Lists are for the Guidance of Wise Men and the Direction of Fools

The List magazine guide to eating and drinking in Glasgow and Edinburgh fails to provide an unbiased or comprehensive guide.

Forgive me the title paraphrasing and allow me a confession: I, too, use guides.

Now that unburdening is out of the way let me explain. For overseas trips and impromptu city visits they are necessary, merely to avoid hours of wandering around looking for any decent watering holes that would ensue if one arrived directionless.

Where there is time for a decent amount of research I do just that, drawing on a wide selection of sources and opinions. My own experience is the best source I know but until cloning becomes free on the NHS my singular presence can never be enough to stride every corner of the globe.

When it comes to nearer home I do look at bar guides, sometimes to fill gaps in my imbibing knowledge but mostly to compare notes, to see what others think of pubs I like and dislike. It can be quite diverting.

For a few years The List has been probably the best-known eating guide in Scotland. It has ambitions UK-wide but it can’t match, sorry, the big marketing budgets of English-based competitors. And this is shown most clearly when you look at the List’s online presence.

But I used to look forward to the latest hard copy List Guide, or magazine, as you could call it with validity before the true arrival of the internet.

The guide’s concentration upon restaurants meant that my interest was merely frivolous but in recent years, with the blurring of lines between eateries and drinkeries, The List started a new section on pubs and bars. This direct move into my territory ceased the offhand way I would look at the annual publication.

It quickly became clear that The List reviewers were selecting bars from a narrow range, largely ruling out traditional bars. A few were included but even this small number decreased until this year only a handful from Glasgow and Edinburgh are reviewed.

Omissions from Glasgow include The Horseshoe, The Scotia, Liosmore, The Laurieston, The Steps Bar and The Old Toll. Within this number are interiors showing the best intact examples of Edwardian, Art Deco and ‘60s design you will find in virtually any British pub. And they aren’t mere museum pieces, good times can be enjoyed at any hour they open their doors.

Only two venues are reviewed east of High Street – West Brewery and The Vintage, these being included only for their craft beer. Meanwhile, two absolute period gems The Railway Tavern and The Portland Arms don’t feature because they are too far east and too working class.

In Edinburgh there are also many great bars ignored. For example, the magazine mentions how vibrant Leith is as a focus of hospitality but in this area alone, stalwarts such as The Central Bar, Carriers Quarter and Port o’ Leith are missing.

And, popping downtown to the New Town and Stockbridge, no reviews of places like The Bailey, Star Bar and Kay’s Bar. The latter’s omission is particularly noteworthy. This tiny mews bar with a unique appearance and atmosphere featured before in the magazine but not this time.

Two other distinguished names The Sheep’s Heid (possibly the city’s oldest) and The Canny Man (possibly the city’s haughtiest landlord) were also previously included but not now. No list of Edinburgh pubs can sensibly omit such idiosyncratic items as these, their distinguishing features going beyond the latest bar fashions.

This fixation with fashion may be explained by my suspicion that a majority of the reviewers are wannabe hipsters who don’t have an appreciation of what actually makes Glasgow and Edinburgh the drinking cities they are. They have no perspective on the development of nightlife on a timespan beyond last year and are then unable to define a city from any other.

So we get a list of bar reviews that could just as easily be describing a joint in Birmingham or Buckingham as in one of our two largest cities. Maybe that’s what they want, an identikit, chain-city where they and fellow pseudo trendies can play unmolested by the rest of the population?

Their narrow focus and lack of knowledge manifest themselves, for example, in an ignorance – wilful or not – of any kind of bar scene in Glasgow’s East End and in their treatment of an area such as Finniestion. For The List and its writers the district is just Glasgow’s version of Shoreditch/Hoxton.

Its industrial legacy and claim to be the last part of Glasgow’s west end to be gentrified mean pretty much nothing to them and they seem to have no knowledge that Finnieston has always had plenty of bars – before the ratio of traditional to contemporary pubs was 9-1 and it’s now vice versa.

Aside from the content of the magazine, it claims that all review visits are incognito and that inclusion is not secured through payment. A strange claim that when you consider the consistent inclusion of certain joints and the equally consistent exclusion of similar places bars and restaurants.

