CHALLENGE DAVE: THE BOWLERS REST

SquareOne Booze

by Dave Hynes

This pub was built on dreams. I can tell; dreams and visions of el Diablo. It was a pub built on poo and wee. Leithers! Oh glorious Leithers, you are the most fantastic purveyors of s_t pubs I have ever known and I think you all deserve a long well deserved rest, though perhaps not here amongst the “Bowlers”.

No, perhaps a leisurely stroll to those pearly gates which signify the beginnings of Princes Street would be better advised than a trip to the top of Leith Walk. You see Princes Street acts as the demarcation zone between civilisation, Scottish renaissance, successful finance and civic glory and Leith, glorious Leith, home of those fine Lilliputions of magnanimous pride and cantankerous values, that sacred bunch of heathens and believers in pagan rituals we call Leithers. And Leithers are exactly the kind of people who go to the Bowlers Rest, it simply wouldn’t do for other clans.

But Leither’s, glorious, Leithers can I say something which could help close half the pubs down in a whim? You like s_t pubs, I know you like s_t pubs because I’ve seen you in your natural element; the s_t pub. But you are missing out, glorious Leithers, if you like s_t pubs (which you do), you are being conned.

Why? Well, you ain’t getting your money’s worth at a place like the Bowler’s Rest, which still pales into insignificance against the grotesque brilliance of the Marksman, a pub I love to hate.

So what’s wrong with The Bowlers Rest? I think that it’s about time you took the plunge and found out yourself, I’ve been your guide for too long. Let me know if you make it out alive . . . I’ll be finding a more suitable place to booze out my retirement. I hear Andersons on Lothian Road is a nice place maybe I’ll go there.

RESTAURANT REVIEW: THE HERBE

SquareOne Food

by Lou Hardless

Nestled between the back drop of traffic congestion, building development, the stream of workers and sleepy tourists, sits a charming little oasis tucked away from the chaos, noise and passers-by.

Herbe is a charming little restaurant that can be found on George IV Bridge. Its entrance suggests a small deli, but an elegant Rennie Macintosh style winding stair case takes you down into a snug, yet almost utilitarian, all-day diner come restaurant.

The friendly staff is efficient and helpful and more than happy to guide you through the various mouth watering options on the menu, catering for the most timid gastronomic right through to the connoisseur. Its ample wine list ranges from £10 to £80 per bottle, offering a fabulous range of choices.

Once ordered, a complimentary 'amuse-bouches' arrives in the form of marinated olives and crunchy falafels. The Gnocchi that followed had an interesting flare; it was not soggy or dry, but perfectly cooked with parmesan cheese toasted lightly on the top, giving it a slightly crunchy texture. Nestled beneath lay a bed of vegetables, a sweet and colourful addition.

Finally out came a heavenly and succulent chocolate dessert, covered in a thick dark sauce, that left my stomach groaning and a smile planted firmly on my face.

This wonderful place has the utterings of the Secret Garden; a restaurant that is part of the Witchery Group, hidden away, and only known to an exclusive few. But its edge must be the price, the food is truly unbelievable and remarkably, also very good value for money.

FOOD FIT FOR A FELON

SquareOne Food

by Chris Hammond

Edinburgh Sheriff Court Rooftop Restaurant

Edinburgh Sheriff Court’s innards resemble a throw away polystyrene set from the original Star Wars films, whilst its loitering denizens wouldn’t look out of place as extras. Everywhere you glance, bug eyed belligerents, swarm in packs around their beastly brethren, how much fun George Lucas would have had casting them is anyone’s guess.

Court reporting is depressingly odious, sitting there constantly having to hear that the likes of Jimmy McBuckfast can’t come in because he’s taken some drugs or Kelly McTeenpregnancy has slept in must be soul destroying for the victims, and more importantly idle journalists. One case follows another and before you know it you have to exit, if only to be able to breathe the air of civilised human beings. Then you clock it, a wall mounted placard suggested that you “dine at our brilliant Rooftop Restaurant.”

Rooftop it might be, restaurant perhaps but brilliant it was not. You have to jostle your way towards the self service area and enter the fray in a vain attempt to secure yourself some nourishment. Today’s most popular dish seems to be a square slab of meat in a bun, yum. After having the aforementioned lumped onto a stone cold plate you have to then battle with jaded solicitors to make use of a glorious metal shoebox which dispenses half cups of fake coffee.

Tables are few and far between in this eatery so sharing isn’t so much an option as a given. Opposite sits a skin headed fellow in army fatigues eating an egg roll whilst wearing leather gloves. Was this to be his last meal before sentencing? Was this the last civilised feed he’d have before a life of cigarette smuggling, lights off at eight and slopping out took over? You could barely hazard a guess.

Anyway down to the food. The square sausage is gristly, salty and has a texture not dissimilar to a brillo pad. You can’t bite into it for fear of losing a tooth so the consumption exercise is one of gnawing. Ketchup with the consistency of blood can’t even mask the fact that this isn’t suitable food for a human being. Worse yet is the roll which has been half toasted for what appears to be no other reason than to hide the fact it’s stale.

They are promoting Australian themed cuisine throughout the month. What this entails you can’t even begin to imagine. Does Australia have cuisine worthy of mention? The only explanation for this culinary promotion that seems feasible is that the kitchen staff are trying to get those yet to be condemned familiar with the sort of foodstuffs they’ll have to endure after their deportation to the colonies.

SUBWAY SECT

by Chris Hammond


SquareOne Food

Ah Subway, I thought to myself, this was bound to be an interesting dining environment. I had notions of Film maker Luc Besson's dystopian French masterpiece of the same name swirling round my head as I took the short walk across the road from my flat to the restaurant.

What eclectic wonders would this most famous of establishments hold I wondered? Barely able to conceal my excitement I crossed the threshold only to have my entrance blocked by a phalanx of flab. Four fetid fatties were rooted to the door area, chunks of meatball and bread spilling forth from the gaping hole which seemed to have replaced their mouths. Nimbly, breath held, I squeezed past into the bowels of the eatery.

Half overcome by my near gymnastic entrance, half overcome by the fact my coat had collected a fistful of what I could only presume to be dog hair on the brush past, I was in sore need of a seat and a stiff drink. Much like McDonald's, Subway have done away with any traditional sense of the restaurant experience. No table service, no attractive staff, no alcohol, no dubious sort attending the washroom and most oddly no booking required. The latter of which was to prove more than annoying.

On receiving my meal of a spicy chicken sandwich and diet coke, I attempted to find a spot to rest my weary legs. With the doorway and window area about as accessible as an eggcup being lain on by a Blue Whale, I was forced to sit alongside three unruly truants. Here amongst the barrage of cigarette requests, I glumly surveyed my surroundings. Décor of a better than average public toilet, staff dressed like baseball players with aprons on and the scream of nicotine hungry delinquents put me clean off my food. Leaving the remnants to the savages masquerading as children I rode the gauntlet of gluttons guarding the exit and made my dash for freedom, fresh air and a very long shower.


SquareOne's Top Five Sandwiches

1. Cheese
2. Cheese and pickle
3. Cheese and tomato
4. Cheese and onion
5. Cheese salad