GNAW: Summer 2024

Editorial

Welcome to GNAW – a new food and drink magazine from the team behind The Skinny. If we’re being totally honest, when we started floating this idea we were a bit taken aback by the response; people seemed very, very excited. Thanks to everyone who pitched us an idea, gave us some pointers, or had something nice to say; we’re really excited to share this first issue with you all.

GNAW is inspired by our love of food, and by some of the amazing food media that’s changing the way we think about eating and drinking (shout-outs to Vittles, Pellicle, Fare, and the @shitlondonguinness Instagram account), but it’s also inspired by the breadth of food stories on our doorstep. Scotland has a bit of everything – vibrant cities and rural idylls, rugged coastlines and patchilymaintained roads – but it’s the people connecting it all together that are the really interesting part. So the front half of this issue is made up of some deep dives on the idea of ‘roots’ – the way

food fuels and connects our cities, and the culinary ties that link us to place, friendship and family. From the Barras Market to the peat bogs of the Highlands to your kitchen tap, it’s a country-spanning exploration of our collective food histories.

At the back, we’re expanding on those ideas and sending you off on an expedition. You’ll find 30-odd pages of recommendations of Scotland’s best bistros, bakeries, breweries and other stuff that doesn’t begin with B, plus some of the team’s personal favourites and the stories behind them. It turns out we eat a lot of bread, spend plenty of time in car parks, and have a remarkable tolerance for physical danger when we’re hungry.

Introspection and exploration, continent-spanning foodways and roadside Scotch eggs, innovative technology and literal piles of mud… we wanted this issue to capture something of our relationship with food, and to find out just how deep our roots go.

Time to start digging. [Peter Simpson]

artist bio

Thea Bryant is a graphic designer based in Glasgow. She predominantly works across the arts and culture sector, creating bold, expressive and hopeful design that captures feelings of self-expression and the importance of community. She particularly likes to weave in DIY, hand-drawn processes to her designs.

theabryant.com i: @__bythea

Peter Simpson

GNAW Editor

The croissant from Mirabelle in Copenhagen. So expensive, no regrets.

Anahit Behrooz

Events Editor

My dad would make Iranian spaghetti (better than Italian spaghetti) and he'd always scoop us out some bolognese with pitta bread as a pre-lunch treat.

George Sully

Sales and Brand Strategist

Ritz crackers with cottage cheese, tuna and a slice of cucumber - a snack my mum used to make for me.

Emilie Roberts

Media Sales Executive

Eating rich tea biscuits with my granddad.

Rosamund West

Editor-in-Chief

It was probably a Neopolitan pizza.

Dalila D'Amico

Art Director,

Production Manager

Sipping expired pineapple juice.

Tallah Brash

Music Editor

Mum making chicken cakes when I was wee because I was allergic to fish.

Phoebe Willison

Designer

Being taught to cook chicken soup with my grandad.

What's your fondEst

food mEmory?

Sandy Park

Commercial Director

Biryani and korma from the old Naz takeaway on Leith Walk.

Gabrielle Loue

Media Sales Executive

Meeting the Disney Princesses at Cinderella's

Royal Table when I was five.

Jamie Dunn

Film Editor,

Online Journalist

Cinema picnics (i.e. chopped pork and salad cream pieces) at Ayr Odeon with my gran.

Laurie Presswood

General Manager

Mum cycled to my primary school to bring a forgotten lemon slice for my smoked salmon lunch. Fuck the haters.

Ellie Robertson

Digital Editorial Assistant

Ordering pho everytime

I have a cold.

Ema Smekalova

Media Sales Executive

Bags of snap peas in the summertime.

Find your nearest copy of our free monthly magazine, The Skinny, here:

10 A Super Market: Sean Wai Keung heads to the iconic Barras Market in Glasgow to explore its cultural history, and its culinary present.

18 Food for Thought: Scotland has some real food traditions and iconic dishes, so where are they? Grant Reekie looks at our collective food history, and calls for a Scottish culinary revival.

25 The Taste of Home: Maria Morava wanted to explore the Albanian food scene in Edinburgh – what they found was a community reclaiming, shaping and sharing traditional Albanian foodways.

32 For Peat’s Sake: What makes your favourite whisky taste like a beach that’s caught fire? It’s peat, writes Darran Edmond, looking at his love of a peated dram, and its environmental impact.

38 Love on Tap: Scottish Tap Water is the best, IDST – Douglas Rogers looks at its miraculous properties, its anti-Thatcherite elements, and the first flushes of our water-scarce future.

44 GNAW Directory: Thirty-odd pages of venue and producer recommendations from across Scotland, plus reflections on some of our personal favourites.

79 Beauty and the Beige: Scotland loves a beige plate of food – Ema Smekalova tells the story of their move to Scotland, a fateful breakfast, and their journey from ‘hmm’ to ‘mmm’.

82 In a Pickle: Putting down roots is easier said than done when you’re between flats in a new city. Polly Burnay finds solace and a solution in the world of pickling.

a suPEr marKEt

For over 100 years, the Barras Market in Glasgow’s East End has been a hotbed of change, creativity, and cuisine. Sean Wai Keung spends the day beneath the legendary red arches

The history of The Barras Market is one of migration and food. Before becoming ‘The Barras Queen’, the market’s founder Maggie McIver worked as a French polisher before transferring to selling fruit around Glasgow. During this time she would have undoubtedly taken note of the huge number of recent Irish migrants to the city selling their own wares on street corners. So it makes sense that when there was an opportunity to buy a plot of land near Glasgow Green, she immediately thought to use it as a

place to rent out pitches and barrows to anyone with things to sell. Along with husband James, Maggie would soon turn this DIY marketplace into somewhere thousands of people flocked to each weekend – and shopping is a hungry business.

I first became interested in food histories through my family. My maternal grandparents owned and cooked in Chinese takeaways and it always struck me how they were only able to forge a life for themselves in the UK through their use of food. Perhaps it’s because of this that The Barras excites me so much.

Some of the earliest recorded culinary offerings rooted in The Barras include simple roasted chestnut carts and baked goods. However as the market grew, so did its food scene. By the 1950s and 60s shellfish bars had started opening in the area, some of which still remain open and bustling today. As with

“The Barras’ reputation as a place where you can buy anything and everything still rings true”

any outdoor marketplace in Scotland, the last decade has been a challenge. Changing spending habits including the popularity of online shopping, along with the pandemic, have pressured many traders to hang up their money pouches. In 2021, as Scotland wrestled with coronavirus and social distancing changed the way we shop, The Barras celebrated its centenary.

Earlier this year I decided to pay the Barras Market a visit to see what it’s like today. I purposefully skipped breakfast, hoping to fill my belly with anything the market had to offer. What I found were stories of resilience and joy, alongside more than enough food to go around.

↪ From a Needle to an Anchor

The Barras’ reputation as a place where you can buy anything and everything still rings true. While much of the covered areas feel more organised (‘Sustainable Fashion Row’ contains exactly what you would expect, for instance) there are also traders outside with makeshift trestle tables covered in unthemed items and collections. Beneath the

now-iconic red archway facing Gallowgate, a man sells clothes he has carefully laid out on a rug on the floor. For food, there’s a tantalising mixture of the expected and unexpected. The Seafood Stall has been owned by the same family for almost 50 years and, well, it’s a stall that sells seafood. When I chat with them they’re proud to tell me that all their offerings are sourced from around Scotland, including mussels from Shetland. Their whelks taste fresh and go nicely with a splash of vinegar and a sprinkling of black pepper.

Around the corner from The Seafood Stall is another place that feels like a Barras mainstay, Danny’s Do-Nuts, who are busy preparing for the rest of the weekend when I arrive. The smell of sugary goodness draws plenty of people in, yet the owners are well aware that the key to the tastiness of their donuts lies in their freshness and warmth, and so they resist the urge to sell them pre-fried. “People might have to wait a few moments for them, but the wait is worth it!” one of the cooks tells me. When I mention that I’m interested in the food offerings of The Barras they’re quick to tell me about other places I should visit, from Loch Fyne Shellfish Bar, another must-go for seafood lovers, as well as Smokey Trotters, with their melt-in-the-mouth fried chicken and homemade hot sauce. This will become a common theme throughout my time here, with each trader I talk to excited to promote others around them.

become home to multiple stalls with roots in Hong Kong, in a trend which reminds me of the older history of the market and its connections with Irish migrants. However, while that original Irish wave often had to sell clothes to get by, there’s a distinctly foodie angle being taken by many of the Hongkongers.

Fishball Revolution, a stall named after a 2016 protest movement in Hong Kong, is a clear example. Their curry fishballs and cheong fan rice noodles are fresh, warm and hugely popular. The mixture of sauces that go on the rice noodles, including peanut, soy and chili, are a highlight.

“While it has modernised it still hasn’t lost that Barras magic that everyone knows and loves”

Denis Fisher, Pizza Cult

Cream Comes True, meanwhile, offers sweet treats including bubble waffles in traditional Hong Kong styles, with condensed milk and peanut butter. “It’s multicultural here, and a fun mix of new and old cultures,” they tell me when I ask what they enjoy about The Barras, “it has a special history and is such an interesting place.”

↪ The Hong Kong Market

Over recent years The Barras has

Last year The Barras hosted the first Glasgow Hong Kong Market, a special weekend event during which members of the wider Hong Kong community decorated the area with signs and banners reminiscent of markets in Hong Kong. Alongside the regulars, guest stalls opened to sell other Hong Kong delicacies including french toast and tea eggs. Its resounding success guaranteed a repeat event this year too. It strikes me that at a time when public showcases of Hong Kong culture are more politicised, and potentially dangerous, than ever, this welcoming embrace from The Barras is further evidence of why it’s still such an important feature of Glasgow life.

↪ Celebrating the New

Next to Cream Comes True is another food stall preparing to celebrate. On my visit, Pizza Cult is coming up to its one year anniversary at The Barras, with a special pop-up event planned at Smokey Trotters. Pizza Cult specialise in Neapolitan style classics, but don’t mind breaking the rules every now and then, for instance with its ‘Marry Me Chicken’ pizza topped with the TikTok-favourite sautéed chicken. Their bases are thin but bubble up around the crusts delightfully and their passion for pizza-making really shines through the understated but colourful presentation. When I ask owner Denis Fisher how the first year has been, he smiles. “The Barras is an amazing venue for small businesses starting out,” he tells me. “There’s so many amazing creatives and while it has modernised it still hasn’t lost that Barras magic that everyone knows and loves.”

