Sabrina and I first visited Edinburgh together in the deep midwinter and its bright lights and warm bars were a balm from the freezing cold and damp of the ancient castle where we were staying, just a few miles to the south.
Now we are discovering that this city is never more enchanting than in high summer, when the deep greys of its gorgeous granite contrast fetchingly with powder blue skies and languorous evenings stretch ever onwards in the seemingly inexhaustible Northern light.
Intrigued by its storied past we are staying in the Scottish Renaissance splendour of the Scotsman, which was ingeniously transformed from the century old offices and printing presses of the Scotsman and Edinburgh Evening News newspapers into an hotel two decades ago. A friend of ours who worked at the Scotsman as a young journalist back in the day, had spoken fondly of her time there in the final years before the move to new premises and it’s not difficult to imagine how this walnut-panelled, marble-staircased monument was in the heady heyday of hot metal typesetting, chain-smoking reporters and steam trains whisking bundles of newspapers to all points of the compass from Waverley Station, which is directly below the building.
The conversion can’t have been easy and with pandemic induced staff shortages, it is still a work in progress, but the scale of the Scotsman’s ambition to create its own standard of luxury deserves fulsome praise, from the painstakingly patient explanation by the peerless concierge, Brian about which ‘peaty’ single malt we should buy for friends and where to find it (our combined knowledge of whisky being almost zero), to the hotel manager’s decision to only open the opulent Grand Café for part of the week as “it takes fifty staff to operate it to the standards we like”.
Situated as we are on the North Bridge between the Old & New Towns, we quickly sate our curiosity for the wee dram and tartan theme park that The Royal Mile has recently become and the glitzy, granite version of London’s Oxford St, which is today’s Princes Street. This new flesh may be a taint, but the city’s lovely bone structure and fascinating history endures beyond these two ravaged spines, as we explore further afield.
Starting at Holyrood Park & Palace, we climb the hill to explore the Old Calton burial ground, the scene of grave robbing skulduggery in the early 1800s, as enterprising thieves sought to cash in on the insatiable demand of the city’s many anatomy schools for cadavers. From the top of the watchtower built in 1820 to deter these grave robbers, we look across to the austere Robert Adam designed mausoleum where philosopher and historian David Hume lies and in the far distance to the granite monoliths of the Martyrs’ obelisk and the inverted telescope-shaped Nelson’s monument on Calton hilltop.
Also there is the Parthenon style National Monument of Scotland, which is dedicated to Scottish servicemen who fell in the Napoleonic wars and was left half finished in 1829 due to a lack of funds, (an apt metaphor for England’s insufficient appreciation for Scotland’s contributions to the Union, which has certainly fuelled its independence movement). I must confess to a bias here, as I have distant Scottish roots on my father’s side of the family, although our humble lowland clan colours will never make the grade in any book of the great tartans.
Looking back rather wistfully from the summit of Calton Hill both to the volcanic mass of Arthur’s Seat in one direction and the Rock topped by Edinburgh castle in the other, I wished heartily that we had more than 36 hours here, and vow that next time I will climb all seven of this city’s dramatic hills.
Close by, the display of magnificent Greek Revival architecture continues with Regency architect William Playfair’s strikingly elegant Royal, Carlton and Regents Terraces. Sating our curiosity and thirst we drop into 24 Royal Terrace which has been artfully converted into an hotel and earmarking it for a future visit, we are shown a couple of the rooms (number 11 is especially beautiful). Hungry, we descend Jacob’s Ladder, a steep stairway carved centuries ago into the volcanic rock of Calton Hill as a short cut down to Waterloo Place in the New Town, where to our surprise we enjoy extraordinarily good Singapore Noodles in the (reassuringly crowded with Chinese families) upper room of an East Asian restaurant.
Singapore Noodles with Bok Choy: Serves Four
Surprisingly in my experience, the dish that bears this city’s name is nigh on impossible to find there. I first ate it years ago in Sydney’s Chinatown and there are two versions- the Chinese which is spiced with Curry Powder and the Malay version made with Chilis, which is the one that I prefer to make. Legend has it, that the name Singapore Noodles was actually invented by an enterprising restaurateur in China, to give these spicy noodles a more exotic allure.
1 lb fresh rice sticks, or 8 oz dried rice sticks; (if using dried you must soak them first)
1lb boneless skinless chicken breast, poached and shredded
1 lb small shrimp peeled and deveined
5 cloves garlic, minced
4 red Jalapeno chilis, or whatever chilis you like (they should have some heat)
1 lb bean sprouts
4 eggs scrambled
2 heaped tsp curry powder
4 whole Baby Bok Choy cut into four lengthwise
3 clove garlic, minced
Heat a wok or a very large fry pan with high sides, add 1 tablespoon of oil and scramble the eggs. Transfer to a dish, add a little more oil and quickly fry the shrimp, just until it changes colour. Transfer to a dish, add another 2 tablespoons of oil to the pan and then add the garlic and chilis (this should be done on the highest heat), toss and be careful not to let it burn. When the garlic mix is fragrant and golden, reduce the heat to medium low and return the shrimp, chicken and eggs then the noodles, bean sprouts and the curry powder to the wok; toss to combine. Add two to three dashes of Fish Sauce (or to taste), and serve with stir fried bok choy. Heat 1 tablespoon of oil, add the garlic until fragrant then add the bok choy, toss until done. Season with fish sauce to taste.
So surprising a discovery was this, that it even eclipsed the luscious lobster tail in bisque and beurre blanc we enjoyed that same evening in the White Horse Seafood and Oyster bar, as the most remarkable meal of our stay.
A magnificent portrait of Edinburgh, though tinged with sadness as Marco and Sabrina's stay at the old Scotsman newspaper HQ is a timely reminder of the sharp decline of the regional press. God, how I loved those days of chain-smoking, heavy drinking journalism, when the stories we researched and wrote really mattered to the community we served.
We visited Edinburgh a decade ago.. brought back some amazing memories