I’ve been enjoying playing tourist in my own hometown lately, so when one of my eight godchildren came to visit recently, this godmother was firmly on a mission to impress.
The guest in question is a 20-something godson who has recently taken up a post in the west of Scotland doing something so tedious that we barely touched on it. No matter – there was an action-packed schedule to get through.
First up: The Spence, the brasserie at Gleneagles Townhouse. Playing off a six handicap, my godson has had the privilege of caddying and playing at some of Scotland’s finest courses, Gleneagles among them, but he’d never visited their Edinburgh outpost, conveniently positioned beside the St Andrew Square tram stop.
The Spence is housed in a former bank, it has all the bones you’d hope for – ornate cornicing, soaring ceilings, a beautiful cupola – with an island bar overlooking the dining areas, soft table lamps and comfortable fabric seating lending it a warmth that grand rooms don’t always manage. The open kitchen looks onto the bar, and the team work with quiet coherence to produce all-day dining that feels simultaneously effortless and considered – the soft hum of music, the buzz of conversation, the unhurried pace of people grazing rather than rushing.
Shaping the menus across the hotel and private members’ club is Executive Chef Elliot Hill, relatively new to the role but already making his mark. Previously at the Chester Grosvenor, where he helped Arkle earn three AA Rosettes within six months and caught the attention of the Michelin Guide, Hill brings a produce-led philosophy and strong relationships with local producers, both old friends and new neighbours. The result is seasonally-inspired modern classic cuisine. There’s also a comprehensive 19-page wine list – read that as very comprehensive, with several bottles comfortably out of the league of your average diner (including me).
The godson wanted to kick off with a beer, which gave me the perfect excuse to seek guidance on a single glass of Chenin Blanc. Sommelier Lizzy helped me navigate the 125ml pours – a detail I appreciated.
For starters, I chose the Heritage Beetroot with linseed crispbread, horseradish and Katy Rodger’s yogurt: earthy, fruity and beautifully balanced. The godson went for the Gleneagles Oak Smoked Salmon with buttermilk, cucumber and dill, which he described, somewhat unhelpfully, as “incredible.” I’ll have to take his word for it – my fish allergy ensured I couldn’t share, not that he was offering.
For main course he chose the Pork Tenderloin with Stornoway black pudding, cheek, apple, cabbage and mustard – a dish I was perfectly happy to pick at – while I went for the Scottish Borders Hogget with purple sprouting broccoli, wild garlic and curd, with a cheeky portion of skin-on fries on the side.
For wine, we turned to Margi, another of their sommeliers, who was impressively sure-footed for someone on their first day – who guided us towards a Bulgarian Soli Pinot Noir when I said I wanted to venture off the beaten path. Produced by Italian winemaker Edoardo Miroglio in the Thracian Valley, it has the ripe fruit character and delicate texture of something Burgundian, at a fraction of the price. She was spot on.
Dessert was a single scoop of sea salt and caramel ice cream for me (all I could manage), while the godson tackled the Triple Valrhona Chocolate. But I’ve already clocked the Honeycomb Baked Alaska for a return visit – some friends are coming to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary, and it has my name on it for this occasion.
All in all, a perfect start to the weekend, with attentive, charming staff – particularly restaurant manager Roberto and Chef Hill – and cooking that more than lived up to the setting.
For a whistle-stop account of what else we got up to: we had a nightcap at the Scotch Malt Whisky Society on Queen Street. I’d treated myself to membership back in January as a birthday gift to myself but, having been out of town for months, hadn’t yet made it through the door.
Saturday began with a bracing walk to Leith via the cycle path – the perfect way to show the godson a different side to the city. We stopped for breakfast (technically lunch by that point) at SABZI on Ferry Road, for their Wrestler’s Breakfast: a Full Scottish with a Punjabi twist, epic in both size and flavour. I only wish there were a lightweight version available – it really is a lot of food.
We ducked into the Shore Distillery in the heart of Leith, which has its roots on the Isle of Skye. We didn’t have time for one of their guided tastings on this occasion, but it’s firmly on the list for next time. For anyone interested, they offer a curated tasting of handpicked spirits – from botanical gins to coastal-inspired whisky – from £20 per person.
Then it was back on the tram for some culture at the Portrait Gallery, where my godson – a one-time aspiring pilot – and I took in the Alfred Buckham: Daredevil Photographer exhibition. Buckham was a true trailblazer, soaring above what was thought possible in 20th-century photography and aviation; his extraordinary aerial images and the innovative techniques he developed paved the way for technologies we now take for granted. Worth knowing: it closes on 19 April, so be quick.
A swift pint of Guinness at Teuchters on William Street – long beloved for its malt whiskies and Scottish cask ales – and then it was time for my pièce de résistance: the Martini Experience. This is my closely guarded secret, but if you know, you know. It was my sixth time (and second with a godchild), and it won’t be my last – it has become something of a rite of passage gift for them.
Under the excellent guidance of Will – charming, wise beyond his years, part mixologist, part historian (he’s collaborating on a dissertation about the history of the Martini), final-year Arabic student and future lawyer – we were expertly walked through five martinis, each one a chapter in the drink’s evolution. He coped admirably with the banter. We rounded off the evening with dinner at Ting Thai Caravan, budget-friendly, consistently great food and service, before retiring home to bed, thoroughly satiated.
I think this godmother earned her brownie points.
