Away Game: Edinburgh, Scotland & London, England
There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don't speak Scottish
Away Game is a format that showcases journeys as they unfold. Live dispatches from unfamiliar places. Notes, stories, and reflections on the thrill of discovery. Mostly photos, with some shorter-form writing intertwined.
Away Game: Edinburgh, Scotland & London, England
“I don’t ask for much. I’d never fucking tell ya to do the Macarena. Turn around, we’re doing the Poznań. Get fucking involved.”
Liam Gallagher’s sternly delivered marching orders had us lads and lassies facing away from the stage, arms linked with bucket hat-wearing strangers, jumping in jubilation as the first few chords of “Cigarettes and Alcohol” kicked in. With each bounce — New Balance 1906s leaving the ground — I couldn’t help but feel like I was a part of something much, much greater than myself.
Oasis wasn’t a part of my formative years. I can’t say I was “absolutely gutted” when the band broke up in 2009. I have a vague memory of hearing “Champagne Supernova” around that time, the reverb-laden sound of waves crashing against the dizzying lyric, “Where were you while we were getting high?” But whether you grew up on the brash sounds of Definitely, Maybe, or recently found your way into the depths of their discography, Oasis Live ‘25 is a spiritual experience. One that’ll leave you feeling hopeful.
For an evening in Edinburgh, Scotland, it didn’t matter where you came from, how old you were, or how many quid you had to your name. All that mattered was that you sang the words you knew — as loudly as you could. That you shared in excitement for the return of the greatest British band of the '90s. That ya wouldn’t judge a heavy set bloke sheddin’ a couple of tears or drinking a few too many Tennent’s.
The exchange of energy is why I love live music, and why I seek out shows. From the moment Underworld’s iconic electronic anthem “Born Slippy” came on over the house speakers to the final crack of fireworks above Murrayfield, the energetic exchange at Oasis Live ‘25 was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It was years of pent-up emotion released. Full-blown adults reliving their youth. Some of them with their sons perched on their shoulders, surely making memories they’ll talk about over the dinner table for decades to come. It was a cultural phenomenon draped in passion, recklessness, and mystique — and frankly, I’m not sure I’ll experience something like it again.
Edinburgh turned out to be more or less exactly how I imagined it.
Even when it was sunny, there seemed to be a touch of gloom. The oat-yellow tufted hair grass swayed in the persistent breeze. Pale-gray sandstone buildings stand strong and prominent. It felt like it could rain at any moment, though it never did. The locals weren’t particularly friendly, but certainly not rude. I recognize these aren’t exactly glowing remarks, and that’s because it isn’t a particularly glowing place.
Yet there’s something supremely comforting about the melancholy of Scotland. The pubs wrap you up a little tighter. The quail tastes a little better. It’s old-worldy in a way that slows your pace and gets you thinking about the deep history. I found it best to embrace the overcast skies and crisp air — to find spaces and places that comfort, warm, and inevitably, turn your attention inward. Ultimately, there was profound joy in the quiet monotony of the town.
Tucking into a corner table in the red-walled, red-carpeted Kay’s Bar, is a great place to start — it’s a pub that’ll brighten even the darkest of days. Grabbing one of the eight wooden seats at Singapore Coffee House, where potent cups of Kopi and hearty sausage roti wraps are on offer, will lift your spirits. Sitting by the wood-paneled windows at Malt & Hops, drinking a nicely poured pint of Murphy’s while looking out over the Water of Leith, might be the best way to embrace the Scottish spirit.
On an afternoon where the sun peeked out and the city seemed to ignite, I made my way south, just beyond the sprawling Meadows. Pomelo is perched on a quiet, cottage-lined road, where lavender-hued Scottish thistle hovers above the roofs. Chewy hand-ripped noodles with caramelized pork in an umami-packed peanut chili sauce was not a dish I expected to write home about from Scotland — but it was unequivocally the most memorable dish of the three-day jaunt.
