Local in Leith
On any given rainy night in Leith, local bars fill with sounds of recognition. From “old-man pubs” one shouldn’t enter without a Scottish accent to trend-setting cocktail joints overflowing with tote bags, there’s rarely a room in which any given resident knows no one. Pub culture in the UK is known for its role as a still-functioning neighborhood third space, but what makes Leith special is the way that atmosphere extends across the bar top: The line between patrons, suppliers, and bartenders is extremely thin here, which creates an environment that runs more on reputation, taste, and craftsmanship than most.
Leith is a former port town, and though it sits—even at its outer edges—no more than an hour’s walk from Edinburgh’s city center, its hospitality ecosystem feels like its own world, distinct from the rest of the Scottish capital. Until 1920, it was its own formal entity, and most residents still consider themselves Leithers above all. In a lot of travel guides, it’s often seen as Edinburgh’s grungier, more dangerous cousin (this is where Trainspotting is set), or touted as the next great “cool” neighborhood. I moved here in 2022, after five years in New York City and four in central Edinburgh. Immediately, I met a community that runs the gamut: craft beer brewers sipping German lagers in fisherman beanies, tie-dye-toting Spanish line cooks, elderly punters with questionable family relationships, young professionals with little personality outside their run clubs, grad students living out their “dark academia” cosplay, trad musicians trawling from session to session, artists and composers and skaters, scientists and carpenters and actors. Everyone drinks together. And almost everyone drinks local.
Fragrant Drops, an independent whisky bottler run by husband-and-wife team George Keeble and Rachel Dixon-Keeble embody that Leith ecosystem. The two create small-run bottlings sourced from casks across Scotland and beyond, bottled "when we feel they're ready for you to enjoy." These bottles land both at award-winning cocktail destinations and live quietly behind the bar at spots where regulars know to just ask for the couple’s latest. It’s not unusual to find yourself at last call with Keeble ordering a round of their latest concoction and sending you off with a vial of their next one, which he tends to pull out of his coat pockets like a generous whisky wizard.
In addition to running tastings across Edinburgh, they collaborate with pubs to create bespoke bottlings with the people who will actually pour and drink them—turning consumers into collaborators. When I asked them to walk me through that process, the answer was tellingly brief: “We’ll swing by with a selection of cask samples and have ourselves a jolly good tastin’. Our publican pals will pick one or two samples they think are best for their business, then we'll bottle the whisky up and drop them off when they’re ready a few weeks later. Easy peasy!” While they do fulfillment outside of Leith, the local distribution network is simply a matter of being good bar folk.“Being local certainly makes a difference to our presence on backbars in Leith,” he says. “Leith is full of many small businesses: signmakers, whisky bottlers, cabinetmakers, restaurants, breweries, pubs, bars, artists, and more. What I see is a place where people raise others up whenever they can.”
The same goes for production: In Leith alone, there are at least four independent breweries, three whiskey and gin distilleries, and two bottlers. (When I tried fact-checking this with various bartender and publican pals, the conversation inevitably descended into arguing over Leith’s boundaries, so forgive me, dear reader, if I hedge my numbers.) When I asked Vinny Rosario, head of production at Moonwake Beer Co., what it was like being in such proximity to other breweries (you can walk between Moonwake, Newbarns, and Campervan within fifteen minutes—the latter two even sit within the same industrial estate), he was realistic but reassuringly positive. “The number of independently run breweries in the area has forced each brewery to up their game and make better beer in general,” he says. “Throughout all the competition we have maintained a harmonious vibe.” Indeed, from a consumer’s point of view, there isn’t much cultural competition between them: Which taproom you frequent, or whose beer you prefer, does not make you part of a particular clique. “More so, we are often working together,” continued Rosario. “In the past six months, we have worked with other breweries to install beer lines into a local bar, done work for each other to ease production burdens, and even occasionally borrowed ingredients when we have been let down by a delivery. We will continue to push Moonwake and constantly promote the brand, however I would always rather see another local independent brewery on the bar rather than a macro brand.”
And while conglomerates eat up local breweries around the world, the focus on the local in Leith is still a driving force. When R (who requested his name be redacted) took over a pub not far from the local Hibernian football stadium, he faced a massive challenge: It was a tied pub, meaning he was obligated to buy almost all his stock from an approved supplier, usually also the landlord. Though this supplier was a global conglomerate, which gave him plenty of leeway in terms of known household brands, he couldn’t really serve beer from any of the extremely popular breweries operating right here in town. On top of all the other challenges hitting the hospitality industry, this took a huge toll. “Businesses which are to survive need to be increasingly flexible in terms of what products they offer and how they reflect the locale they are situated in,” said R, “as customers increasingly look for a sense of personality and difference in where they spend their money. There was a feeling of being constrained by the business plans of a distant head office with little idea of what venues actually need to offer in their environment.” Between tourists venturing further into Leith wanting to try local products and old-school regulars loyal to their area—that inflexibility doesn’t allow a fledgling spot to differentiate itself. R and his business partner closed the pub within a year.
