From haggis to heaven: A Glasgow culinary crawl worth raising a dram

Walking the streets of Glasgow feels like stepping into a narrative, each cobblestone and corner store humming with stories. The city—pedestrian-friendly and buzzing with an understated charm—invites exploration. It’s a place that asks you to slow down, not because it’s sleepy, but because the treasures here demand savoring. This is Glasgow, bold and alive, where the bite of a winter evening only sharpens your appetite for what’s to come.

I arrived just ahead of Burns Night, that ode to Scotland’s bard and, perhaps more importantly, a celebration of the culinary soul of this country. My first walk took me to the Necropolis, a sprawling Victorian cemetery perched above the city. It’s not a morbid experience but a meditative one. Each monument stands as a testament to lives lived, ambitions chased, and dreams achieved or lost. From its heights, Glasgow stretches out like a story yet to be read, the River Clyde slicing through its heart. The sheer scale of the Necropolis, with its ornate tombs and intricate carvings, speaks to a city with deep roots and an appreciation for its past.

The streets below buzzed with life as I made my way back into the heart of the city. Glasgow is a mosaic of contrasts: elegant sandstone buildings alongside modern glass facades, high-end boutiques nestled next to quirky vintage shops. The pedestrian-friendly nature of the city makes it easy to stumble upon hidden gems. Small bookstores, artisanal coffee shops, and music venues line the streets, each offering its own slice of Glasgow’s character. There’s a sense of authenticity here—a city that doesn’t try to be anything but itself.

As night fell, the city transformed. The warm glow of pub windows spilled onto the streets, and laughter mingled with the sharp crackle of cold air. Glasgow’s culinary scene doesn’t just feed you; it challenges and seduces you. My evening destination: The Pipers’ Tryst Restaurant. A gem tucked into the National Piping Centre, it’s the kind of place that whispers rather than shouts, and its quiet confidence is well-earned.

I started with haggis, neeps, and tatties. Let’s be honest: haggis doesn’t win beauty contests. But this was art—a modest tower of earthy, peppery perfection draped in a whisky cream sauce so divine it could make a grown man weep. The whisky’s warmth and the creamy richness balanced the haggis’s boldness, with the sweet tang of turnips (neeps) and buttery mash (tatties) rounding out each bite. It was unapologetically Scottish and unapologetically brilliant.

The main course was a study in restraint and elegance: a salmon fillet, seared to a golden crisp, atop a potato croquette that had the crunch of a good story’s climax. Peas, vibrant and fresh, punctuated the plate like a bright plot twist. The balance was perfect, each element complementing the others without overpowering. It was Scotland on a plate—bold yet refined, comforting yet surprising. The salmon’s flaky texture and the croquette’s satisfying bite were matched by the sweetness of the peas, creating a dish that lingered in my mind long after the plate was cleared.

And then came dessert: cranachan. A dessert that’s part romance, part celebration. Layers of whipped cream kissed with whisky, honey, and toasted oats danced with tart raspberries. It was light and indulgent all at once, a fitting crescendo to an unforgettable meal. Each spoonful felt like a toast to the evening, a celebration of Scotland’s culinary heritage wrapped in sweetness and warmth.

But the meal was only part of the story. Glasgow’s dining scene isn’t just about the food; it’s about the people who bring it to life. At The Pipers’ Tryst, the staff’s passion for showcasing Scottish cuisine was evident. They spoke of the ingredients and traditions with the kind of reverence usually reserved for folklore. It’s this sense of pride and authenticity that makes dining in Glasgow so special.

Walking back to my hotel, I felt the kind of contentment that only comes from being well-fed and well-welcomed. The streets, quieter now, still carried whispers of the day’s bustle. I stopped to admire the lit-up façades of the buildings, their warm glow reflecting the city’s unpretentious beauty. Glasgow isn’t just a city you visit; it’s a city you feel. Its culinary scene mirrors its people: unpretentious, warm, and fiercely proud of its roots. Burns Night or not, Glasgow has poetry in its soul and its kitchens. And for that, I’ll raise a glass—slàinte mhath.

Cranachan

Cranachan is a traditional Scottish dessert that layers toasted oats, whipped cream, fresh raspberries, honey, and a splash of whisky for a rich yet refreshing treat. Simple to make but full of flavor, this elegant dish combines creamy, fruity, and nutty notes in every spoonful — perfect for special occasions or a taste of Scotland at home.

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Course: Dessert

Cuisine: Scottish

Keyword: Cranachan recipe, Easy cranachan, Raspberry cranachan, Scottish cranachan, Traditional Scottish dessert

Servings: 4 people

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup rolled jumbo oats
• 1 oz dark chocolate grated (optional)
• 2 cups double heavy cream
• 2 tablespoons honey
• 2 tablespoons Drambuie or Glayva or any good quality whisky liqueur
• 1 cup fresh raspberries

Instructions

• Toast the oats in a heavy bottomed frying pan on a low-medium heat until lightly browned. This can take up to 5-10 minutes depending on your heat source. Don’t let them burn!
• Transfer the oats to a heatproof bowl, immediately add the grated chocolate and give the oats a good stir. The chocolate should melt pretty much straight away. Allow the oats to cool down.
• Whip the double cream to soft peaks, then fold in the honey and whisky liqueur.
• In your serving glasses, begin to build the Cranachan in layers:

  Layer 1 – a thin layer of toasted oats

  Layer 2 – a few raspberries

  Layer 3 – whisky cream.
• Repeat until you reach the top of the serving glass.
• Finish off with a light sprinkling of toasted oats and a couple of raspberries.
• Serve immediately.