The Central Bar, Leith

The Central Bar and the old Central Station, image by LHOON

The Central Bar, 7-9 Leith Walk, Edinburgh EH6 8LN

Leith has undergone a famous transformation over the last fifteen years or so. Post-Trainspotting you could call it. The redevelopment has been mainly around the sea/ firthfront and such has been the change that many locals will have almost forgotten what it was like before. Of course the wealthy incomers won’t have a clue, and wouldn’t care either.

The Shore’s row of bars and restaurants, which includes such prestigious residents as Martin Wishart’s place, is the hub of the area’s hostelries. I took a few minutes there to reflect, in the aftermath of what was, ultimately, another bruising encounter with the machinations of the corporate world.

Nae money and an empty stomach

The main focus of that rumination was just how much of a dent in the ungenerous prospective salary would be caused by even a prix fixe lunch in any one of the restaurants here, let alone a Fruits De Mer platter at The Ship on The Shore.

I was, unsurprisingly, soon feeling hungry but needed to get to the other, cheaper parts of Leith. So hungry that I bypassed a pint in Carriers Quarters and the inestimable Port o’ Leith – a rare remnant at this end of town – and even a first visit to The Pond along Salamander Street.

Constitution Street, my route, is grim and grey looking as only Edinburgh thoroughfares can be. Its countenance is brightened by pubs such as the Port o’ and to a lesser extent places such as Nobles.

My pangs were that bad I reluctantly eschewed the well-loved Alan Breck (I wonder how many pubs in Edinburgh have RLS associations?) It was easier walking past the depressingly large Foot of the Walk Wetherspoon outlet. But once onto Leith Walk things brightened up somehow and I couldn’t walk past The Central Bar.

A modest gem of a pub

Situated back-to-back with the old railway station, even once having a direct exit/entrance door connecting the two, The Central is dated from the last year of the 19th century. Its modest frontage belies its cultural importance round here. A mainstay of night and day for over a century and counting, and with a celebrated interior.

The ceiling-to-floor tiling is the first thing that grabs when you enter the large square room. Red, brick-like tiles punctuated by colourful sporting scenes: golfing, hunting and sailing. Long mirrors also break-up the delightful monotony, as does the black plasterwork ceiling, and the excellent leaded glass.

Instantly you feel the old-fashioned nature in here. From the great examples of Victoriana to the mostly elderly clientele, to the way in which the punters regard each other - interact would be too active a verb. Acquaintances are greeted with a nod and a shift of the seat to allow them space at the bar, and strangers are watched subtly for a few moments before being allowed to get on with their own thing.

Getting a pint gives you the view of the famously ornate gantry. It, like the horseshoe counter, is a relatively small thing in this big, high-ceilinged room but it holds your attention. I noted down “mythical winged creatures” for the carved figures, which is correct, but the specific term is “Griffin”. The body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle. Something I should have known outright, knowing well the pub of the same name near Charing Cross, G2.

The counter has two short modesty screens or dividers or lean-againsts. They are primarily decorative, which is no bad thing.

As hinted at earlier, my budget was tight. So I ordered a half Carling. The Polish barman, however, misheard me, handing me a full one instead. But coming in at roughly £2.50 I felt unable to correct him.

Toilets are ok, but I wasn’t able to find the old door to the old rail platform. On the way I went past the superfluous Over 25s only sign, beside other notices such as No Dogs and No Illicit Substances. Perhaps these are more necessary to keep in line any recalcitrant locals. Bampots, many would call them.

But no such mayhem was anywhere near this afternoon, nor the various bands that liven the evenings. No, just a seat in one of the surprisingly comfortable low-booths. The perfect spot to watch the old guys at the bar, some TV sport, the passing tops of buses and the leaves fluttering up Leith Walk.

Have hip flask will sit

I left reluctantly. Time and empty stomach forcing me onwards. Soon I passed the Spey Lounge on the next corner of the Walk and was tempted to enter this notorious haven of hardened habitués. But no, I continued walking, and by a little barbershop I stopped in a little Polish-run café for a roll and tuna.

It seems that the barber’s is owned by the café lady’s partner. It would be good marketing to have one helping the custom of the other but I couldn’t think of any link. Sitting outside, feeling satisfied by the roll, I topped up my glass of coke with a few measures of whisky from my hip flask. It felt wrong though. It should really have been vodka.