That combination of modern and classic seems to be a staple of the trader experience here. After a quick trip to the iconic Sweetie Stall to get myself a bag of lucky tatties I stumble across Sweet Wishes Cakes, whose stall features towering display cases filled with beautiful cupcakes, brownies and rocky roads. Chief baker Marina can’t help but comment on some of the recent changes. “I first started trading here in July 2022, which wasn’t long after the pandemic,” she tells me. “At the time, the market wasn’t as busy. Now things are getting busier and I love it!”

Despite all the changes, you don’t have to look far to find memories of deeper history. Mere feet away from Sweet Wishes is Hutch, who made their fame through their cubano-inspired twist on a traditional morning roll, aptly named The McIver. With its stack of ham, crackling, gherkins and mustard, I can’t help but wonder what Maggie herself would’ve made of the creation – or whether she would’ve gone for a crispy or soft roll.

Similarly, the sheer number of long-standing cafes around is testament to the role that classic food continues to play in its culture. New Market Cafe, Square Yard Cafe and Dengy’s Deli all offer their own take on more traditional market fare while hot dog and burger vans dot the junctions between streets. All this food, and more, speaks to the myriad personalities and histories available to eat through in this special place.

Similar to my grandparents’ story, here are traders from different backgrounds, all using food to express their own stories in ways which help build a thriving community. Walking around the market today you will see people eating rolls, noodles, brownies, burgers and everything in-between, and already I can’t wait to see what new culinary delights might develop here in the future.

Sean Wai Keung is a Glasgow-based writer and performance maker. His show A History of Fortune Cookies will be performed at Summerhall during the 2024 Edinburgh Fringe.

food for thouGht

Scotland has a rich tradition of hearty, distinctive cooking – so where has it gone? And how can we revive it in a globalised, hyperconnected world?

Grant Reekie takes a look at Scotland’s culinary past, present, and future

When Anthony Bourdain came to Scotland in 2015 to film an episode of his Parts Unknown TV series, he drank alone in the afternoon, ate chips, cheese and curry sauce, sampled Irn-Bru, and learned about knife fighting in the derelict Govan Graving Docks. He then decamped for the Highlands, where he shot a deer through the heart. On first viewing, I thought he’d done a pretty good job of summing the place up.

Now though, I wonder what that episode really says about Scotland as a nation. It’s hard not to feel there’s a certain lack of distinctiveness in the food consumed, a lack of coherent Scottishness. This mirrors my experience that when asked about ‘Scottish cuisine’, many Scots either draw a blank, or cringe as they describe haggis and deep fried Mars bars.

The truth is, what we really eat on a regular basis is a kind of creolised international diet. Across the country, pub and restaurant menus often rely

on appropriating and modifying dishes from other cultures. Taiwanese bao buns. Korean fried cauliflower. Tacos. Katsu curry. But dishes repeated ad-nauseum across ‘pan-asian’ or ‘street-food’ menus quickly become flavour of the month. Too often, ramen becomes yet more thin soup. I can’t help but wonder; why aren’t there more interesting Scottish restaurants in Scotland? Does the ‘Scottish cringe’ prevent us from valuing Scottish food? And what even is Scottish food, anyway?

Florence Marian McNeill made a pretty good stab at answering that last question almost 100 years ago, travelling, sampling and collecting recipes from all over Scotland, putting years of research into writing the definitive text on Scottish cooking: 1929’s The Scots Kitchen – its traditions and recipes. This compendium, and the excellent Broths to Bannocks; Cooking in Scotland 1690 to the present day (1990) by the equally indelible Catherine Brown, make it clear that there were, and are, a slew of distinctive recipes characteristic to this part of the world.

To name just a few examples, we have clootie dumpling, cock-aleekie, Scotch broth, partan bree, Arbroath smokies, Finnan haddies, and cured mutton hams. At its heart, Scottish cooking was once based mainly on wholegrain barley and oats, root vegetables and kale, augmented with a little meat, mostly in soups and broths.

We made good use of excellent dairy, and consumed lots of oily fish. We have a great tradition of baking – oatcakes, tattie scones, rowies/ butteries, bannocks, bridies, pineapple tarts, custard slices, fudge doughnuts and glazed strawberry tarts are all brilliantly Scottish, or at least have a distinct style in Scotland.

“Your average Italian or French citizen is fiercely proud of their ancestral recipe book, keen to hold on to their culinary roots, in a way that we just aren’t in modern Scotland”

Why then do we so rarely see these items on a menu? Our tastes have changed, certainly, as they have across the world. But your average Italian or French citizen is fiercely proud of their ancestral recipe book, keen to hold on to their culinary roots, in a way that we just aren’t in modern Scotland.

Roots are a funny thing. They are both a link to the past and a source of growth, something that can nourish you and encourage development, or hold you back. You can be rooted in place, or rooted in culture. They are also a category of ingredient (neeps, carrots, onions etc). Those particular roots once made up much of the base

in Scottish cooking in the same way sofrito or mirepoix do in Italian or French cooking. We live in a time of culinary uprooting, where memes, ideas, ingredients and flavours can travel freely; perhaps it’s inevitable that the direction of travel in our culinary explorations is to consign Scotland’s older, earthier style of cooking to the history books.

As L.P. Hartley first said: “The past is a foreign country, they do things differently there.” We certainly do things differently in modern Scotland, and in most cases that’s a good thing. I wouldn’t want a rigidly traditionalist culinary hegemony, of the sort which sometimes stifles young French and Italian cooks. Experimentation is good, taking on and adapting influences is the root of creativity. But we need to be careful.

This shift away from local roots isn’t unique to Scotland, and is part of an international cultural shift towards what food writer Bee Wilson refers to as ‘The Global Standard Diet’. Researcher Colin Khoury led a group of academics who first identified this paradoxical shift, in which locally diets have diversified, but at a global level become more homogenous. Grains dominate – wheat, rice, maize and soy make up 60% of calories grown by farmers – and by some estimates, just four corporations control 90% of the global grain trade. The Global Standard Diet is a signal of the emerging cultural trend towards homogenisation. We should be wary of sleepwalking into creating a monoculture of cuisine and culture that mirrors our increasingly unvaried agricultural landscape.

Cultural diversity is good, I want to be clear about that – this is no Brexit-Britain call for Scotland to be Scottish. I love multiculturalism,

“Scottish food, the ancient cooking of this country, adapted to its climate and ingredients, deserves a place in the pantheon”

selfishly, for the opportunities for deliciousness it provides. A walk down Byres Road and into Partick yields wonton soup, roast duck, curry houses, bánh mì, steaming bowls of pho, and bibimbap, and I couldn’t be happier to have those options. However, diversity is by definition made up of many different elements.  Scottish food, the ancient cooking of this country, adapted to its climate and ingredients, deserves a place in the pantheon. Culinary diversity, like biodiversity, enhances and strengthens itself through having many differently evolved forms. Will the

Scottish branch of the culinary evolutionary tree continue growing, or wither away? This year, the Scottish Government will set out a plan for becoming ‘A Good Food Nation’. This aims for us to ‘take pride and pleasure’ in our food. I hope that we can look forward to achieving that ambition, but let’s not forget to look backwards as we go.

Grant Reekie (he/him) is a chef, campaigner, and professional cookery lecturer based in Glasgow. He runs cookery blog @thatsyerdinner on Instagram, and occasionally hosts popup supperclubs under the same name.

thE tastE of homE

Our food traditions connect us with family, friends and place – but sometimes it takes a bit of digging to tease them out. Maria Morava looks for a taste of Albanian food in Edinburgh, and finds a community reclaiming its culinary identity

Growing up with my Albanian dad and grandmother, pizza was my favourite food – and my dad, having spent time as a refugee in Italy and a pizza cook in the USA, made it best. He’d show me how to knuckle the dough into a disc and toss it in the air where, each time, I swore it would reach and stick to the ceiling. I tried to mimic him, but my clumsy knuckles would stretch the dough thinner and thinner until the light threatened to break through, unable to hold it all. Pizza night was the rare night my dad cooked instead of my grandmother, who would always make Albanian food – something I found comforting, but less impressive.

What I didn’t know then was that my dad’s pizza speciality was not separate from my grandmother’s traditional Albanian cooking. They existed alongside each other, reflecting different but intersecting migration journeys – not only for me and my family, but for Albanian migrant communities around the world, who, in overwhelming numbers, populate the Italian and Greek restaurant industries. The pizza I loved growing up became emblematic of the personal and political histories that shaped my sense of self.

It was this understanding that brought me to La Casa, a Mediterranean small plates restaurant in Dalry; I had heard through the grapevine that La Casa was Albanianrun. I wanted to see what the Albanian scene was like in Edinburgh, as it is so often eclipsed by Italian and Greek branding in other cities. While I found what I expected, I found much more, too – a community reclaiming, shaping and sharing traditional Albanian foodways. And a community that wanted me in it.

I walked into La Casa timid, the way that I always am interacting with Albanian people who aren’t my family. My language is poor and the longer I’ve lived and moved, the further away I feel from the people and food I grew

up with. Yet the restaurant instantly felt like home. The decor looked like a house my dad had built for us himself in the 2010s – rustic, with exposed brick, Mediterranean tiling and dark-stained wood. I remember my dad saying he wanted our house to look Italian. I locate the person I’m meant to speak to, Tzouana Vitou, and wait for her to finish cooking an order before we sit down.

Tzouana can cook everything, she says, and has been working in the food industry since she was 15. I tell her I want to talk to her about traditional Albanian food, and she lights up.

The question of what is ‘traditional’ is complicated for Albanians. The country sat at the crossroads of different empires for centuries and, until the 90s, endured decades of communist rule that closed its borders and weakened food traditions through restrictions on dairy and meat. Regional varieties of dishes were unable to be passed down, along with basically all religious beliefs.

But Tzouana doesn’t seem conflicted. She knows what is traditional because it is what she makes in her home; it’s what my grandmother made in my home, too. She talks about byrek and baked fish and tavë kosi. She talks about the beaches of Sarandë where she grew up, so blue you can’t tell where the sky starts. It’s also where my dad served in the Albanian army during the regime, before he and 5,000 other citizens stormed foreign embassies in 1990, enabling their escape as asylum

seekers in Italy and beyond. Western coverage of this accelerated the fall of the regime. I am hooked on Tzouana’s every word, and before I can take a deep breath she is asking me to come eat Albanian food with her and the staff, who she cooks for often.

When I return a few days later, Tzouana apologises. It’s Sunday, she says, and she hasn’t made much food for lack of ingredients. This is before she muscles a massive bowl of ‘country’ white beans, fasule fshati, to the table, followed by an even bigger casserole of roasted aubergine, potato and pepper, tavë me perime, and two clay pots of still-bubbling feta and meat in fërgesë me mish. Salad – “simple, no peppers, no nothing” – and bread on the side. Hasude, a dessert made from cornstarch, goes down like a thick pudding, sharp with red-brown caramelised sugar.

