I took my nephew to this friendly Edinburgh pizza restaurant and he rated it 10/10
It’s been a while since I’ve done lunch with a small person
We had the baby of the family over for a sleepover last weekend.
As my sister is currently having chemotherapy, and he is always being teased and wound up by his older siblings, we thought he needed some auntie and uncle quiet time.
On Saturday morning, we visited the National Museum of Scotland, so he could see their current Giants exhibit, and check out the giant green inflatable puppet octopus, which was visiting and doing its benign wavy-armed Kraken thing in the grand hall.
“When was the last time you were in here?” we asked junior.
“Oh years ago,” he said, with all the gravitas of an old soul. He is six, going on 86.
Before he was born, we used to go to the museum loads, when we were babysitting his sisters and we’d often go for lunch afterwards at the nearby cafe, Spoon. I still have a memory of one of the nieces screaming that place down and me jiggling her at the window, in a desperate attempt to soothe her with some people watching.
However, it’s long gone - not our fault, I don’t think - and we felt a bit stuck, when it came to deciding where to eat. Civerinos? Too busy. Thomas J Walls? I love their Guinness cake, but it’s too quiet and grown-up. Museum’s Balcony Cafe? Mayhem.
In the end, we tried somewhere new to us - the eight-year-old Pizza Posto on Nicolson Street, since my husband had got a recommendation from a work pal.
It’s been a while since I ate out with a small child. We used to do it all the time.
My elder niece especially was a fixture, whenever I did my restaurant reviews for The Scotsman’s Saturday magazine. I was so proud of how omnivorous she was.
She’d snaffle vast bowls of mussels with gusto and try anything fearlessly. Now, she seems to survive on chips and curry sauce, kimchi noodles, and protein bars, while the middle child is a vegetarian and a sugar fiend, who is all about the brownies and Haribo.
Back when the nieces were wee, all the aide memoire pictures in my camera roll would show plates of food, with other things creeping into shot - the pink nylon hair of Barbies, little hands with brightly varnished fingernails, or ponies’ plastic legs and hooves.
I remember the constant quest for a decent (and clean) high-chair. And, once they’d outgrown those, the attempt to keep them in their seat.
“Sit nicely,” parents always say. Kids prefer to sit naughtily. It’s like trying to fold a snake.
I remember the elder niece getting a row from the owner of a dim-sum place in Leith because the wee horror kept going under the table.
It’s not always easy, eating out en famille.
I remember a few other lunches when they’d leave a trail of destruction. The water would inevitably get spilled, and the kids would always insist that their drinks have ice in them, which they’d then want to fish out, until the blocks skeetered off the table. The crayons would be scattered far and wide. Cardigans shed and left behind.
Also, it’s amazing how much money you can drop on babyccinos - essentially, a puff of milk. Then there’s the constant battle they put up for the forbidden Coca-Cola.
Anyway, since the third child was born, eating out with them has become expensive and rare. It’s more of a birthday thing, and we usually end up at favourites including Edinburgh’s Origano, Fazenda or Kenji.
All the more important that we enjoy our weekend post-museum lunch.
Pizza Posto got initial good marks since it’s massive, and situated across two levels, so you’re not squashed beside diners who might be enjoying romantic quiet lunches and stare at you as if you’ve brought a wild animal into the equation.
This place also wins because it provides colouring in sheets and crayons. Great distraction from any hangry feelings. Indeed, he had been saying he was starving for the last hour, though he’d refused to leave the museum. Instead of complaining, he swiftly coloured in the cartoon pizzaiolo, who soon had a blue beard and moustache, as well as a cascade of green snotters.
The kids menu is a very reasonable £8, including a Margherita pizza, with two additional toppings, juice, and an ice-cream - chocolate or vanilla. No frills.
I have never seen him look quite so enthusiastic about a main course, as he did here. Indeed, it was a beauty - the size of a Frisbee, with a puffy oven-dappled crust that was as inflated as that blow-up octopus, plus tons of mozzarella and his double meat additions of pepperoni and ham. He couldn’t have tholed the mushrooms, olives or red peppers that were also on the list, though we tried to persuade him to have some vegetation. He’s a lock-down baby, and slightly fussier than his sisters were.
“Marks out of ten?” I asked. “Ten. Definitely,” he said.
The grown-ups had the fior di latte pizza, with basil, cooked ham and mushroom, and were pretty impressed.
His ice-cream - chocolate - came in a practical plastic bowl, and they hadn’t tried to gussie it up with stuff that he’d probably only reject anyway.
He finished every last bite, with his Kindle in one hand. Multitasking.
Anyway, eating out isn’t always about the newest and coolest Michelin-starred place. This pizza restaurant is just so practical. It’s like a comfortable pair of Crocs.
I think it’ll become our new regular, if there are any upcoming museum visits.
Now that my nephew has awarded this place a rare 10/10, I don’t think we’ll have much choice.
Read more: “I took my family to their favourite Edinburgh restaurant, where the queue is still down the street”
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