Another great viewpoint, though, to watch the masses going about their days far from the Shore and its fancy restaurants. Mothers with prams, OAPs, groups of kids, Eastern Europeans, other economic migrants, not many suits, the incapacitated. Come to think of it, how badly would pubs be doing if it weren’t for Incapacity Benefit? There would be even more going the way of the boarded up Balfours Bar a little further up the street.

All around, lives planned from day-to-day, giro-to-giro, payment to next payment from the Cheque Centre. No expenses-lunches, or afternoon teas with the girls, or easy breaks between lucrative contracts, nor enough money to engage an advisor for financial planning.

Suddenly I was up and off to meet somebody within the maelstrom of the Festival, but nobody round here seemed affected by what was happening up in the city centre. They hurried by in all directions, eventually heading home today or tonight or tomorrow morning, to homes that would definitely be somewhere other than the expensive pads by the water in new Leith.

The Audley

The Audley, 41-43 Mount Street, Mayfair, London W1K 2RP Walking through Mayfair recently (as you do) it suddenly occurred to me why this district has always held such prestige. There are many other wealthy areas in a city that’s one of the world’s largest money pots: Knightsbridge, Belgravia, Chelsea etc but none of them quite carry the same mystique as Mayfair. And the reason has more to do with just its position on the Monopoly board. Mayfair’s name was made before the Mayfair Set of the 60’s but those ruthless tycoons cemented the area’s position as the most fashionable and indeed clubbable London district. Clubs like Annabel’s and Tramp (lavish new smoking terrace recently unveiled) were the byword for celebrity hangouts in the 60’s and 70’s. Those names are now seen as old old school but in recent years Mayfair has poached much of today’s top celebrity scene from neighbouring Soho, pulling in the A to Z listers with clubs like The Embassy, Mahiki and Whisky Mist. I wasn’t looking for anything as bling or booming as these haunts. Just a wee pub to sit in for around half an hour. And I wasn’t interested in finding something mockney owned by Guy Ritchie and similarly over-exposed and under-talented associates. So, something humble then, or at least as humble as is possible in these environs. I had gone past the best-looking hotel in London, Claridges, but had lacked the nerve to go past the doormen to sneak a peek at the art deco fumoir and rest my tired feet that had taken me from Euston at the same time, so I resolved to enter the next place that looked welcoming. On Audley Street, which runs roughly north to south, I spied a pub of the same name at the corner with Mount Street. In I went. It was reasonably busy already even though it was still late morning. Nicely darkened interior with chandeliers that wouldn’t have been out of place in an expensive restaurant or hotel. Looked like plenty of staff but there was a pause before service, which I only tolerate because it gives me more time to look around without anyone suspecting I’m a tax officer or other such snoop. I did notice the red ceiling, the lustrous red ornate kind with elaborate plasterwork that feature in so many London pubs. The deep red above goes well with the black and white chequer board strip of flooring in front of the immaculately polished bar. When I was served I took a Tribute ale from the St. Austell brewery. Quite an enjoyable beer it was too, sitting outside in the double enclosure they have going; the original railings and their own demarcation of the wide pavement getting as close to a beer garden feel as the surroundings allow. Customised troughs for cigarette butts, powerful burners, and plenty of foliage complete the thoughtful outdoor provisions. So comfortable it was that I was nursing my half pint (I had a business appointment in Hammersmith so had to stay reasonably compus. It proved to be another dead-end appointment, but I wasn’t to know that then). The lunchtime rush hadn’t begun so I was left undisturbed by other patrons or staff so could peruse the food menu at ease. Taylor Walker the pub owners seem to go big on British classics, such as fish and chips. They even detail on their website how many they sell across their string of London pubs. 10,000 a week! I picked up a few more details from their website such as Michelle Obama’s impromptu visit a couple of years ago and the Audley’s other celebrity patrons. The only other thing I noticed on site was the neighbouring Cellar 41 Pool Club, something a little out of place round here. A little further along Mount Street is Scott’s seafood restaurant, a distinguished place reputed to be Ian Fleming’s favourite. He’s the sort of fellow you associate with Mayfair. I left for my appointment that I hoped, vainly, would furnish me with a few more pennies, not a problem for most Mayfair residents. And that’s one of the points about it. In Mayfair you feel detached, protected from the rest of the world. Partly because it’s cosily enclosed by Park Lane, Oxford Street, Regent Street and Piccadilly. And partly because the shops, banks, restaurants, clubs, businesses and embassies here inhabit somewhere other than the real world elsewhere. But that’s what you think once you leave Mayfair and look in. From within, looking out, it’s quite the opposite. Merely a matter of perspective.