The staff eat in the dining room together. While we eat, people pass by the window and marvel at the spread – when I hear “Mashallah”, a relic of Islam that persisted through half a century of communist atheism – I realise they are Albanian. Some of them are asked to join us. I’m observing this as I eat the tomato-stewed beans, soak up the rich oil with my bread and save the fërgesë for last. I cannot believe that I am eating this, listening to the Albanian language surround me in Edinburgh. Since I was a child, I’ve had more pizza than I can count – some undoubtedly from Albanian hands. But since leaving home, I’ve eaten Albanian food only a handful of times.

A 2008 piece in Philadelphia Magazine about Albanians in the pizza industry warns, “The

Albanians are coming!” describing the country as a “small, poor, corrupt Balkan state” full of people you don’t want to “fall in with.” Xenophobic narratives like these persist in the UK to this day – most recently in the 2022 governmental panic around Albanian immigration.

When I asked Tzouana if Italians and Greeks know how to make Albanian food the way she knows how to make their food, she shrugs and shakes her head. Migration in Albania flows one way. Despite my questioning – my implicit urging of a sense of unfairness – she is resolute: She loves Albanian food. She finds pizza boring. She is, in the cracks of the Mediterranean food industry, bringing forth clay pots of fërgesë to be shared. That’s really all there is.

My journey from dough-clumsy hands to the communal table at La Casa is, for me, a profound politic. A

peek behind the curtain on my favourite childhood food revealed a history and cultural identity just as fragmented and diffuse and unsure as I often feel. But I realise there’s community in that too, right down the road. My tongue might falter around my own language but it knows the way these white beans should taste.

“Send a photo to your dad,” the manager of the restaurant instructs me. I do and he replies: “Looks great.” I won’t get more from him. There’s a lot I don’t know and might never know about where I come from and my history, but I do know that the shape of my longing and confusion has a place at this table.

Maria Morava (she/they) is a writer and facilitator based in Edinburgh. She is co-organiser of Rehearsal Space, a gathering to practice liberated futures, beginning sessions this summer.

for PEat’s saKE

Peated whisky is one of Scotland’s most iconic drinks, but its unique character comes from burning a resource thousands of years in the making. Darran Edmond reflects on his love of peat, and looks forward to some possible alternatives

Like most whisky fanatics, I remember the dram that started it all. Not the first sip of whisky I ever tasted – which the majority of us, if we’re being honest with ourselves, didn’t enjoy – but the first dram that really blew me away. A Burns Night ceilidh: the drams were plentiful, but for a novice like me the whiskies and their names had been whirling past, unremembered, like partners in an eightsome reel. That is, until a friend thrust a quaich under my nose that stopped me in my tracks. The aroma had the medicinal sterility of bleached-white hospital corridors, but also the raw, dirty fecundity of freshly dug earth. The wet, salty funk of a seaweed-strewn beach at low tide, and the dry, acrid smoke of the last dying embers of a campfire. “What the hell is this?” I asked. “It’s peated,” he said, smiling, “not for everyone.”

Even though I had no idea what peat was, or how those flavours could have ended up in my glass, I knew it was for me. I’d later learn that peat is a surface layer of soil that consists of partially decomposed plant matter, formed in acidic wetland conditions over thousands of years, and that on many of the rugged westerly isles of Scotland – battered by strong winds from the Atlantic and so almost devoid of trees – it has historically served as the main source of fuel. When distillers in these regions dried their malted barley, the rich, aromatic peat smoke imparted a unique character to

the finished product, and in a happy accident some of the most distinctively flavoured whiskies in the world were created. However, while the fires in these peat kilns may have sparked my own love of whisky, in recent years they have also ignited a heated debate in the industry over whether or not it should be used at all.

“Peat is more than the product of its environment –it is the environment”

Walking through the desolate beauty of a peat bog, it’s almost impossible to imagine the significance of the processes taking place underneath your wellies as they sink and squelch into the sodden ground below. Peatlands are, simply, the most effective terrestrial carbon sinks that we have. The 20% of Scotland’s land mass they cover is capable of storing a massive 1.7 billion tonnes of CO2 – enough to offset around 140 years’ worth of the country’s greenhouse gas emissions. And burning peat, thereby releasing its stored carbon into the atmosphere, is only half the story: cutting it in the first place results in further damage to bogs by draining

them, allowing their vegetation to decompose faster to the point where they become net carbon emitters. It’s estimated that over 80% of Scotland’s peatlands are already degraded in this way, while the Scotch whisky industry continues to extract 7000 tonnes of peat per year.

“The wet, salty funk of a seaweed-strewn beach, and the dry, acrid smoke of the last dying embers of a campfire. “What the hell is this?” I asked. “It’s peated,” he said”

So, if peat use is unsustainable in the long term, where else could its devotees turn for their smoke fix? The brewing industry may provide a source of inspiration. While whisky has never strayed from using pale malt – dried gently at low temperatures – for production, brewers have long utilised heavily roasted malts to make darker beers such as stouts and porters. These grains are dried (in a kind of massive but slowly-rotating tumbledryer) at higher temperatures to encourage charring and caramelisation, creating toasty, nutty, even coffee-like flavour notes. However, in order to create the kind of intensely smoky, spicy flavours associated with peat, the grains have to be charred to such an extent that many of the

enzymes responsible for converting starch into sugars are destroyed, resulting in decreased yield. Only a small fraction of these dark malts can therefore be incorporated into a mash.

A new wave of Nordic distillers, less entrenched in whisky-making tradition, have drawn inspiration from their own food heritage, where woodsmoke is commonly used as a means of preserving meat. Mackmyra in Sweden have released an expression smoked with juniper; Kyrö in Finland using alder; Thy in Denmark using beechwood; and Stauning, also in Denmark, have given a nod to their Scottish forebears by combining peat with heather. While certainly more renewable than peat, which accumulates at the glacial pace of one metre every thousand years,

these would inevitably create their own sustainability issues.

One Icelandic distiller has turned to a more arcane local tradition.

Hangikjöt is a local delicacy of lamb, horse or mutton cold-smoked over sheep dung, traditionally served at Christmas. Eimverk distillery’s Flóki whisky is made using barley smoked in the same way, giving the resulting spirit a flavour that may be euphemistically described as ‘complex’, with sweet smoke and, unsurprisingly, ‘farmyard’ aromas. While certainly solving the challenge around sustainability, it presents a whole new one for the marketing department.

Another sustainable option is biochar, which in this context can be thought of as a kind of synthetic peat, made by heating biomass at extremely high temperatures in an inert atmosphere. Distilling actually provides an

ideal biomass candidate in the form of draff – the spent grains left behind in the mashing process – which would create a desirable closed-loop system, eliminating a waste product at the same time as removing the need for a finite resource. The issue with biochar, and all of the previously mentioned examples, is that while they can impart smoky flavour, it’s just not quite the same as peat’s complex cocktail of hydrocarbons formed over millennia of decomposition.

Indeed, moving away from peat would irrevocably sever one of the few true connections Scotch whisky has to the land of its origin. The industry’s marketing may lean heavily on the concept of ‘terroir’ – a philosophy borrowed from the world of wine, affirming that the character of a liquid is down to the environment in which it’s made – but there’s not much

science to back it up. So where does flavour really come from? Well, there’s the cask, but the vast majority of those are sourced from either the US or Spain. There are also less romantic factors: the size and shape of the still, rate of distillation and length of fermentation, for example.

But, as I learned on that long ago Burns Night, peat absolutely does influence the flavour of the finished product and, being simply decayed plant material, is more than the product of its environment – it is the environment. So much so that not only are peat samples drawn from different regions of the country markedly different, but peat drawn from different areas or even different depths of the same bog can display markedly different flavour chemistry.

So, while peat ticks the terroir box, it’s hard to see how any novel substitute could do the same.

While my friend may have been right when it comes to whisky, when left undisturbed in its natural environment, peat certainly is for everyone – it’s one of the best allies we have in the fight to halt, and even reverse, climate change. But by continually harvesting it to flavour our national drink, we’re pulling the plug on a carbon sink we can’t afford to lose. In the near future, distillers will have to figure out a way to get the smoke into our glasses, without the fire.

Darran Edmond is a distiller and the owner of Glasgow-based microdistillery Illicit Spirits. As well as making spirits, and drinking them, he enjoys writing about them from time to time.

loVE on taP

You’ll often hear “water is life”, but the truth is much more fun: water is living. That we pay it such little , is simultaneously one of modernity’s great achievements, and a sign of how estranged we are from ourselves

Ihave a history with tap water. I grew up between parents in Edinburgh and London, and one of the more indisputable polarities to build my fledgling sense of world and self around was water.

In London it was brash, borderline fiery – you knew all about it when you took a sip. In Edinburgh it went down smooth, gulp after gulp; run the tap a bit and the glacial cold would hit me with a jolt of pleasure, and a vague sense of almost spiritual gladness to be part of such a world that sang, faintly, of mountains.

Water has a strange relationship with taste. Its reputation as flavourless is mistaken – unlike almost any other substance, we mainly taste water through absence. As it flows across our tongues it clears away saliva, essentially allowing us to taste ourselves (faintly sour, it transpires). This riddle

of water’s flavour runs much deeper, though. The obvious divide is soft and hard, essentially a question of mineral concentrations: the latter relatively thick with calcium and magnesium, the former light on passengers. But this apparent answer is just one whorl in a sprawling ecology of experience.

Scotland’s drinking water is largely derived from ‘surface water’: lochs, rivers and reservoirs which don’t afford much opportunity for mineral-collection. This contrasts with most of England’s greater reliance on aquifers, more mundanely known as ‘groundwater’. This more mysterious provenance can imbue your glass’s contents with all kinds of notes, depending on the regional geology and number of decades, centuries or millennia spent underground.

Similarly to its upstart rival wine, this means tap water can lay real claim to ‘terroir’ status. And like with any

regional delicacy, this means interlacing not just with that land’s minerals but its culture. Scottish water culture takes a lot of shapes. Aside from the noble offshoots of whisky (literally ‘the water of life’) and Irn-Bru, the most prominent of these is Highland Spring. The distinctive plastic bottles, holding groundwater from the non-Highland Ochil Hills, are neatly illustrative of the $270 billion bottled water industry, the extractive cynicism of which hardly needs restating.