Meanwhile, Nauticus—a cocktail pub that uses almost 100 percent Scottish ingredients—is thriving. Owner Kyle Jamieson hosts Nauticus pop-ups around the world, but his heart remains in Leith, and with his upbringing and family ties spanning from the capital to the Scottish islands, focusing on local products was top of mind when he opened the place in 2018, as well as a community feel behind and in front of the bar. Though it now has an international reputation and a veritable sackful of awards, the room remains set firmly in its ground: Local musicians play every Sunday, Fragrant Drops’ Keeble can frequently be found doing a crossword at the bar, other bartenders show up after their shifts for a much-needed pint of Tennent’s (though not a Leith beer, this is the Scottish lifeblood), and a good chunk of this article may or may not have been written at a corner table on quiet afternoons, in the company of a hauf-an’-hauf (a Scottish version of a boilermaker: half a pint of beer, in this case Pilot’s Hush Hush pale ale, and a dram of whiskey, in this case the Homemade blend from Woven—both indeed made in Leith).
Jamieson recently rebooted Nauticus’ whole menu, and it includes a cocktail called Campfire. It’s made up of Elevenses’ (a sister bottling brand from Fragrant Drops) tequila cask whisky, falernum from Edinburgh-based Lucky Liquor Co., marigold, and lemon. One of the bartenders was telling me about the origin of this drink. “Kyle and I were just chatting behind the bar about how we can include an agave-based or agave-style drink on the new menu, but still make it distinctly Scottish. As we were chatting, George [Keeble]—who happened to be sitting at the bar in that moment—interrupted and said he had just the thing: a whisky aged in a tequila cask,” he says. “And there it is.” Doesn’t that just say it all?
People keep describing Leith as special, and I became an evangelist soon after I moved here, but I’ve kept wondering why it feels so special. There are plenty of local-forward areas across the world, whether that’s due to culture or necessity. Here, I think the answer lies in history. “It’s the booze history, the whisky history, the bottle-making manufacturing, the supply trades—everyone came through Leith,” says Jamieson. “Leith’s always been a working-man’s spot—the people that were making the stuff were the people drinking it. That has been the case here for centuries.”
Indeed, you can’t separate the history of Scottish (or even British) drinking from Leith: International trade in Leith has been active since the 12th century, and it was the main industrial port of Scotland by the 17th. Scotland had plenty of European allies, and trade boomed: sugar, dried fruits, and lots of spices. In the 18th century, that proliferation of botanicals meant that it became a gin-making hub. By 1777, there were literally hundreds of gin distilleries across Edinburgh. But Leith was known mostly for its bottles: Glassmaking and wine storage in Leith dates to at least the early 16th century. The city specialized in wine bottle manufacturing, exporting mostly to France and Spain. When the Great French Wine Blight devastated European wine manufacturing in the 1880s, Leith bottle-makers turned to whisky, especially as its global popularity grew. Throughout the 20th century, then, and after Leith got pulled into being an official part of Edinburgh, it remained the more industrial area. In the 1960s, 90 percent of all Scottish whisky was aged in Leith.
Much of that history can still be felt today. A few pubs still have a license to open at 6 a.m., grandfathered in from when seamen would arrive and go straight to the pub—just like the barrels of wine, brandy, cognac, champagne, or whisky that arrived on these shores. “Straight off the ship, into a warehouse to age or get bottled or blended,” in Jamieson’s words. These old bottling warehouses and distilleries are still around; now they’re flats, schools, and bars. Nauticus itself is in the site of a 19th-century whisky merchant, and original signs and mirrors dot the walls.
The drinking scene in Leith may look like many others in tight-knit neighborhoods, or even small towns. But a closer look at what’s in people’s glasses, how hospitality establishments define success and interact with each other, and why producers—from bottlers to brewers—flock here shows that it’s more than just a “scene.” It’s a microcosm of how globally resonant questions about localism and globalism are actually affecting the way regular people choose what to spend their money on, how to enjoy themselves.
“Leithers really do love Leith, and support it financially when they can, which is what really counts and helps keep independent businesses open,” says Rosario. When you get seventy-year-old regulars with regular barstools happily sipping the same local lager as the hipster across the bar, and both of them would scoff at a Heineken, you know the neighborhood is doing something right, continuing to sail in the right direction.
Anya Tchoupakov is an editor, writer, and transcontinental barfly based in Leith. She is the Managing Editor of nonprofit literary magazine Off Assignment, and has been covering the arts, culture, and food for over a decade for publications including Bon Appétit, VICE, Dirt, and Feeld, among others. You can read more of her work at anyatchoup.com.