Where's My Bloody Invite!? - The Dram Awards 2011

The recent Dram Magazine’s Scottish Licensed Trade Awards were, I am told, a good old shindig for all invited. A musical welcome outside the newish (Grand) Central Hotel and plush surroundings inside were only some of the delights waiting for those lucky enough to be included. The hotel itself has an interesting bar, Champagne Central, the grand but unimaginative name. It didn’t feature in any of the award nominee lists, perhaps because its teething problems remain (see my earlier blog). Anyway, as I mentioned in my Tweet on the awards I wasn’t invited to the jamboree. Evidently they wanted it kept to those in the ‘trade’ not including humble punters or critics. I will, however, try to keep my disappointment hidden within the following comments on the winners and runners-up. Moskito on Bath Street has been a thriving operation for over a decade, somehow managing to feature in the bar scene with barely a ripple of punter recognition. Its confines are best for a low-key night or after work drinks. However, it and its owners must be well-regarded by their peers and competitors, judging by their winning of the Benromach Award for Success in the owner/operator category. The Oak Tree, in Balmaha was runner-up. A good place by the bonnie banks in sunshine, but it needs to do something about its toilets, they get overwhelmed when the crowds appear. In the multiple operator category The Ubiquitous Chip group were victorious, a fair reward for their consistency and subtle innovation, which has continued despite the death of Ronnie Clydesdale last year. Part of the group, Stravaigin on Gibson Street, was unlucky to be just a runner-up, along with the Roseleaf, Edinburgh, in the Gastro Pub Award. Stravaigin’s extension and refurb has been a great success and they must have more than doubled their takings since, the drinking and eating side of the pub now given equal space. The winner, the Birds & The Bees in Stirling must be providing a great service to its customers to have beaten suchcontenders. Whiski in Edinburgh, on North Bridge Street, won the Glenmorangie Whisky Bar prize. I haven’t yet visited this bar but I like the 3 in 1 concept; a whisky shop, bistro and bar in the same location. This kind of business, combining retail with licensed premises is the way of the future for drinking establishments, following the lead of coffee shop/delicatessens that are proving popular everywhere. Kraken Rum sponsored the Cocktail Bar of the Year. The winner, Bath Street Pony, occupies a site that has housed many different bar ventures, The Brick and Tom Tom come to mind, of differing success. Pony seems to be on the right track and has obviously established itself as a cocktail or premium destination, something that none of the previous bars had done. To have beaten such contenders as Bond No. 9 in Leith – absinthe experts amongst other attributes – and Booly Mardy’s – which has probably the best team of bar staff in the city – in the cocktail category, shows impressive development. Staying with great bar/cocktail staff, the winner of the Apprentice of the Year was Niall Webster of Bramble. He is part of an outstanding team. My first visit saw me impressed by the mixing skill and retentive memory of the barman – not sure if he was head honcho Mikey – undiminished by the departure of my brother for being tired/emotional/drunk. You get used to these things. Two Glasgow bars were nominated as New Bar of the Year. Boudoir on Candleriggs is trying to re-invent the wine bar, with luxurious drapes and a connoisseur’s attitude to fine wines, and fine imported beers that go beyond your Tiger and Moretti beers. I remember a 750ml Duchessa from Italy at £16. Expensive yes, but good to see beer being treated with the same respect as wine. Limelight at Hotel Indigo, the other nominee, must be getting good press to have reached such dizzy heights already but it needs to buck the trend of unsuccessful hotel bars and a vicinity that dies after 6pm and at the weekends. It actually won the best design award as well as this other nomination but it may well be a look that is lost on everyone bar hotel guests. In some ways its not surprising that Oran Mor won the Sunday Mail readers Bar of the Year. Its sheer size and location mean plenty of punters who will then vote in greater numbers than most other places. However, it has lost what it once had, the feeling that it was at the centre of things. Six or seven years after its opening there’s still no background music to dampen the harsh cacophony of hundreds of conversations and the smell of stale beer round the bar area is a big problem. For late-night drinking I much prefer the small bar next door – it even has a DJ – or downstairs. The switch of the brasserie into an after-dark bar shows though that owner Colin Beattie is still innovating and listening to what his customers want. Something he’s been doing for countless years across the city, from Jarvies and Granny Gibbs in Yoker and Scotstoun, to the Liosmor, Ben Nevis and many more in the heart of the west end. He was rewarded with the Lifetime Achievement gong. For that longevity, contemporary bar design that doesn’t compromise locality, and his support for the arts as well as the hospitality sector, Mr Beattie was probably the most deserving winner of the evening