These mega-corporations turn a necessity into a commodity. More novel is a growing movement to transmute it even further, into a luxury good. ‘Water sommeliers’ have yet to make much of a splash in Scotland, but down in good old London at ‘water boutique’ Fine Liquids you can buy award-winning Welsh water at £8 a bottle, or limited-edition ‘Jewelery Water’ from Japan for £366.

The luxury water phenomenon has been gathering steam since 2020 – a

“In Edinburgh, tap water went down smooth, gulp after gulp; run the tap a bit and the glacial cold would hit me with a jolt of pleasure”

trend which isn’t hard to link to spiralling, neo-Victorian wealth inequality. One of the many things I personally find regrettable about this scene is the way it rarefies a strand of culture which I’d much rather see democratised; but thankfully, in Scotland the latter current still prevails.

You might have seen adverts for Scottish Water lately. They’ve been on TV, and at least one of Edinburgh’s trams. My favourite encounter was before a cinema screen-

“The water we drink has always been politically charged, but growing climate chaos is exacerbating this”

course the literal tide of excrement which leaves 14% of English lakes and rivers in ‘good’ condition (compared to 87% in Scotland).

The water we drink has always been politically charged. But already, growing climate chaos is exacerbating this. As of 2024, four billion people experience severe water scarcity for at least one month each year. The UN warns that by 2030 global demand for fresh water will outstrip supply by 40%. And this is less than halfway into what is currently a global heat trajectory of 3°C by 2100.

ing of Dune: Part Two. Corny rhyming couplets unsurprisingly extoll the company’s virtues. But here’s the thing: they’re kind of right.

Fortuitous geography is not the sole determinant of Scotland’s low-key legendary tap water – just think of the many US towns blighted by ‘boil water advisories’. Beyond just making sure it’s safe and reliable, Scottish Water also run tests on their namesake at a rate of one per minute. These tests include a team of 23 tasters, based in a specialist unit at Heriot-Watt University: water sommeliers for the people! And they really are for the people. As SW’s campaign takes pains to underline, it’s ‘owned by you’. This is not a natural fact: Thatcherism did its very best to privatise our water system as it had done in England and Wales. It only failed thanks to public resistance culminating in a users’ referendum, wherein 97% of 1.2 million votes opposed the move.

The ensuing fate of English water companies speaks for itself in many tongues: asset-stripping, shocking underinvestment, dodgy flavour, and of

The scales these numbers conjure, both in terms of human suffering and corporate culpability, are hard to fathom but are hinted at by severe droughts afflicting Mexico, Spain, and South Africa. Last summer saw the arrival of large-scale water conflict in Europe, with many thousands of protestors and police fighting a pitched battle at Sainte-Soline in Western France over ‘water -hoarding’ infrastructure.

Scotland, in a minority which excludes even England, is largely spared such scary prospects. But it’s hard to think these global currents won’t impact, even psychologically, our relationship with water. In times of eagerness to connect with the natural world, I sometimes enjoy remembering that water is not only reminiscent of but actually is that world. When we drink, that world becomes a part of us and vice versa. As the Earth weeps, perhaps we’ll taste it?

Douglas Rogers is a writer, activist, and editor of Raveller: a lifestyle magazine for the Anthropocene.

WOVEN WHISKY

Woven is redefining the whisky space: who it is for, how it is made, and even where it is from. This Leith-based startup has attracted global attention, earning a flurry of awards that prove their flavour-obsessed, borderless approach is more than just a neat idea. Join them at their free ‘Open Studio’ community events, held monthly. wovenwhisky.com

WOODROW'S OF EDINBURGH

Woodrow’s of Edinburgh was established in 2022 with a warehouse in Leith, Edinburgh. The brand produces unique scotch whisky bottled at cask strength, non-chill filtered and natural colour. ‘We discover incredible casks and further improve them by enhancing flavour and complexity. To achieve this, wood is sourced carefully and paired with the spirit for the best impact.’ All blending, re-casking and bottling are done in-house and every release is unique.

THE RUM SHACK

When they opened in 2014 they had 15 rums, now they've got over 100. They regularly host great live music events and DJ nights and their kitchen is still doing all the favourites. This means you can come and fill your belly on curry goat & rum punch or take it a little easier and try their pre-gig menu (2 courses for £10). Either way, if you like the vibes you can stay 'til 1am to enjoy the music and have a dance! rumshackglasgow.com

STRANRAER OYSTER FESTIVAL

They’re sought after by chefs around the world but until recently Scotland’s only wild, native oyster fishery was a well-kept secret. Stranraer Oyster Festival shines a spotlight on this seafood delicacy each September, making Scottish native oysters easy to enjoy and deliciously affordable! Head to Stranraer from 13-15 September for celebrity chefs, the Scottish Oyster Shucking Championships, live music, local food, artisan market and lots more. Weekend ticket just £15! stranraeroysterfestival.com

We’ve pulled together an extensive list of some of the best places to go across Scotland, and the things to eat and drink when you get there. As for our personal favourites, we’ve shared some of our top foodie picks, and the stories behind them

47 Markets and Festivals: Our guide to the best markets and food events across Scotland

54 Scottish Culinary Classics: Where to find great Scottish

brewing and produce

58 A love letter to Cottonrake Bakery’s Ayrshire ham & Gruyère sandwich, by Jamie Dunn

64 Comfort Food: Diaspora cooking, family-style dinners – where to go when you need a big culinary hug

71 Whisky Business: Lowland, Highland, fancy cocktails, and cheap drams – we distil Scotch whisky down to our highlights

50 The House of Bruar, its weird vibe, and its amazing Scotch eggs, by Rosamund West

55

62 Baern’s excellent baking, beautiful cafe and sometimes-treacherous car park, by Peter Simpson

67 Civerinos, and pizza as the ultimate food on the move, by Anahit Behrooz

76 The Devil’s Advocate is a great equaliser for whisky fans of all speeds, by

↪ Markets in Edinburgh, the East and North East

Edinburgh Farmers Market

Castle Terrace, Edinburgh; Every Sat, 9am-2pm / @edfarmersmarket

It’s right by the castle. It’s packed with everything from chocolatiers to Hong Kong bakeries, hot treats to sauces and spreads. It’s in the shadow of the castle. There’s an excellent selection of produce, and there’s always something new to check out. Look! Up there! It’s the castle!

Grassmarket Market

Grassmarket, Edinburgh;

Every Sat, 10am-5pm / @grassmarketmarket

On the other side of the castle, the Grassmarket Market is a bit more freewheeling in its approach. Grab something to eat from the regularly rotating clutch of street food vendors, check out a host of foodie stalls, head over the road to Mary’s Milk Bar for an ice cream, spend ages looking at the bric-a-brac.

Stockbridge Market

Saunders St, Edinburgh; Every Sun, 10am-4pm / @stockbridgemarket

They really do fit a lot into the Stockbridge Market. Walk

past on a Saturday and it’s a nice-but-small community park by the eponymous bridge; Sundays turn the space into a bustling mix of bakers, distillers, producers, food vendors, coffee vans, and a paella stand that always – always – has a queue outside.

Leith Market

Dock Pl, Leith; Every Sat, 10am-4pm / @leithmarket

Another solid weekly market from the folks behind Stockbridge and Grassmarket, but the Vegan Quarter markets on the first week of the month make this well worth a visit. Hate having to

walk past all the samples in case they’ve got dairy in ‘em?

Problem solved.

Arbroath Market

Victoria Park, Arbroath; 28 Jul & 25 Aug

The monthly market at Victoria Park brings together stallholders and producers from across Tayside and Angus, but it’s the unique location that really sells it. Tour the stalls with the East Coast breeze blowing in your

hair, gaze out over the cliffs to the North Sea, dodge the seagulls trying to eat your snacks.

Bowhouse

St Monans, East Neuk of Fife; 13, 14 Jul & 10, 11 Aug / @bowhousefife

Bowhouse brings a whole load of stuff together under one roof, and they take the same approach with their market weekends.

Condiments, charcuterie,

fresh fruit and veg and baked goods take up the inside space; outside there’s a bar, street food, and the rolling Fife countryside.

Balgove Larder Night Market

Strathtyrum Farm, St Andrews; 2 Jul, 6 Aug, 3 Sep / @balgove

Now in their tenth year, the Night Markets at the Balgove Larder farm shop near St Andrews bring vendors from around the country under one

roof. If you’re looking for a little extra from your market, Balgove also hosts demos and workshops in cooking, butchery and flower-arranging. Not sure what the ideal order is for those, see how you feel on the night.

Edinburgh Street Food

Leith St, Edinburgh. Open daily / @edinburgh_streetfood

Edinburgh Street Food has it all – dozens of food options, multiple bars, hundreds of seats inside and out, quick service via an order-at-seat system that actually works, and an enormous pink sign outside that you literally can’t miss.

Bonnie & Wild

415-417 St James Sq, Edinburgh.

Daily, 9am-midnight / @bonnieandwildmarket

Everything about Bonnie & Wild feels designed to elicit one response: ‘Oooh, fancy.’ Swish interiors, a bumper range of dinner options, excellent local coffee (Cairngorm) and ice cream (Joelato), plus a deli packed with great Scottish food and drink.

↪ Markets in Glasgow, Central Scotland and the West

Chatelherault Market

Chatelherault Country Park, Hamilton; Every Sun, 10am-4pm / @chatelheraultmarket

The weekly market at Chatelherault, just outside Hamilton, is enormous. We’re

talking between 70 and 80 stalls, with everything from craft sodas and raw honey to a stall entirely dedicated to scones. It’s half an hour on the train from Glasgow Central, and there’s miles and miles of paths through the park for your post-market walk.

Shawlands Farmers Market

Langside Halls, Glasgow; First and Third Sat, 10am-2pm

Partick Farmers Market

Mansfield Park, Glasgow; Second and Fourth Sat, 10am-2pm

Well-formed markets with a host of local producers pitch up in the south and the west of Glasgow on alternating Saturdays, so we’ll put these two entries together to help you plan your weekend neighbourhood-wandering.

Perth Farmers Market

Shore Rd, Perth; First Sun, 9am-2pm

Here’s a fun fact: Perth was home to Scotland’s first-ever farmers’ market. The market has been running for over 20 years, and these days it’s made up of more than 50 stalls from across the country.

Dockyard Social 95-107 Haugh Rd, Glasgow. Fri 5-11pm; Sat 12-11pm; Sun 12-8pm / @dockyardsocial Markets, pop-ups, the great outdoors – these are all fine things, but sometimes you need a permanent location. With a roof. And flushing toilets. Dockyard Social sits in the sweet spot between food hall and street food market, with eight vendors, a fully-

stocked bar, and those all important ‘walls and a roof’.

