The Spence
39 St Andrew Square, Edinburgh, EH2 2AD
Tel: 0800 917 4655
Internet: gleneagles.com/townhouse/eat-drink/the-spence
GPS: 55.954071, -3.191751
What was it that prompted me to book a table at The Spence, on St Andrews Square in Edinburgh, one Wednesday evening a few weeks ago? Was it the dramatic facade, more on which in a moment? Or was it the handful – if ‘one’ can be called ‘a handful’, that is – of positive reports I had heard from its patrons? Or, just maybe, was it the association with Gleneagles, the famous country pile where in 2023 I passed a pleasant evening slumped at a table in their principle restaurant, The Strathearn, resisting the temptation to order one of their many off-vintages of Petrus?
A glass of the 1992, anybody?
As it happens, none of these; my plan had a rather more practical basis. Having spent an hour or two revisiting the 2021 Bordeaux vintage with Justerini & Brooks, just next door in Cheval The Edinburgh Grand (seriously, who thinks up these names?), I realised that afterwards I might just feel a little peckish. So why not pop next door to The Spence, the principal restaurant in the Gleneagles Townhouse?
A table was duly booked.
Now back to that dramatic facade, which might have been the highlight of the evening were it not for its main challenger, a delicious and good-value South African Chenin. The Gleneagles Townhouse is nestled within an imposing mansion originally built as a private residence by George Ramsay (1730 – 1787), Eighth Earl of Dalhousie. By the mid-19th century the building was in the hands of The British Linen Company who operated it as a bank; they commissioned a dramatic reworking of the facade, adding six Corinthian columns each topped with a magnificent statue representing in turn architecture, agriculture, commerce, manufacturing, navigation and science. Having been recently acquired and restored by Gleneagles, today this facade provides a breathtaking glimpse of a bygone era of adventure, discovery and prosperity.
Inside, the recently completed restoration is no less impressive; the owners Ennismore really must have sold a lot of bottles of 1992 Petrus to fund the work, the results of which are nothing less than spectacular. I pulled up a casual sofa-like chair at a table in the corner, and spent the first ten minutes gawking at the gorgeous architecture, rich in stained glass, highly polished granite columns illuminated by the natural light which floods in through a glass-domed cupola, and the intricate cornicing above which are dotted carved figurines (a couple of examples are pictured above) who peer out from ‘portholes’ at the diners below. To be honest, I recommend a visit here just to drink in the interior design, art and architecture; it really is the most glorious I have seen in many years, in my experience second only to the Villa Borghese in Rome.
Why second place? Well, the Borghese Gallery also has Caravaggio’s Sick Bacchus on the wall; to parrot Michael Caine in Miss Congeniality (2000), “you can’t beat that.”
Anyway, enough of the architecture. The ground floor of The Gleneagles Townhouse is given over to The Spence, which operates as an all-day restaurant where you can relax over morning coffee or evening cocktails, or you can take lunch, afternoon tea or dinner. The cuisine is best described as modern British, taking magpie-like the best bits of continental cooking and swirling them with local Scottish ingredients such as Atlantic scallops and local langoustines. In charge in the kitchen is head chef Jonny Wright.
Jabbing my finger at the menu, it landed on one such Scottish seafood starter, a dish of west coast scallop with crispy pig, black pudding, celeriac and apple (pictured above). Yes, once again I opted for the scallop and black pudding combo which always seems to work so well when I am shuffling the pans around at home. And yes, once again I was vaguely underwhelmed. The scallops were not overdone, although they looked it, and the black speckling made me wonder about the state of the oil they were cooked in. The piggy parts, meanwhile, were rather dull, with a drily rendered material which was once presumably part of a pig serving as the bread to a sandwich, the filling some woefully desiccated black pudding. As I ate the dish, luminous bile-green slivers of radioactive apple slowly emerged, and I regretted not bringing my Geiger counter. Nevertheless they, as well as the little dollops of celeriac, did at least add a little easing moisture to the dried-out black pudding.
Happily, from then on things picked up. A little. A main course of roast stuffed chicken breast, hiding beneath a blanket of asparagus, broad beans and morels – chosen simply because I think I might be addicted to morels – was a comfort-food treat, the stuffed chicken moist and fairly flavoursome, while the beans, mushrooms and spears were nicely cooked. There was, to be frank, nothing stunning about it, but perhaps that is why it worked; it simply wasn’t trying too hard. Meanwhile, I also had a bite or two of a dish of dressed crab with apple and celery for freshness (pictured below), all piled atop a small brick of grilled brioche, as well as the spring risotto, with peas, broad beans and wild garlic. All in all these dishes were classic and well-executed, if rather predictable and lacking a little pizzazz.
Before we come to the sweet treats, a word on wine. Hand me a wine list and I will always turn to the Loire section first, and for many years that was where I would end; not only is it a fabulously diverse region, it would usually offer good value too. I am not sure that is the case any more. What I found here was an overpriced négoce Sauvignon from Touraine, an overpriced and perhaps overrated Pouilly-Fumé, an über-natural wine I would not touch with a ten-foot barge pole, and a wine from an unfamiliar grower in Sancerre. Not very diverse (there are varieties other than Sauvignon in the Loire, you know), and not particularly good value either. Mooching around the list, it struck me that the value and interest here lay within the Italian, Portuguese and South African sections, which is how I ended up drinking the 2023 Secateurs, a Chenin Blanc from Badenhorst Family Wines in Swartland. And jolly delicious it was too.
This just left room for puddings, which included a rhubarb and custard mille feuille, and a caramel and madeira tart. The tart was expertly crafted, cut with razor sharp precision, and beautifully presented, although I did not find myself immediately transported to Madeira as I slowly deconstructed it with my fork. The mille feuille, meanwhile, remained a mystery to me, as I was denied permission to taste it. I am sure that means it was delicious. You can take a look at it (below) and decide for yourself if you agree.
I have a happy memory of my dinner at The Spence, although there are two leading components to that memory. The first is the glorious architecture and design, and coming in a close second is that delightful South African Chenin, which – and please steady yourself, or take a seat, as you prepare to read the next few words – would give many of my Ligérian good-value favourites a run for their money. The dishes, meanwhile, were on the most part – black pudding and scallops aside – competently executed, if missing a little flair. So, thank heavens for that cornicing.
Prices: The dressed crab was £18, the scallops £20, the risotto £18, the stuffed chicken breast a heady £29, which perhaps suggests I should try to wean myself off morels. The custard tart was £10 and the mille feuille £12. The 2023 Secateurs was a very reasonable £56; well, it looked reasonable compared to the aforementioned Pouilly-Fumé and similar wines, anyway. With a service charge of £20.37 (which is 12.5% on the bill, including wine) the total for dinner for two at The Spence came to £183.37. (15/5/25)