And from Edinburgh’s famous Rose Street the Abbotsford is featured while the equally impressive Kenilworth is not. One wonders why until you notice the large ad placed by the pub group owning the Abbotsford, the Guildford Arms and others, all of which are included in the guide.

Bar/nightlife guides are useful and fun and, hopefully, free but unless you are a recently-bearded clone who thinks the best fun to be had when the sun goes down is a few craft beers at the opening of the 38th Brewdog outlet, steer clear of The List.

The Bridge Inn, Ratho

The Bridge Inn, 27 Baird Road, Ratho, Newbridge, Edinburgh EH28 8RA


Prosperous cities cast their wealth well beyond their actual boundaries. Aside from London, and despite the recession, Edinburgh is probably the wealthiest place per capita in the UK. So, it’s not surprising that Fife to the north and, across the firth, East Lothian show many of the trappings of money earned in our capital. Bankers and ancillary professionals have bought up much of this land for first or second homes, raising prices and dominating the neighbourhoods.

One recent day, The Muse, FBB (Fledgling Bar Biographer – if there are any bars left in 17 years time) and I headed east to examine this phenomenon for ourselves. At least, I think that’s why they came with me.

We did, eventually reach the East Lothian coast but we stopped for lunch in a district even closer to Edinburgh: Ratho, just to the west. It’s slightly too far out to be a suburb but too close to be commuter belt. It’s only pub is The Bridge Inn and I’d spotted it a few times from the train. A situation right above the Union Canal made it look particularly inviting and it went down in the wee black book (the book’s original use has considerably lapsed) for future investigation.

The original building is at the road front and is three or four rooms, one with TV and pool table, served by a modest bar. Nicely traditional and a comfortable place to spend a few hours, not necessarily, though, a place you would count on for a real good skinfull. Ratho’s not that kind of place, really. Good times are to be enjoyed quietly with an air of reserve and respectability. Enjoy yourself, certainly, but keep those things in mind.

The nature of Ratho is more obvious in the large extended section of the inn. Large windows and smooth wooden floors give it an airy feel. This is the bistro part of the operation and from here you have an elevated view right along the westward canal. The only better view is, in fact, from the large patio.

A few loud rugby-shirt-wearing blokes were outside – a side event from some UK tour it seemed – but inside it was pure Ratho – local couples out for lunch, middle-aged ladies in intimate groups of old friends and the occasional tourist passing through. The food on offer is fresh and pleasant and not too expensive. It seems the Ratho-ites do their costly fine dining in the Capital itself on expense accounts.

I’ve since learned the inn has its own walled garden a few hundred yards away from which most vegetables used come and even its own herd of saddleback pigs. I had the pork belly and crackling so can vouch for the quality of this product and for the owners’ serious commitment to food provenance.





A nearby table were probably aware of all of this as they seemed like regulars. Ten or twelve of the same family. Three generations out for a celebration lunch. The patriarch – around 65 – had the relaxed air only the rich possess and the family beneath him spoke of the professional classes and/or third-generation inherited wealth.

Three seats remained empty and inside five minutes they were exquisitely filled. The son of the main man – early thirties and a presentable enough chap – accompanied by his spouse and son of around five years of age. Mother and son were the attention grabbers. They made the rest of their company look ordinary. The lad – a trendy patch navy tweed jacket probably from Harvey Nicks Kids and his mummy in impossibly white jeans and an effortlessly casual cream jacket either from a boutique in the New Town or, say, Lower Sloane Street if she and hubby had visited London within the last six weeks or so.

Now, the Muse and I make up a decent-looking couple but this was, frankly, intimidating. It is easier to accept in a nightclub where people push the limits of appearance and bling can be as easy to admire as it is to envy but in this relaxed daytim-setting the effect was magnified.

The rest of our lunch was uneventful and I was merely pleased to limit my glances over to THE table. Inwardly, though, I toasted them their good fortune and continued luck ahead, if they needed it.

The Bridge Inn is a decent refreshment stop; a well-appointed hostelry with a winning waterside location. Private dining cruises along the canal are also available as are four very comfortable rooms. And it’s ideal for those not wanting to dip completely into Edinburgh itself for lunch, dinner or drinks.

We continued on our way to discover just how far that city’s tentacles of wealth reach out to grab the surrounding land and people. Gullane, Haddington, North Berwick et al were to follow that afternoon and evening. But that can wait.

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.