I moved to Leith five months ago, but people keep telling me the same thing
Things are changing in Leith, but not quite as much as they say
Trams, benches, pubs, bookshops and seagulls are hot topics in Leith right now.
However, there should be a drinking game, which involves taking a shot of Lind & Lime Gin whenever someone mentions the subject of foodie gentrification. You’d soon be stocious.
Those that live here - the pioneers, so they’d claim - like to say that they were in situ before the area was even a twinkle in a gentleman’s eye.
I was talking to a colleague recently, who was a Leither for 20-odd-years until she decamped a few miles along the road, and she was complaining about the rise of hipster restaurants, which she can’t afford - fair enough - and current dearth of greasy spoons in the area.
“Apart from the Sea Breeze, there are none now,” she said.
I’ve heard this before, ironically always from people who rarely eat fried breakfasts or pie with beans, and I leap to Leith’s defence. There are loads of what I’ll fondly describe as ‘oily cutleries’ down here. Tons. You’re never more than two metres from a bacon sandwich, so don’t panic.
Not just greasy spoons, but any type of cuisine you could possibly want.
This area is a total smorgasbord, and I’d say that the venues that you might consider hipster, only make up about 4.1 per cent of the independent business total.
For every Brown’s of Leith, Little Fitzroy or Dogstar, there are ten Uwagboe’s Kitchen and Grill (Nigerian food), The Clock Cafe & Bistro, Guido’s (fish and chips) and Biryani Boxes.
Since she made the comment, I have been scoping out all the uncool places to prove my point.
They’re the sort of joints that I may have been slightly blind to before, since I’m a journalist who’s always looking for new and trendy places to write about.
However, now, I see their beauty.
Despite that, I have yet to make it inside the Sea Breeze, which is halfway down Leith Walk and the doyenne of greasy spoons. It does something called a Desperate Dan breakfast, which doesn’t include anything resembling a cow pie or a copy of The Dandy for a bib. Thus, it must be named to reflect its unfettered size and the generous amount of miscellaneous meat-based items on the plate.
I would have happily tried that, but I’m doing a bit of pre-Christmas shredding, so I can bulk up again on the big day and beyond.
However, at twenty-something years old, it is always busy, and I have faith that it does well without my custom. You wouldn't get a cortado in there, but it would win in fisticuffs against a hipster joint.
There’s also La Vida on Great Junction Street, which does pizza, burgers and breakfast, with no frills, trendy haircuts, whippets or beanie hats anywhere that I could see.
Recently, my eye was drawn to The Tattie Creel, which is quite far down The Walk. At first, I thought, what a strange name, for tubers are not aquatic creatures, but then I realised that a creel is also a general Scottish name for a basket.
As I am the clan chief of the baked potato clan, and am still mourning the demise of The Baked Potato Shop on Cockburn Street, this is my type of place, with filled spuds for a fiver.
It’s hard to scope out the menu, as it’s plastered to the steamed-up window, where, just inside, there are two prime people-watching seats that are always occupied.
Those folk will stare at you, as you swither over cheesy beanos or chilli. However, I got enough of a look to see that they offer other stuff, like breakfast rolls, too.
Anyway, it’s tiny inside, like a French Fingerling rather than a Maris Piper.
There’s another place I’ve noticed. When I’m on the 25 going down The Walk, the bus always stops at the lights outside NeighbourWood, where they deftly assemble shawarmas and mixed grills on a hot plate in the window.
“Me. Hungry. Want,” I always think, as the vehicle pulls away.
As far as Chinese takeaways go, the online reviews for the few places that exist down here are variable. When we lived on the other side of town, in Shandon, we were fans of Taste Good, but we can’t find an equivalent in this neck of the woods.
We have been hunting. The internet has an answer in the form of Peter’s Food Hub, on Great Junction Street.
The sign above - along with a picture of Peter looking inscrutable, hands-on-hips, while sporting a jaunty chef’s hat - says that they specialise in Filipino, Cantonese, Greek and Japanese food.
A few weeks ago, I’d discounted this family business, as I thought he might be a Jack of all trades. Or, in this case, Peter of all trades.
According to the online menu, you can order things like grandma’s chicken adobo, grandma’s dynamite lumpia with chips and grandma’s crunchy squids with chips, as well as, to give granny a break, a side of tzatziki, chicken and sweetcorn soup, and gyoza. It sounds amazing. I’m so intrigued.
The Leith lack-of-greasy-spoon trope doesn’t only apply to food.
People say the same about its pubs. There are no ‘traditional old man boozers’ they complain, when there are tons.
Anyway, I think these people need to put their money where their mouths are.
This weekend, go to that old-school pub, try the greasy spoon. Make them your favourites, rather than wishing there were more for you to never frequent.
Have that Desperate Dan breakfast and grandma’s squids. Go on. It’s Christmas.
Read more: “I moved to Leith two months ago, and this is what I’ve learnt about Edinburgh’s ‘coolest’ area”
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