The Star Bar

The Star Bar, 537-539 Eglinton Street, Glasgow G5 9RN

They used to be just about as legendary as The Horseshoe’s lunches. Three courses for £1.99!!! I remember seeing the amazing signs outside the place in the days before I was entitled to walk through its doors. Even then, without any conception of cost of living, bills and other financial burdens, I was taken aback. Another thing that was noticeable about The Star Bar back then was the amount of local workers coming and going from the premises, a real hive it seemed to my impressionable eyes.

Never having been a resident of the South Side my visits as a bona fide drinker have been irregular but on my occasional visits I have seen that, like many pubs, less and less working people were popping in. This is partly explained by how little business seems to be going on round this part of Eglinton Street.

Even the bus drivers after finishing their shifts at the depot on Butterbiggins Road are largely absent, a change in culture or maybe more are using the uninspiring Depot Bar on Victoria Street.

The Star’s location is eye-catching though, sitting at what is locally called a gushet, where two roads meet as in a V. I’ve commented before on certain bars that sit at gushets, The Brass Monkey in Finnieston being one. In that piece I likened it to New York’s Flatiron Building, but the Star’s building resembles that landmark even more than The Brass Monkey’s.

I recently re-visited the Star Bar on a warm day where the door on the Eglinton Street side was open (the Victoria Road side door not) to allow in a bit of breeze. It somehow added to the easy feeling inside, having the street sounds and smells brought closer. It almost made you forget how much this part of the city has declined since the days of the Plaza Ballroom. So much so that the other local bar, called the Maxwell Road Bar at the moment, seems to have irregular hours and may be near to closing for good.

The public bar of The Star preserves some of the atmosphere of the 60s, when the Plaza was at its zenith. The small tables, brown check lino, old curtains over the tile-paned windows and the suspended canopy over the bar counter all speak of that time.

Because of this it does remind you of The Laurieston a mile or so back down the street towards town. The Star isn’t as well maintained though. It’s clean enough but it seems the money hasn’t been there over the years to preserve the place fully.

Not that the owners since 1984, Giovanna and Paul, haven’t done their utmost to keep the pub at the heart of what community remains round here. Friday and Saturday nights see the live bands KT and Faberge, and Kaviar perform respectively and The Star hosts many regulars’ birthday parties and other celebrations.

There’s also board games and domino sets lying around, props to get people talking to each other as much as anything else. The bar staff keep the friendly vibe going too, chatty without being nosy. Many will like the Barrs bottles used for mixers too, a nice touch in these days of strict branding.

In here everything gravitates towards the corner of the room, the wedge-end where the TV sits. So much more interesting than a square room, it seems like the corner is somehow the centre of the space.

And what of the lunches? Inflation seems to have affected even these. Lunches from £2.50 say the signs. For that you get homemade soup or fruit juice; main course of things like Roast Beef, Scotch Pie, Roast Turkey, Sausage Hotpot, all with the trimmings of your choice; pudding of creamed rice or jelly with fruit (tinned). If you want breaded fish or ashet pie there’s a 50p supplement. I call it profiteering.

But wait! Those signs I remember of £1.99 lunches were contemporary with pints priced around £1. So if my memories are actually correct (readers, please correct me if £1.99 is wrong) in that time the lunches have increased by 25% when alcohol prices have gone up threefold. Says something about the various Chancellors of the Exchequer over that period of time.

I went through next door to the Lounge Bar, this extension provided by the progressive 1940s proprietor James Haxton who realised that women needed a comfortable area in which to enjoy their drink and chat. (Thanks to John Gorevan, the Glasgow pub historian, for this fact. He also notes that The Star was called Ye Olde Quadrivium and The Eglinton Bar in the era before WW11).

The Lounge has more comfortable seating than the Public Bar, dark leather booths featuring. It’s darker and warmer in here, just what you would expect in a lounge I suppose. But also more generic, less singular than the room next door.

More folk were having the £2.50 lunches in here. Most of them pensioners. It seems they can afford them. Perhaps they have index-linked pensions or other such complicated financial arrangements I care not to understand.

