the egg lent some lubrication to enhance her experience.

The other things on offer are in a similar vein. It’s refreshing to see mince and tatties on a menu, and when’s the last time you were able to order gammon steak and pineapple? Rolls include black pudding, Lorne sausage, and polony. The food fits the period fixtures.

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Tripadvisor reviews of The Horn are hilarious, even when they’re not wrong.

‘Aluxmye’ says they, “would describe myself as an ambassador for your bacon rolls. I remember them featuring on Radio Shortbread with John Beattie.” (International readers: I don’t know what that is either.) “Stopped by today. What's happened? World's best bacon roll? You can't say that anymore... It was greasy, flabby, and tepid. It wasn't just a disappointment, it was bowf [‘not very nice’].” Despite the graphic description and giving The Horn a one star review, the poster goes on to say: “I'll give it another go.”

Along the same lines is ‘Scottish_Traveller’s’ review, in which they share that they previously visited 14 months ago and that nothing has changed. “The points I added in my last review, with pictures, have still not been amended, IE mouldy hand dryer, urine soaked floors, staff miserable etc.... all exactly the same.” Maybe it’s just me, but I tend not to return to establishments with urine soaked floors.

‘Linda R’ visited in September 2023, the same date as we did, and she also gave The Horn one star: “My brother in law ordered a couple of poached eggs on toast. They came HARD BOILED. I have the pics.” I hope their brother-in-law has recovered from this ordeal.

‘King P’ visited even more recently, towards the end of October. They state The Horn: “Makes a spoon burner’s crack den look like a palace.” I haven’t seen many crack dens in my day, admittedly, but I do feel this is slightly harsh.

‘Nomad261907’ declares The Horn, “Boggin.” Three stars.

““A gentleman to our left worked steadily through his pie, chips and beans, seemingly oblivious to the plastic Viking helmet on his head.””

It is important to think about who The Horn is for. On the day we visited the dining room was full. Families sat by the window, taking their time over coffees. A gentleman to our left worked steadily through his pie, chips and beans, seemingly oblivious to the plastic Viking helmet on his head. A young lad, who may only have received his driving licence days prior, sat alone with a cold can of juice. Bikers lounged in the tiny pink chairs, leathers unzipped. A sports team of teenagers and their coaches spread over a few tables. A group of immaculately coiffed women kept long hair and nails clear of the brown sauce in their rolls. People of all stripes, and there was something to fill each of their bellies.

There are those for whom The Horn is still a joy. ‘Glyn R’ says: “Very welcoming entrance with picturesque scenery… Had the full breakfast, well what can one say, I along with my dearest friends all agree it was the most sumptuous, beautiful, uncomparable, delicious, satisfying breakfast one has had in quite some time. Hats off to The Horn.”

I’m glad there is still room in this world for The Horn. What a pleasure to find a place with handwritten signs and a non-digital cash register. You want to talk about sustainability? The Horn hasn’t been redecorated since 1973. Forty years of no change and they are still drawing so many customers they can’t answer the phone or clear their tables. The Horn doesn’t care if you don’t like their bacon rolls. They know you’ll be back soon anyway.