Loch Lomond Shores

Sunday Market

Ben Lomond Way, Balloch; First and Third Sun, 10am4pm / @lochlomondshores

Loch Lomond Shores is your classic ‘rural shopping mall plus aquarium’ combo, but its twice-monthly food and drink market is well worth checking out. Throw in a trip to the paddle steamer and a wander around the loch itself, and you’ve got yourself a solid Sunday.

Barras Market

Gallowgate, Glasgow; Sat & Sun, 10am-4pm / @barras_market

The iconic East End market still has its classic traders (if you need a shirt button or a Mega Drive game, this is the place to go) but they’re joined by a new raft of foodie folk from around the world. Throw in Barras-adjacent spots like Ho Lee Fook, Us V Them Coffee and BAaD, and The Barras is a must-visit once again.

Stirling Farmers Market

Port St, Stirling; Second Sat, 10am-4pm Right in the middle of town, Stirling Farmers Market features your classic market stalls and a few exciting additions you won’t find everywhere. Look out for vegan Lebanese dishes, handmade pasta, and a surprising amount of mead.

MARKETS AND FESTIVALS

↪ The House of Bruar, Pitagowan, nr Pitlochry

↪ Open daily, 9:30am-5pm

↪ houseofbruar.com @thehouseofbruar

thE housE of bruar

You can find yourself an artisanal Scotch egg in markets and delis across the land, but nothing beats the ones from weird landed gentry outlet store and service station for people with servants, The House of Bruar

Words: Rosamund West

Just past Blair Atholl on the A9, The House of Bruar epitomises a very specific idea of Scotland, and a very specific class of the Scottish countryside experience. It’s Scotland as dreamed by the English aristocracy – think Balmoral, not Glencoe; Speyside, not the Hebrides. It’s landscape as something to be hunted, fished or shot upon rather than an aweinspiring wilderness to be explored. It’s Prince King Charles posing in a kilt next to a stream. The 433 people who own half the rural land in

Scotland presumably shop here. No one mention the Highland Clearances.

In The House of Bruar you will find such luxury goods as a cashmere twinset; the sort of waxed jacket ‘outdoor gear’ that will only keep you dry for as long as it takes to jump out of the Land Rover and shoot a pheasant; a range of sporting tweed from the ‘specialist stalking department’. I once saw, and I am completely serious, a ‘Baby’s First Shotgun’ playset in the kids’ section. It’s an essential stop on any Highland adventure. I get

the Scotch egg, because they do very good ones in a range of flavours and they are, in the broader scale of artisanal Scotch eggs, quite reasonably priced. My son has a sausage roll and a sugar mouse. The enormous food hall showcases the best of Scottish produce, and the toilets have very fancy soap. The last time I was there a helicopter took off from what turned out to be a helipad in the car park, and set off into the Cairngorm wilderness. I assume the pilot was either a member of the royal family or Tom Cruise.

MARKETS AND FESTIVALS

↪ Food Festivals and Events

Dundee Food and Drink Festival

Venues across Dundee city centre, 6-7 Jul

It’s the first outing for the revived and revamped Dundee Food and Drink Festival – a festival hub of producers and entertainment is planned for City Square, with pop-ups planned for V&A Dundee, Slessor Gardens, and across the city.

Edinburgh Food Festival

George Sq Gardens, Edinburgh, 19-28 Jul / @edfoodfest

A bumper celebration of Scottish food and drink that also doubles as the prologue to the Edinburgh Fringe, the Edinburgh Food Festival returns for its tenth year. As well as a bumper events programme, this year’s Festival also features the Scottish Street Food Awards – fans of inventive outdoor cookery, come on down.

Spirits of Speyside: Distilled

Elgin Town Hall, Speyside, 6-7 Sep / @distilledscot

It may be right in the heart of whisky country, but Distilled also spotlights some of the best in Scottish gin, vodka and rum, as well as the best of the north east’s craft beer scene. Of course, it’s Speyside, so there will be many, many whiskies to sample.

Stranraer Oyster Festival

Stranraer Harbour, 13-15 Sep / @stranraeroysterfestival Get in loser, we’re going to Stranraer. This is a weekend dedicated to all things

oyster-related – not least the Scottish Oyster Shucking Championships – but with live music, chef demos and a bunch of other foodie fun thrown in as well.

Scottish National Whisky Festival

Music Hall, Aberdeen, 14 Sep; Biscuit Factory, Edinburgh, 26 Oct

The touring whisky festival makes a pair of east coast stops this autumn; expect loads of distilleries, a bumper programme of cocktails and mixology, live music and a well-stocked festival shop should anything take your fancy.

Gravity Beer Festival Summerhall, Edinburgh, 27-28 Sep / @gravitybeerfest Gravity’s all-inclusive model makes it an easy one to recommend – no faffing about with tokens or fussing over which beers to try. Once you’re in, simply take your pick from the brewery bars and go about your evening like the free spirit that you are.

Dornoch Whisky Festival

Venues across Dornoch, 25-27 Oct / @dornochwhiskyfestival

Good news for serious whisky buffs in need of an exciting weekend amid the gloom of late October! Dornoch Whisky Festival is back with a huge programme of tastings, dinners, events and distillery tours. Possibly the only event on this list with its very own bottling – souvenir glasses are good, but a souvenir bottle-of-whisky is, in our view, better.

↪Made in Scotland

Fisher and Donaldson Stores in Cupar, St Andrews and Dundee / @fisheranddonaldson

The telephone. Antibiotics. Animal cloning. All great Scottish inventions, but they can’t hold a candle to the Fisher and Donaldson fudge doughnut. Soft, squidgy, white dough; a ludicrous amount of egg custard; a thin but rich smear of sugary fudge. 10/10, no notes.

Company Bakery @companybakery

The award-winning sourdough bakery provides bread to cafes and restaurants across Scotland from their base at Eskmills in Musselburgh. An on-site cafe is planned for their near future, but for now, look out for their excellent bread on menus everywhere.

Mhor Bread

8 Main St, Callander / @mhorbread

On the long and winding road

to the Highlands, you will need snacks. You will need something sweet to chomp on. You. Will. Want. Pies. Mhor, in Callander, offers all of the above – get there early and throw yourself on the mercy of the counter.

two.eight.seven

287 Langside Rd, Glasgow / @two.eight.seven

There’s something distinctly earthy and grounded about Sam and Anna Luntley’s bakery in Glasgow’s Southside. Maybe it’s the sourdough bread, the local wholemeal flour in the cakes, the careful collection of local producers on the shelves. Maybe it’s the fact you can see the whole operation at once when you walk in the door. Whatever it is, two.eight.seven has a real feeling of home, as attested to by the returning crowds every weekend.

Goodfellow & Steven Stores in Dundee, Perth and Angus

It’s hard to beat a reliable, straightforward, high-quality

bakery, and that’s what G&S offer at spots across Tayside. Excellent Scotch pies, really good sausage rolls, extremely chunky oatcakes and super-squishy rolls – these guys are patron saints of your summer picnic.

Mortons Rolls @mortonsrolls

There’s public outcry, there’s public outrage, then there’s the reaction when Mortons Rolls went out of business. An essential cog in the roll-andsausage machine, the roll kings are back under new ownership – accept no substitutes, find their rolls across Glasgow and the west.

Newbarns Brewery

13 Jane St, Leith / @newbarnsbrewery

Leith’s foremost purveyors of ales and lagers are all about celebrating Scottish crops in their beers. Heritage grains and locally-sourced barley come to the fore in the ever-changing Newbarns range, best enjoyed at their excellent taproom just off Leith Walk.

↪ Anstruther Fish Bar, 42 Shore St, Anstruther

↪ Open daily 11.30am - 8.30pm (9pm on Fri and Sat)

↪ anstrutherfishbar.co.uk / @anstrutherfishbar

anstruthEr fish bar

A waterfront chippy is one of Scottish food’s great treats – even if you’re allergic to one of the main ingredients. When it comes to chippies, they don’t come more iconic than the Anstruther Fish Bar

Words: Tallah Brash

Arriving in the charming seaside town of

Anstruther is always a treat; proud boats stand tall in the harbour on one side, quaint shop fronts on the other. But the excitement truly starts when you catch a glimpse of the winding queue out the door and up the alley that runs down the side of the Anstruther Fish Bar. On busier days, they take orders from the queue to help speed things up, although time doesn’t really matter as hungry chatter among friends, old and new, dances on the salty sea breeze. It becomes quickly apparent that most are here for one thing, and one thing only: fish and chips. But not me. I’ve been allergic

to fish my whole life, so I’m mainly here for the vibe, the sense of occasion; alternative battered goods and chips are just a bonus.

Another bonus is the jolly statue of a bearded fisherman – dressed in banana yellow waders, raincoat and sou’wester, holding his catch of the day – who greets you on entering, signalling that it’s almost time to eat. Mood and location dependent, to turn our chips into a ‘supper’, regular go-tos include battered pork sausage, white pudding (a melt-in-the-mouth oblong of well seasoned oats, barley and mouth-coating fat), or a blood-filled black pudding – only Stornoway will do! When in Fife, red pudding is a must;

think square lorne, but in a more classic sausage shape.

Whatever the choice, it’s topped with salt and brown sauce, before we find a spot to sit in the harbour.

Squawking seagulls overhead, dogs chasing their tails, the lapping of water, the toot of a boat, and gossip among pals as we tuck into our meal is one of life’s simple pleasures. And this feeling goes far beyond Anstruther – chippies in Ullapool, Crail, Mallaig, Portobello, Musselburgh and beyond are ingrained in the landscape. Yes, you can get a chippie on almost every high street in Scotland, but a bag of goodness from a coastal town is where it’s at, fish or no fish.

Futtle

Bowhouse, St Monans, Anstruther / @futtleorganic

Another brewery wholeheartedly embracing their local roots is Futtle, based at Bowhouse near Anstruther. Inspired by farmhouse brewing traditions and brewed ‘with as light a touch as possible’, Futtle’s beers are fully organic, and often centre on foraged ingredients from their East Neuk home.

Simple Things Fermentations

@stfermentations

The Glasgow microbrewery embraces seasonality in a big way – wait until the time is right and you’ll find modern takes on Scottish classics in your favourite craft beer shop. From farmhouse beers brewed with Scottish berries to modern takes on your pints of heavy and the like, they have you covered.

Barney’s Beer

Summerhall, Edinburgh / @barneybeer

‘Edinburgh’s longest established non-continuously

operating brewery’ is a bit of a mouthful, but the beers from Barney’s are often pleasingly straightforward. Their lagers and pale ales are great session options, while their Post Mortem series of barrel-aged specials bring a pleasing chaos to proceedings.