Next door, a bright-green facade and the captivating smell of lemon, poppy, and warming spices leaked through a cracked-open door, drawing me into Elliot’s. The natural, woody space is home to cookbook author Jess Elliot Dennison’s studio, used for recipe development, cooking demos, and tasteful cottage-core home goods. In many ways, Jess’ personality is how I’ll remember Edinburgh — soft-spoken and a bit buttoned-up, but cheerful and kind.
Edinburgh often felt like it was on its best behavior, which at times comes across as a bit sterile — lacking personality or a distinct point of view. Dinner at Heron, a beautiful, evergreen-painted corner restaurant beside the canal, was a spectacular collection of brilliantly executed dishes: turbot and courgettes dressed in kombu; crispy veal sweetbread served over a bone marrow-richened buckwheat risotto. Yet, the curt, direct service managed to make the otherwise electric meal feel somewhat cold — ultimately like a fine dining restaurant that could have existed anywhere in the world. Not a knock, exactly — but it felt like the true personality of Edinburgh was clouded behind an idea of what Edinburgh should be.
And maybe that’s what made the Oasis show feel all the more special — the contrast. A normally reserved group of people getting unapologetically loud, boisterous, and expressive. I got a glimpse of what the Scots are like with their guard down. “Wonderwall” tends to have that effect on people.
On the back half of the trip, a four-and-a-half-hour train ride dropped me in London — miraculously, my first time in the city.
For years, I’ve been stashing bookmarks and taking notes on the London scene. Listening to Sam Hillman gush over the vibe in Dalston. Watching the Topjaw lads interview everyone and their mum about the best the city has to offer. Paying close attention to the prolific London chefs, like Tomos Parry, who have popped up in New York. And keeping a peripheral eye on the UK’s restaurant awards and other accolades.
And still, I felt massively unprepared for the sprawl of London and the range of its offerings — an overwhelming feeling that quickly faded when I reminded myself London isn’t going anywhere… I look forward to many revisits to come.
For a first-timer, I felt good about the covered ground and hits found. I navigated the sweltering Tube and acquainted myself with bike riding on the left side of the street to reach the edges of Hackney and Finsbury Park in pursuit of specialty coffee roasters and perfect pints.
After reeling off a few creamy Gs and a snack of sausages dipped in nasal-clearing mustard at the Devonshire, I had an epic meal at Mountain, the buzzing, open-fire restaurant on Beak Street. Raw sopresatta and pickled peppers over rye; scallop and monkfish crudo with fermented strawberries; and a hefty beef rib accompanied by charred market veg and tender potatoes — all stellar. And impressively, the large, booming room felt warm and personal.
There were plenty of hits citywide: The incredibly tasteful neighborhood wine bar Goodbye Horses; the corner desi canteen Tamil Prince, serving deep curries and zesty salads; and the phenomenal Dusty Knuckle bakery, slinging sausage rolls and feta-honey-fennel buns out of a van beside Highbury Fields.
But ultimately, the best London has to offer is, without question, its pubs. This might not be as radical a statement as it feels — but it’s true. Culturally, the corner spaces with welcoming windows and friendly staffers are what I’m already finding myself missing. Places like The Scolt Head, with a triangular garden that swoops you off the main road into a wonderland of crisp beers. Chesham Arms, with its wood-burning fireplace, grand piano, and sprawling backyard. And my favorite of them all, The Plimsoll — a pub I felt an emotional connection to, with its dialed soundsystem, down-by-the-railroad, gritty aesthetic, and the best pint of Guinness of my life (a big statement, I know).
It was a scratch-the-surface, lay-of-the-land trip to London this time around. One I thoroughly enjoyed. Next time: catching some Prem, drinking more pints, trekking out to Hampstead, and going even deeper into the food scene.
A few more standout shots from this week — Stockbridge, Leith, Dalston, Hackney:
Thanks for being here, thanks for reading. If you feel inclined, you can support my creative process by upgrading to a paid Flood’s subscription. You’ll also gain access to Flood’s Worldwide — all my favorite places from around the world in a concise list and Google Map. All the Edinburgh and London hits above are now included, plus many others not covered in today’s post.
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Goodbye Horses and the Plimsoll are two of London’s best!