my guide to edinburgh
I should probably confess upfront: Edinburgh isn’t just a city I lived in. It’s family.
I met my (now) husband while living in Scotland—a lumberjack with a poet’s soul, like all Scottish men should be. We fell in love on a rage-walk through the mists of Portree on the Isle of Skye, though we built a foundation through friendship over beers and nearly-missed buses in New Town. Though we’ve built a life across the ocean, a huge piece of me is still tucked into the folds of Edinburgh’s Georgian crescents and shadowy closes.
Half my heart (and the whole of my in-laws) is still in Scotland, and there’s a very real chance we’ll move back someday, because I’m a sucker for the lyrics of Dougie MacLean and I have to do what he says.
So this isn’t just a guide. It’s love letters, layered memories, and future dreams—all echoing through one city’s winding streets.
Consider it my palimpsest of Edinburgh—a place where my personal history is etched into the architecture, and where I can’t walk a block without bumping into a story I once lived.
Edinburgh is layered, like good plasterwork or the pages of a favorite novel. Moody skies, sooty, s’mores colored stone, and secrets hidden in its closes and crescents. It’s a city that rewards curiosity—which makes it the perfect place for anyone obsessed with history, design, and excellent cheese.
So here’s my very personal—both nostalgic and au courant—guide to Edinburgh, blending old loves with new finds.
Start with Coffee (Obviously)
Artisan Roast Coffee
Still my go-to for a proper flat white and that feeling of creative possibility. The baristas know their beans, and the vibe is the perfect mix of serious coffee nerd and cozy refuge from Scottish drizzle. Unlike the many cafes in Edinburgh who claim JK Rowling wrote there, Artisan proudly displays a sign saying “JK Rowling Never Wrote Here.” This was before we knew she was crazy. It has since been updated to read: “JK Rowling Never Wrote Here. And She Never Will.” Meanwhile, I write there every chance I get, and take beans home with me every time I visit.
Vintage, Hats & Statement Pieces
Armstrong’s Vintage
A cathedral of vintage joy. Want a Victorian mourning cape? A sequined bomber jacket? A reduced-guilt 100 year old fur coat? Armstrong’s is where eras collide. I dare you to leave empty-handed.
Fabhatrix
Hidden on West Bow, but not far from Armstrong’s, is this wonderland of handmade hats in vibrant tweeds and silks. Proof that sometimes the bravest design decision—whether in interiors or your outfit—is a bold silhouette. For ages, I would forget the world for ‘fascinator’ (a look we have still never adopted in the US) and kept calling them ‘fantasizers.’ My British friends are still laughing about that one.
A Stroll Through New Town
New Town feels different from the Old Town’s dark alleys and Gothic spires. It’s crisp. Ordered. Elegant. A masterclass in proportion and restraint.
And it’s a design lover’s playground.
Catalog Interiors
On Dundas Street—a treasure trove of mid-century modern furniture, lighting, and art. It’s the sort of place that makes you want to repaint your entire flat in moss green and invest in a statement credenza.
Jeffreys Interiors
Part showroom, part sensory overload. Expect maximalist wallpapers, fabulous upholstery, and enough design inspiration to fuel three renovation projects you weren’t planning.
I.J. Mellis Cheesemonger
Because beautiful homes deserve beautiful cheese boards. Mellis is a legend, with wheels of farmhouse cheddar, delicate goat cheeses, and staff who’ll give you samples and detailed cheese-lore. Essential picnic or post-antique-hunt stop.
Time to Eat
The Little Chartroom
Where: Bonnington Road
This place feels like someone took a coastal bistro, gave it a Scottish soul, and brushed it with a perfectly restrained palette. Navy walls, crisp white linens, just enough brass and wood to keep things warm. It’s intimate without being precious, modern without feeling cold—a balance that’s harder to pull off than you’d think.
The menu changes often, but always reads like a love letter to local ingredients. Think halibut with sea herbs, or impossibly silky sauces poured tableside.
Design detail I love: The beautiful typography of their signage and the soft curve of their banquette seating—like the inside of a boat, but make it chic.
Lyla
Where: Queen Street
If Edinburgh’s Georgian architecture could throw a dinner party in a minimalist Scandinavian dining room, it might look a lot like Lyla. Pale woods, delicate lighting, gentle curves. A space so calm and serene, you half expect someone to whisper “namaste” as you sit down.
But then the food arrives and reminds you this is absolutely not a yoga retreat. It’s a tasting menu that reads like poetry. Playful, modern, and beautifully plated—each course a little surprise.
Design detail I love: How the quiet elegance of the room lets the riot of color and artistry on the plates shine. It’s the perfect contrast.
Bell’s Diner
Where: St Stephen Street, Stockbridge
A total time capsule—and I mean that in the best possible way. Bell’s Diner is all Formica tables, red leatherette seats, and wood-paneled walls that look untouched since the 1970s. It’s not retro because it’s not trying. It’s just… still there. Holding the line.
And the burgers? Properly old-school. Nothing fancy. Perfectly charred patties, crisp lettuce, mustardy sauce. The kind of place that makes you want to come back in 20 years and find it exactly the same.
Design detail I love: The hand-painted menu boards and the cozy, shoebox-sized room where strangers become friends because your chairs are basically touching.
Oink
Where: Victoria Street (plus a few other spots)
Listen: Oink is not fancy. It’s not trying to be. It’s basically a shrine to roast pork, and it’s perfect.
Picture a bright, slightly chaotic shop front with a giant roast pig displayed in the window like a royal jewel. Inside, it’s all about the pink glow of the meat, stainless steel counters, and blackboards scrawled with your limited—but perfect—choices: white or brown roll, sage and onion stuffing or haggis, apple sauce or chili relish. Done.
Design-wise, it’s more butcher shop than bistro—but in a city of tweedy pubs and hushed dining rooms, that’s part of its charm. It’s raw, honest, and totally delicious.
Design detail I love: The unapologetic display of the roast pig in the window. It’s bold. It’s a little theatrical. It’s very Edinburgh.
Henderson’s
Where: Barclay Place (and various incarnations over the years)
Henderson’s is a bit of an Edinburgh institution—a pioneer of vegetarian and vegan food in a city once ruled by stews and sausages. It’s had a few different locations and reincarnations, but wherever it pops up, it brings a certain cozy, artsy vibe with it.
Think rustic wooden tables, local art on the walls, and that comforting clink of cutlery in a bright, sunlit café. The design always feels unfussy but intentional—like your favorite artist friend’s flat.
The menu is pure vegetable-forward goodness: vibrant salads, earthy soups, hearty mains, and perfect vegan cakes that make you believe in miracles.
Design detail I love: The warm wood, mismatched chairs, and a palette of soft neutrals punctuated with pops of color from the fresh produce and art. It’s proof that a vegetarian restaurant doesn’t have to feel like a yoga studio—it can feel like a home.
Wandering & Wondering
I still lose hours in the National Museum of Scotland, admiring ancient textiles and architectural fragments. I still climb Calton Hill to watch the city glow pink at dusk. And I still believe the best way to know Edinburgh is to follow your feet—down closes, up staircases, into corners that look half-abandoned and half-enchanted.
Edinburgh taught me that restoration isn’t just about preserving the past—it’s about layering new stories on top. It’s proof that you can leave a place, return years later, and still feel completely at home.
So go. Wander. Get lost. Buy the hat. Eat the cheese. And remember: beauty—and belonging—are always worth restoring.
Have Edinburgh favorites of your own? Drop me a note—I’ll add them to my list for the next trip.