Bellfield Brewery

46 Stanley Pl, Edinburgh / @bellfieldbrewery

Scotland is known for innovation, and for great beer – but what if those two things were… together? The UK’s first gluten-free brewery, Bellfield brings great new takes on brewing styles from across Scotland and beyond, but in a genuinely new and accessible format. Oh, and their taproom has loads of seats inside *and* a heated outdoor area. Innovation!

Epochal Barrel-

Fermented Ales

@epochalbrewery

Epochal produces beers that literally couldn’t come from anywhere else. The Glasgow

brewery creates complex, one-of-a-kind beers through a combination of local ingredients and age-old fermentation techniques. Fans of funky flavours, look out for their bottles in your favourite indie off-licence.

McCaskie Butchers

Shore Rd, Wemyss Bay

If you’re going to eat meat, you should do it properly. There are family-run butchers up and down Scotland offering high-quality, traceable, and delicious meat – rather than mention them all, here’s a shoutout for the country’s most awarded butcher (and reigning UK Butcher Shop of the year), McCaskie’s in the Inverclyde town of Wemyss Bay.

George Bower

75 Raeburn Pl, Edinburgh

‘Scotland’s natural larder’ is one of those phrases that gets bandied about a lot, but I tell you something, for a larder, there’s a whole load of pheasants kicking about.

George Bower is one of the

Cottonrake, 497 Great Western Rd, Glasgow

Mon-Sat, 8am-5pm; Sun, 9am-4pm

CottonraKE baKEry

Sometimes the simplest things in life are best, like the Ayrshire ham and Gruyère baguette at Cottonrake Bakery in Glasgow’s West End

Words: Jamie Dunn

Putting ham and cheese between bread is hardly revolutionary. In the world of sandos packed deep with wild flavour pairings, it’s positively quaint. Sure, it’s a classic combo but an unimaginative one. It’s the kind of sturdy sarnie that your mum might have whipped up for you in a pinch after football practice when you were a kid, or what you might clumsily assemble after you stumble home half-cut from the pub, crestfallen that your local kebab shop has closed early. It’s not the sandwich you’d actually order out, right? Well if this is your mentality, you’re missing out on one of the best food experiences any Scottish establishment has to offer: the Ayrshire ham

and Gruyère baguette from Glasgow’s heaven-sent Cottonrake Bakery.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that I dream of this sandwich. I discovered it sometime in the middle of 2022 after joining Cottonrake’s queue, which this weekend was halfway down Bank Street. I had come for one of their legendary sourdough loaves but it’s the sandwich I ordered on a whim to stave off some midmorning hunger that’s brought me back again and again. The ingredients are simple but bursting with flavour. A savoury bomb of cured ham hits first, followed by the mellow, nutty tanginess of the creamy Gruyère and the slightest kick of mustard, but

it’s the bread that takes this to a higher plain. It’s a sourdough baguette so crispy it hurts. Small bites and careful chewing are required to avoid shredding the soft palate of your upper mouth, which might sound like a drawback but the result is that you’re forced to savour every mouthful.

The food options in Glasgow’s West End are endless, but I contest there’s nothing better than taking one of these baguettes to Kelvingrove and going to town. Throw in one of Cottonrake’s custard tarts and you’ve a world-class picnic. Just be prepared for your gums to bleed and for your dreams to be commandeered.

best places to explore game (deer, hare, fancy birds etc), with quality produce and knowledgeable staff.

The Fish Hoose

22 High St, Arbroath / @thefishhoose_arbroath Smokies! A true Arbroath smokie is a buttery, salty shambles, equally at home in a Cullen Skink or smooshed on a bit of bread/between your fingers. Go direct to the source on the Angus coast to get your smokies – The Fish Hoose is a good place to start.

I.J. Mellis

330 Morningside Rd, 6 Bakers Pl and 30 Victoria St, Edinburgh; 492 Great Western Rd, Glasgow

The level of cheese in this gaff, outrageous. Mellis are purveyors of incredible cheeses from across Scotland, the UK and beyond, but their shops also showcase a selection of other treats from great Scottish producers, plus Scotch eggs the size of cricket balls.

East Coast Cured

@eastcoastcured

Meat is a finite resource, and it’s Scottish culinary tradition to make a little of it go a long way. East Coast Cured pick up that mantle and sprint away – their charcuterie, made in small batches at their ‘curehouse’ in Leith, is truly fantastic. Find it in good grocers and cheesemongers, or order online.

Bare Bones Chocolate

7 Osborne St, Glasgow / @bareboneschocolate

At their factory in central Glasgow, Bare Bones produce handmade, small-batch chocolate bars with cocoa sourced from farmers’ co-ops. And they’re on the move – look out for their new shop and cafe at Kings Court, opening date tbc.

Unorthodox Roasters

129 High St, Kinross

There are dozens of great roasters across the country, utilising Scottish culinary craft to push coffee’s boundaries. Unorthodox make this list for their excellent coffee, but also

for their excellent position in Kinross, firmly in ‘last stop before The North’ territory. If you’re exploring Scotland this summer, stop at Unorthodox for a flat white. That’s an order.

Rapscallion Soda

@rapscallion_soda

Irn-Bru is the king of soft drinks, no dispute, end of sentence. But Glasgow-based upstart Rapscallion offers a great alternative – exciting flavours, a commitment to local ingredients, and a focus on the craft that goes into a can of juice. Find them in nice bars and good bottle shops across Scotland.

Aye Pickled

@ayepickled

Waste-not want-not, but there are some foods that don’t suit the classic preservation one-two of ‘smoke’ and ‘hanging it in a cupboard’. Aye Pickled produces innovative, intriguing pickles by hand right here in Scotland, for the days you want a briney, vinegary treat to jazz up your sandwich or salad.

↪ Bowhouse, nr St Monans, Fife

Thu-Sun, 10am-4pm

baErn, st monans

Some of Scotland’s best baking is happening in the middle of the East Neuk. Don’t let the journey put you off – it’s all part of the experience

Words: Peter Simpson

On one trip, the main road was closed on the way home so we were rerouted, and rerouted again, down increasingly rural and frosty pathways. The back road off the back road is not much fun in the pitch black, in December. On another, the car got stuck – completely, catastrophically stuck – in thick, sloppy, cake batter mud in the car park. It took three stout men to push it out, and it wasn’t their first of the day.

Bowhouse is a hub of excellent food and drink, and as the crow flies, the East Neuk’s about 20 miles from

Edinburgh. But if the crow’s driving, it’ll take about an hour and a half, and you can basically double that if you need to catch the bus. So… why am I recommending it?

In one word: Baern. Giacomo Pesce and Hazel Powell’s bakery is genuinely brilliant. The counter at their open kitchen is filled with cakes laced with amazing ingredients from the Fife countryside, and incredibly inventive pastries (a swirly, puffy bun flecked with carrot and chilli still appears to me from time to time). The decor

is equal parts rustic cottage and successful Grand Designs project. Beautiful wooden surfaces and floors, enormous windows to let the light flow through.

The Bowhouse markets are great fun, and the Futtle brewery pulls double duty as one of the most impressively varied record shops in the country, but Baern is the heart of this operation. Get out of the car, shake off the cobwebs, grab a cake and a coffee and a seat by the window. It might be a bit of a trek, but I promise you it’s worth it.

Spitaki

133 East Claremont St, Edinburgh

Family-run Spitaki is a solid neighbourhood favourite, bringing the Greek taverna vibes to the residential Broughton area. Their selection of mezze is outstanding, and the calamari is possibly the best in Edinburgh. Reasonably priced, with a well-chosen drinks list and friendly service; come for the atmosphere, stay for the fried cheese.

La Casa

103 Dalry Rd and 297 Leith Walk, Edinburgh

This one’s for getting the whole gang together. It’s a bumper space, but with a chill, rustic vibe. It’s mezze and tapas, so there’s something for everyone, and hefty portions mean no need to get into a mid-meal fist fight over that last bit of sausage.

Fava

248 Morrison St, Edinburgh / @favarestaurantedinburgh

You’ll find an enormous assortment of Mediterranean mezze at Fava, one of a batch of Greek spots on this patch near Haymarket. Lovely staff, a spacious and bright dining room, and – cannot stress this enough – an enormous selection of dishes. Gigantic. Humungous.

te Seba

393 Great Western Rd, Glasgow

The pasta is fantastic and the bellinis are great, but the

*vibe* at te Seba is truly excellent. The brick-walls-andchandeliers interior is the definition of shabby chic, and nothing quite beats getting a thumbs up from the chef-patriarch who’s just cooked your tagliatelle. Try it sometime, you will not be disappointed.

Paesano

94 Miller St and 471 Great Western Rd, Glasgow

The wait for a table might be a bit chaotic, but once you’re sat down, Paesano has the perfect mix of quality, speed and reliability. That’s comfort food right there – knowing that at the drop of a hat, you can get a top-drawer pizza for around a tenner, then be out the door in half an hour.

Domenico’s

30 Sandport St, Leith / @cafedomenico

An Italian cafe so authentic it is frequented by actual Italians, Domenico’s have been serving the people of the Shore, Leith for the last 25 years. Dine in for a relaxed,

checker-tablecloth, trattoria-style experience with a perfectly formed menu of Italian classics (plus haggis pasta), or takeaway for massive sandwiches with names like THE BIG ONE and THE HOT BOY.

San Ciro’s

148 Leith Walk, Edinburgh

A hero’s welcome awaits at the Leith Walk pizzeria, where the extremely energetic chatter is matched by some extremely high quality pizza. There are some inventive flourishes on the menu, very nice wine that won’t break the bank, and a lingering pizza oven smokiness that will prompt sense memories from any and all pizza fans.

Ottoman Coffeehouse

73 Berkeley St, Glasgow

Scotland has loads of great coffee shops, but they often follow a very specific and, dare we say it, comically austere aesthetic. Ottoman Coffeehouse does not – it’s a warm, exciting space with

incredible decor, friendly staff, and great food and drinks.

Snax Cafe

118 Buccleuch St, Edinburgh

They may be rocking a new baby blue paint job on the outside, but inside Snax, things are the same as ever. Great morning rolls, endless breakfast combinations, outside seating for sunny Sunday mornings, and a genuine sense of history.

The fried egg brings us all together – long may it continue to do so.

University Cafe

87 Byres Rd, Glasgow / @the_university_cafe1918

The hand-painted signage, the giant ice cream cone statue in the doorway, the gold fringe hanging in the window – the University Cafe is an institution. Grab a classic ice cream for wandering the West End, or pull up in one of the comfy booths for a sit down and a catch-up.