Either that or they are following the saying “to eat, and to drink, and to be merry, for tomorrow they will die,” – my apologies for amending Ecclesiasties. Whatever our age, it’s a good motto to live by.

Browns Bar & Brasserie - 1 George Square

Browns Bar & Brasserie, 1 George Square, Glasgow G2 1DY

George Square needed a place like this, something befitting Glasgow’s official centre and grandest landmark. Up until Browns, all we had were another bland Wetherspoons (Counting House) the shifty pubs under Queen Street station, the Millennium Hotel, and the modest The Edge on the corner with Cochrane Street.

Admittedly Jamie Oliver has arrived, but it is just a name and any place that forbids reservations just to create the buzz of queues at its door, doesn’t feature on my radar. I also doubt whether you can just enter for an imbibe-only visit.

Browns bills itself as a Bar & Brasserie and first impressions are well, impressive. There’s a large area greeting you inside the single glass door – should really be a double door to block cold north breezes – I’d say around 3,000 square feet, with a dais on the far right of the room.

Colour scheme is an elegant union of creams and browns and the seating eclectic, my favourite being the high chairs that have their own personal bar; the tables resembling a counter. The management seem to prefer having you wait to get seated judging by the way a waitress intercepted our path to a nice table with curved couch seating. My impatience, nay abruptness, causing me trouble again.

We were graciously allowed to stay where we were though and watched as others waited for a staff member to lead them to their table. At least half seemed to have booked and were led to the dais, joined soon by a group of ladies to our left who had been enjoying birthday celebration drinks at the aforementioned high-chairs. I like that: no, not ladies, well yes of course I do…oh forget it… I mean pre-dinner drinks. Gets you in the mood, so most people say.

The food is brasserie-style, no surprises there, and reasonable for such a central location. The grill options look particularly well-priced and does the Prix Fixe. This is the kind of place you would meet an old friend from out of town, fresh off the train, an easy rendezvous in an establishment that won’t embarrass the city.

A place also for taking mum for afternoon tea. That’s what me and The Muse did, even though respective mothers were missing. There had been a wee wait before we received any sort of menu, but we disguised our slight annoyance and took to observing the interior more closely. The distinctive small barrel-shaped chandeliers caught our attention, unusual. The large central bar – wood-slatted with a metal top - is quite stately but could do with being a slightly darker wood to give it real presence. And perhaps they could do without the branding on the large clocks, but overall there is a pleasing old-fashioned salon feel to this joint.

That extends to the nicely formal service and to the high tea we received. Cucumber, and salmon sandwiches minus the crust, cream scones, selection of four cakes, and loose tea with a strainer each. This and a choice of the particular tea blend. All for £10.95 for two. Great value.

I know a lot of places are doing high-tea now, but it can be done badly, as a recent visit to The Blind Pig on Byres Road demonstrated, their effort, including chipped crockery and lukewarm tea, was abysmal. Here, I had all the tea my pot could provide and the food was light and without obvious flaw.

A few groups of gents had now arrived around the bar seeking mere session-beers, and service was a little slow for them as the barman struggled with a few orders especially with cocktails. We decide to add to his troubles. The cocktail list is just one part of varied selections in all aspects of booze, from the often-neglected dessert wines & ports, to gins – 9 choices – to beers, which include one of my personal favourites, Cusquena. I don’t need, though, to be told the units of alcohol in each beer, as they have decided to inform you at the bottom of the page.

The offer of one of their Signature Cocktails, a selection of around 15, for £4.95 from Sunday afternoon until Wednesday close was too good to pass. The Muse went for a Bramble, while I headed east for a Sherbet Caiprovska.

After placing our order I went downstairs where there are more tables in an area that looks like an overflow or for private-hire. But it also features a really imaginative seating layout. A select few tables sit out under the glass pavement above, an outside-in feel to be enjoyed whether it’s sunny or when, more commonly, the raindrops gather then slide along and down the glass, making you glad to be indoors.

I returned to enjoy my cocktail and The Muse and I, reflected, as is our wont on these occasions that the city has gained something here. This is despite the fact that Browns is part of a London-based chain that has now spread into double figures across the country, we do like to see home-grown ventures.

Browns is likely to compete with establishments like Urban Brasserie in the middle-income-elegance stakes, and Glasgow has an inhabitant worthy of its most prestigious address.