Edinburgh
Scotland not only looks and feels like a different country from the rest of Britain, it sounds different. The soft, Scottish drawl with its sing-song lilt is an accent born to woo “bonnie lassies” and imbibe “wee drams” of whisky. A sip too many of its prized single malts could make you lose your way: place names like Kirkcaldy, Kirkcudbright and Glamis are respectively pronounced “kircoddy”, “kircoobree” and “glahms”. Islay, where a well-known whisky is produced, is definitely “eye-la”. Glenburn, a country house we stayed in, is a seat by the river — “glen” being valley and “burn” a stream. And Scotch refers to a race or people, not a drink. Don’t ever ask for a “full English breakfast” — the bagpiper may drop his kilt.
Edinburgh is dramatic enough, with its medieval hilltop castle and soaring crags, and proudly literary, with its memorials to Sir Walter Scott and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, but we were offered a treat one morning worthy of J K Rowling, its fashionably famous daughter. It was called “The Scotch Whisky Experience” and was set in a dungeon.
Visitors were queuing from 10 a m to board barrel-shaped roller coasters that passed through a series of underground chambers to explain how the best whiskies are brewed, distilled and matured. Given the industriousness of the Scots, or the Scotch, it was unsurprising to learn that they produce 2,340 bottles every minute and sell 39 bottles every second around the world. More newsworthy was the fact that the tour had just added Hindi to its 15-language audio translation, in deference to one of its biggest export markets and the number of Indians who fetch up at the front door for value-added tastings.
Scotland’s India connections go back a long way. In the 18th century, the Baptist missionary and linguist William Carey settled in Serampore, establishing one of the first printing presses and translating the Bible into Sanskrit, Bengali and other languages. From the firths of Glasgow and Edinburgh sailed the ships that introduced steam engines and industrial hardware to the subcontinent. Great Scottish fortunes were made from the India trade: Lipton, the tea broker, and Coats, a thread supplier to the looms of Paisley, are still household names. The India Buildings on Edinburgh’s Victoria Street are a prominent 19th-century landmark in the city; a former registry office, they were recently converted to a backpackers’ hostel. On the seafront in the resort of Rothesay in the Isle of Bute are handsome Victorian mansions with names like “Madras” and “Delhi” (pronounced “Del-Hi”) built as retirement homes by colonial soldiers and civil servants.
The links remain profitable in the present day. Edinburgh’s reputation as a new European capital of gastronomy, with more restaurants per capita of the population than London, is burnished by 40-year-old Tony Singh, Scottish Sikh chef and owner of Oloroso, one of the city’s smartest eateries, with commanding rooftop views of the castle and crags. He comes from one of the 500 Sikh families in the city, many of whom migrated from Lahore and Amritsar in the 1940s and 1950s. His father worked as a truck driver but Tony, after taking a catering degree, has had an illustrious career. Starting as a junior chef in the historic Balmoral Hotel, he became the first civilian chef on the royal yacht Britannia, swept a series of culinary competitions and was named as ITV’s Chef of the Year. He is famous for a fusion menu that includes langoustine with chilli jam and rich creamy mango and white chocolate pudding.
But his proudest moment, he explains in his delicious Scottish brogue, was to be invited to cook for the Commonwealth Games in Delhi last year, which makes the next 2014’s Games in Glasgow but a short hop away. Before that, though, he’d like to bring Oloroso to Delhi. Make that Del-Hi, as the Scotch say.