Nardini’s

2 Greenock Rd, Largs / @nardinis_cafe

Nearing its 90th birthday, they truly don’t make ‘em like Nardini’s anymore. A waterfront Art Deco palace with a huge ice cream counter, massive plush booths and an outlandish array of hot Italian sandwiches and baked potatoes.

Horn Milk Bar

A90 near Errol

For decades, travellers heading north-west-ish have used a gigantic rooftop cow for navigation. The Horn is an icon of roadside cafes, with its unique circular layout and notably enormous bacon rolls – plus, y’know, the giant cow on the roof.

Cairn Lodge

A74(M) near Lanark

aka Scottish Tebay. Yes, the

folk behind the one good service station on the way to England are on the scene, with a great deli full of snacks and treats from Scottish producers, a bumper cafe with surprisingly comfy seats, and lovely toilets. If you’re on the way back from a festival, you need to stop somewhere – may as well get a massive sausage roll and a slice of cake while you’re at it.

Piece

1056 Argyle St, 100 Miller St and 14 Waterloo St, Glasgow / @piece.glasgow

There’s a lo-fi magic to a packed lunch, especially if it’s made for you. What’s behind the door today? Tuna mayo! Hooray! For a bit of lunchtime whimsy and updated sandwich nostalgia, head to Piece for super-inventive sandwiches loaded with colour and flavour.

Nile Valley Cafe

6 Chapel St, Edinburgh

Come in the evening for the home-style cooking drawing on flavours from across North Africa. Pop by at lunchtime for an incredibly frenzied queue, as everyone waits patiently (kinda) for an absolute whopper of a falafel wrap for under a fiver.

Alby’s

8 Portland Pl and 94 Buccleuch St, Edinburgh / @bighotsandwiches

We mean this as a compliment – eating a sandwich from Alby’s is a bit like eating a delicious pillow. These are enormous slabs of soft, fluffy, salty focaccia, and so loaded with inventive fillings that a full sandwich will have you ready for a nap before you can say ‘food coma’.

↪ Civerinos Slice, 49 Forrest Rd, Edinburgh and 47-49

Figgate Ln, Portobello

↪ Forrest Rd open daily 11am-11pm; Portobello open Mon-Thu 3-9pm, Fri-Sun midday-9pm

↪ civerinos.com / @civerinos_official

CiVErinos

In TV and films, pizza is a symbol of being a young, cool person on the go –and spots like Civerinos help that romantic vision of adulthood come true

Words: Anahit Behrooz

When I was little, people in TV shows would always be eating pizza, grouped around a greasy box or pulling a slice and moving across the room, or to the next room, or outside. Mealtimes at my house were a well-organised affair – everyone sat down together, everyone ate together – and although that was lovely and probably developmentally extremely beneficial, I always felt pulled to the glamour of the pizza box and the strange and silly freedom it symbolised. It was, to my mind, the ultimate Food On The Move; not in the sense of being portable, but in the sense of

flexing around the rhythms of people’s intimacies – clutched at a party, abandoned in the middle of a post-breakup debrief, the centrepiece of a friendship group.

The ways we imagine adulthood to be as children rarely come true, but when I think of all the ways I became a person in Edinburgh, pizza is so often there too. There’s the Civerinos pizza sitting in a back office midway through the festival, and a person I had never met before telling me to get a slice, and feeling so out of my mind about it (the pepperoni, FYI, with the green bite of fresh parsley sprinkled on top) that I ordered it again

the next day. Realising I’d fallen in love and crawling into my best friend’s bed with a Margherita from Razzo, the crust puffed impossibly high. Running out to Pizzeria 1926 halfway through a party and returning with a pizza fritta that we pulled apart with our hands. Civerinos, again, by the slice – topped with crisp fried chicken, hot sauce laid on thick – in a booth, then taken away to sit in the last heat of a summer night. There is, to me, even in deep adulthood, something so unbelievably romantic about it. Charcoalblistered dough, sauce and cheese dripping off the sides, intimacy without ceremony.

Shawarma King

113 King St, Glasgow / @shawarma_king_glasgow

Sometimes you just want a kebab – a fatty, unctuous boxing glove of bread, meat, spice and possibly some veg on there as well if you’re feeling healthy. In these moments, head for Shawarma King.

Parveen’s

Civic House, Glasgow / @parveens_canteen

Based in the canteen space at Civic House, Parveen’s serves up excellent plant-based lunches inspired by the flavours of Pakistan. The food is great, the atmosphere is lively, and the prices are excellent. Oh, and there’s a big disco ball in the middle of the room.

Agacan

113 Perth Rd, Dundee / @agacankebabhouse

In an ever-changing world, there are some constants – and one of them is the Agacan. The tiled exterior, the colourful interior, the kebab-tastic menu; is there anything as comforting as a restaurant that’s barely changed in decades but is still going strong?

The Original Mosque Kitchen & Cafe

50 Potterrow, Edinburgh

For two decades, the Mosque Kitchen has been the go-to for students, visitors, Fringe performers, workers, families, friends and anyone who needs a quick lunch. For the uninitiated, here’s the deal: covered outdoor seating, loads of options, and absurd, comically large portions.

Chotu

16 Haymarket Ter, Edinburgh / @chotubombay

POV: you are hungover. You went hard, then you went home, and now you need to refuel. Chotu’s Indianinspired breakfasts and brunches will set you right. Fried eggs topped with delicious fresh chutneys, dosas with an extremely satisfying snap, and a Mumbai-inspired full cooked breakfast that will blow your socks off and replace them with new ones.

Mosob Bar and Restaurant

56 Dundas St, Glasgow / @mosobglasgow

To get the most out of a trip to Mosob, you’ll need to get stuck in. The Ethiopian/ Eritrean spot serves up arrays of rich, spicy treats on beds of injera, the fermented,

pancake-esque flatbread. You’ll push, and pull, and smoosh; you’ll try some unique flavours; you’ll have a great time.

Ranjit’s Kitchen

607 Pollokshaws Rd, Glasgow / @ranjitskitchen

A Southside institution with a real family feel, Ranjit’s offers excellent Indian curries and snacks. And I tell you something, they offer a lot of it – get a bumper lunch thali

for just over a tenner, or go all in on the pakora and brace for an enormous pile of delicious crunchy balls.

NOLA Soul

72 Victoria Rd, Glasgow / @nolasoul_gla

Bringing flavours of the southern US to the Southside, NOLA Soul is the place to go for po’boys, gumbo and fried chicken. Everything’s made in-house, so get down early if you have your heart set on an

enormous fried prawn sandwich (and let’s be honest, who doesn’t?).

Big Counter

76 Victoria Rd, Glasgow / @bigcounter

Big Counter, to quote them directly, is “not fine dining”. This is the place to go for family-style dishes, with hunks of fish and meat, and sauces and gravies, and chips on the side to dip them in.

↪ Whisky Business

Port of Leith Distillery

11 Whisky Quay, Leith / @portofleithdistillery

They’ve only just opened and haven’t actually bottled their first whisky, but this newness actually makes Port of Leith ideal for whisky newbies. The building is truly incredible, and the top-floor bar has amazing views onto the Forth, so even whisky agnostics should be impressed.

Holyrood Distillery

19 St Leonard’s Ln, Edinburgh / @holyrooddistillery

If you’re looking for the full distillery experience without leaving the city, Holyrood is the place to go. It’s a compact and interesting building loaded with state-of-the-art kit, and their first single malt – Arrival –is excellent.

Clydeside Distillery

100 Stobcross Rd, Glasgow / @theclydeside

Another city distillery is Clydeside, right on the river between the Hydro and SWG3. Lovely big windows onto the Clyde, a range of tours and tastings depending on how engrossed you want to get, and a simple walk home at the end.

Auchentoshan Distillery

Great Western Rd, Clydebank / @auchentoshan

If you’re happy to venture a bit further, Auchentoshan is under an hour from Glasgow Central – you’ll find a great distillery with a fairly unique

process (triple-distillation, they can tell you more about it when you get there).

Glenkinchie Distillery

Pencaitland, Tranent / @glenkinchie.distillery

Want to get out into *the wilds* but without going *too far*? Glenkinchie is one of the Johnnie Walker distilleries, a few miles from Tranent in East Lothian. There are warehouses filled with barrels, tasting rooms –all the bells and whistles, plus some nice gardens to wander around.

Glengoyne Distillery

Killearn, nr Glasgow / @glengoyne

If you’re happy to push the limits of the phrase ‘near Glasgow’, Glengoyne is your reward. It’s a Highland distillery, so a chance to try a different profile to everything else on this page, plus their distilling process is the slowest in Scotland. They’re taking their time, so should you.

Laphroaig Distillery

Laphroaig, Isle of Islay / @laphroaig

If that chat about peated whisky from earlier has you intrigued, Laphroaig is a good place to start your smoky journey. It’s in idyllic surroundings with more history and prestige than you can shake a stick at, plus it’s one of the first distilleries as you get off the ferry at Port Ellen. Where else to start?

Glenfarclas Distillery

Ballindalloch, Speyside / @glenfarclasdistillery

As much as whisky seems like a cottage industry of lovely lads in overalls tending to a shared tradition, it is in fact Big Business. For an independent, family-owned whisky, head north to Glenfarclas – the Speyside distillery has been in the Grant family since the 1860s.

Kilchoman

Bruichladdich, Isle of Islay / @kilchomanwhisky

Want to really see the whiskymaking process? The *whole* thing? Kilchoman, on Islay, is a farm-to-bottle distillery – they grow their own barley, they do their own malting, they carry the whole thing through from start to finish.

Isle of Harris Distillery

Tarbert, Isle of Harris / @isleofharrisdistillers

Whisky is about community and heritage, and while Isle of Harris is one of Scotland’s newest distilleries (it’s the island’s first ever legal distillery), it certainly centres those qualities. Its stated purpose is to support the island community and create jobs for its future generations – we’ll raise a glass to that.

Springbank Distillery

Springbank, Campbeltown / @springbank1828

Campbeltown was once home to more than 30 distilleries; now you can count them on one hand. Visit Springbank

for a glimpse into this unique branch of Scottish whisky, and a distillery carrying on a liquid tradition that was, at one point, close to extinction.

Talisker

Carbost, Isle of Skye / @talisker

For a distillery with a bit of everything, head to Talisker. History: it’s Skye’s oldest distillery. Adventure: it’s on Skye. Setting: scenic waterfront. Food: The Three Chimneys are running a pop-up restaurant at this distillery this summer. Post tasting pick-me-up: the excellent Caora Dubh coffee shop across the road.

Teuchters Landing

1c Dock Pl, Leith / @teuchterslanding

Unsure about your chosen whisky style, and need a semi-random way to try one out? Teuchters Landing has the answer – the hoop of destiny. Pull up at the bar and throw the hoop at an array of bottles; you’ll get a dram from the one you land on.

The Ben Nevis

1147 Argyll St, Glasgow / @thebennevisbar

If you’re just dipping your toe in the whisky world, The Ben Nevis is a good shout. There’s a great range of whiskies on offer and a nice vibe, obviously, but its location on the main Finnieston drag makes it ideal for incorporation into a whisky-agnostic bar crawl.

Athletic Arms

1-3 Angle Park Ter, Edinburgh / @athleticarms

The Gorgie mainstay has a comically long whisky list, but so do all of the pubs on this page. Where the Diggers wins out is its broad selection of low-cost drams; if you’re looking for a cheap way to expand your whisky horizons, their ongoing, ever-replenishing Whisky Festival list is the place to start.

The Pot Still 154 Hope St, Glasgow / @thepotstill

A great pub right in the centre of Glasgow, with a whisky selection that runs along the back bar and round the corner. Grab a table in the elevated bit at the back corner, and one of the much-vaunted pies, and watch the chaos unfold.

The Speedwell Bar 165-167 Perth Rd, Dundee Whisky is all about history and heritage, and what’s more historic and heritageous than a well-preserved pub? The Speedwell is a lovely Edwardian bar with doilies on the tables, historically significant toilets, and an excellent selection of over 100 whiskies.

1236 Cave Bar at Meldrum House

Oldmeldrum, nr Inverurie / @meldrumhouse

What’s more historic than a well-preserved pub, oh I don’t know, what about a very old cave? Yes, this Aberdeenshire hotel has a bar dating back to the 13th century with many of its cavey qualities still intact and a three-figure whisky selection behind the bar.

Òran Mór

731-735 Great Western Rd, Glasgow / @oranmorglasgow If you want a bit of drama with your dram, head to the much-loved West End institution Òran Mór. The bar is a spectacular hideaway loaded with great whiskies, and the regular theatre and comedy upstairs allow you to interpret that ‘drama’ remark as literally as you like.

Scotch Malt Whisky Society 28 Queen St, Edinburgh / @smws_uk

Whisky has its own language, rules, and rituals – immerse yourself in the whole business at the Scotch Malt Whisky Society. Their Kaleidoscope Bar is open to non-members, while SWMS members have access to extra-special spaces and limited edition bottlings.

↪ Devil’s Advocate, 9 Advocate’s Cl, Edinburgh

↪ Open daily, midday to midnight (1am on Fri and Sat)

↪ devilsadvocateedinburgh.

/ @thedaoldtown

thE dEVil’s adVoCatE, EdinburGh

Whisky is all about storytelling and heritage – if you want to get up to speed (or work out what everyone else is talking about), check out The Devil’s Advocate in Edinburgh’s Old Town

Words: Peter Simpson

Whisky is the elements – our earth, our water, our history. Whisky is a time machine, a chance to taste something decades in the making. Whisky is a man in muddy overalls wheeling a barrel of brown liquid that’s worth more than his house, while a gent with a magician’s moustache holds court in the gift shop comparing everything to pears and caramel.

The lore around whisky is flavour text in every sense of the phrase, a whirl of information, liquid genealogy and optional side quests. But sometimes the main quest, the central issue of ‘Do I like whisky and if not why not?’

gets lost amid the endless vibe-checking.

The Devil’s Advocate has some of that whisky vibe; the drama and history of approaching through a narrow close off the Royal Mile. The cosiness of the bare walls, like stepping into an extremely large croft. But then you pick up a drinks list, and realise that no matter where you are on your whisky journey, this is a good place to be.

Want a nice dram? These guys have options from all over the place, some rare ones too. More of a cocktail fan? Have an Old Fashioned – there are six to choose from. Unsure about whisky? The

benefit of going to a good bar is the staff know what they’re talking about; tell them your tale, and they’ll recommend something you might like.

Whisky is a liquid that people drink because they think it tastes nice and it makes them feel all warm inside. Find a person – a pal, a relative, or a bartender somewhere like the Devil’s Advocate – and ask them which whisky they love. I recommend a nice light Speyside, as I am a wimpy city boy who doesn’t like it when the expensive drink burns my nostrils. Whisky is about stories, and your tale should be top of the list.

The Quaich Bar at the Craigellachie Hotel

Victoria St, Craigellachie, Aberlour / @thecraigellachie

Your local pub might have a shelf of whiskies; get towards three figures and you’re well into ‘whisky bar’ territory. But for a truly astronomical level of choice, head to the Quaich Bar in the Speyside town of Aberlour where over one thousand whiskies await.

The Gate

251 Gallowgate / @thegateglasgow

Across the road from The Barras, The Gate has an impressively well-rounded approach to the national drink. Affordable drams, an

extensive back bar if you want to get fancy, and a menu of whisky cocktails if you want to mix things up a bit.

Dragonfly

52 West Port, Edinburgh / @dragonflyedinburgh

For more excellent cocktails head to Dragonfly, just round the corner from Edinburgh Castle. Their menu is great, but they’re also more than happy to veer off and knock something together to suit your taste. Penicillin and Old Fashioned fans, roll up.

The Malt Room

34 Church St, Inverness / @themaltroominverness

If you’re planning a jaunt to

whisky country you’ll need somewhere to stop off for the night, and as the saying goes, all roads lead to Inverness.

The Malt Room, the city’s first dedicated whisky bar, is impressively stocked with over 350 whiskies.

Shieldaig Lodge

Badachro, nr Gairloch / @shieldaiglodge

The Shieldaig Lodge proudly offers at least one whisky from each of Scotland’s post-WWII distilleries. If you’re looking to cross some distilleries off your bingo card, or get a good sense of the breadth of your whisky knowledge, check it out.

bEauty and thE bEiGE

A big part of moving to a new place is getting to know the food – but what if that food is all one slightly odd shade of off-yellow? Ema Smekalova shares the story of their burgeoning friendship with beige food

Dismay, misunderstanding, mild horror – these are words that could describe my initial encounters with the cuisine known as ‘beige food’. In my first-year university accommodation, I watched my flatmate drown a sad-looking piece of toast in baked beans. On another occasion, they were adorning a baking dish with gooey batter and sausages (what you call toad in the hole). We do have beige food in the Czech Republic, but it is not usually named after amphibians. Perhaps on some level, British beige food symbolised my feelings of alienness upon moving to a new country. It was somehow easier to displace my culture shock onto a Yorkshire pudding than to process the absence of home comforts.

I discovered Snax Cafe on Buccleuch Street during my first revision season, driven inside by Edinburgh’s gale-force winds and an empty stomach. Confronted by the smells and sounds of my former culinary adversary, I faced the menu board. The words shifted and shuffled like an optical illusion, gradually revealing a hidden message: ‘beige = okay, beige = safe, beige = comfort’. Admittedly, that could have just been a side-effect of study-induced sleep deprivation, but the point stands. Suddenly I saw beige food in a new light: the fluorescent light of Snax Cafe. In that fateful moment, I opted for a breakfast roll with a tattie scone, a slice of haggis, and a fried egg.

It was only retrospectively that I realised the power of food to create a sense of home. That incidental stop-off for a morning roll on a dreary day ended up being repeated, again and again, for years after. The consumption of what I once considered foreign, frightening, or beige, allowed me to become more accustomed to – or even happy in – the UK. My fragile sense of national identity did not call out for knedlíky anymore. Instead, I sought out the most quintessentially British dispensaries of beige food out there. I learned the language of ordering chips. I found a home.

The quaint, poster-covered Quick & Plenty has stood its ground on Leven Street for over 100 years. Within the brutal and ever-changing context of gentrification in Edinburgh, its existence is a miracle. Though simply furnished, the interior is full of character and warmth, attracting a diverse clientele who are just after some honest fare. Their extensive menu boasts a tempting (and always affordable) selection, ranging from Scottish breakfast staples to their

delicious paneer curry or crispy channa. It’s safe to say that the Plenty on offer renders the decision-making process anything but Quick.

Establishments like Snax and Quick & Plenty are so integral to the city because they represent a space where everyone can feel at home. They offer an authenticity untouched by corporate pomposity, sheltering us from the harshness of both daily life and the weather, even if just for a moment. Food is approached straightforwardly here; there are no frills, no edible flowers, just delicious food made with the intent to bring sustenance and contentment. Caffs are the community’s living room and the vanguards of beige, so pay your favourite one a visit.

Snax Cafe, 118 Buccleuch St, Edinburgh; Mon-Fri, 7:30am-3pm; Sat & Sun, 7:30am-4pm

Quick & Plenty, 27 Leven St, Edinburgh; Mon-Sun, 9am-4pm

Ema Smekalova is a writer from Prague, based in Edinburgh.

in a PiCKlE

Food can help you feel connected and grounded – but what if you don’t have any ground to call your own? The answer, Polly Burnay writes, can be found amid some vegetables floating in a jar of funky liquid

Moving to a new city requires you to sow new seeds and re-spread your roots. This homemaking process takes time. What I didn’t quite anticipate upon uprooting myself from London for a new life in Glasgow, however, was an urge that bubbled within… the urge to pickle.

My pickle obsession began two years ago when I was asked, thrice weekly, to recite the seven pickled veg in the London restaurant I was waitressing: romanesco, carrot, onion, celery, fennel, cauliflower, red pepper. Head chef’s eyes piercing mine, I regurgitated them quickly, scathing myself whenever I missed the goddamn cauliflower. Pickles followed me into unemployment (naturally, since they had become part of my weekly routine). And in my unrelenting, fruitless Glasgow flat hunt, the only entity I could house far more easily than myself was a vegetable.

I started – and failed – with sauerkraut, producing a sulfuric stink which frankly felt selfish to house in my friend’s mum’s kitchen. Halfway through a drunken falafel wrap from

the local Lebanese restaurant, I became mesmerised by the magenta cuboid fingers (turnip torshi) fondling my falafel and thereafter found a renewed sense of purpose pickling pink radishes and purple beetroot to mimic them. My obsession ended when the sauerkraut pastry from the Transylvanian shop on Victoria Road no longer tasted like inspiration. It was official. I’d found a flat. Humans have pickled with vinegar since Mesapotamia in 30 BCE; lacto-fermented pickling was born in ancient China approximately 9000 years ago. The Victorians were so enamoured by pickles that they became a status symbol. Heinz leapt on the opportunity to capitalise, creating a resin pickle pin and slogan: “A man who found himself in a pickle… was saved by one”. And in my state of jobless, couch surfing limbo, I think the joy of pickling – of holding uprooted veg in space and time – might have saved me.

Polly Burnay is an artist based in Glasgow.