St Andrews and I have history. I should flag that up at the start. Three decades ago I was a student here, way before William and Kate shone a spotlight on this cute coastal town in the Lilliputian kingdom of Fife. Since then I’ve been coming back for the odd weekend, wincing at some changes and laughing at others. There’s a fish and chip shop serving prosecco! (Cromars, in case you want to check it out.)
So here I am again, crawling in a caterpillar of cars past the Balgove Larder — the poshest farm shop in Scotland, with a butchery, rustic-chic café, steak barn and rare-breed Soay sheepskins — and edging past the muddle of modern university buildings, until I’m on the familiar cobbled streets.
At its heart St Andrews is as gobsmackingly gorgeous as ever. It’s Fife’s showiest attraction. This bucolic county is characterised by picturesque fishing villages such as Pittenweem, Crail and St Monans, which tumble down to dinky harbours. This is not the Scotland of Munros and jaw-dropping grandeur. It’s scaled down and quaint, a Scottish Cotswolds.
What drew me here as a student were the images in a university prospectus of ancient quadrangles and colleges, a ruined castle, a 12th-century cathedral and an endless sweep of shimmering sand. Oxford and Cambridge might be a smidgin older, but St Andrews University (1413 is old enough, surely) trumps them both with its sand, sea and occasional sun.
This is also the holy grail for golfers who want to play a round on the legendary Old Course. But what keeps me coming back is nostalgia — and fudge doughnuts. St Andrews has become a gastronomic hotspot and in April its credentials grew further when Dean Banks, a finalist of last year’s MasterChef: The Professionals, opened his first restaurant, Haar. I’m checking it out tonight, but first, the doughnuts.
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I race through the Saturday crowds to Fisher & Donaldson. Its fudge doughnut has its own Wikipedia page. The recipe is a secret, but it’s the custard that’s the star: the sheer amount, its creamy consistency and fudgy flavour, topped by a sticky toffee frosting. It’s the king of doughnuts.
My box bagged up, the next stop is the ice-cream parlour. St Andrews has two artisan gelaterias: the family-run Jannettas on South Street is my normal pitstop, but Luvians’ honey and quinoa frozen yoghurt has caught my eye. Seriously? Quinoa? The honey gives it a tangy sweetness and the quinoa is, of course, undetectable.
Crowds mill around the shops: staples for posh students such as Jack Wills, Superdry, Oliver Bonas, Jo Malone, Bobbi Brown and Brora (cashmere, what every student needs). The high street has become as homogenised in St Andrews as everywhere else. There’s a Costa, a Subway and a Pret, but there are still a few independents and specialist food stores, such as Rocca on Bell Street and Mitchell’s on Market Street.
There’s also a plethora of pubs, including stalwarts such as the Criterion and the Keys, but the craft beer and artisan gin craze hasn’t bypassed Fife. St Andrews is topped and tailed by distilleries (Eden Mills and Kingsbarns) and a microbrewery. The St Andrews Brewing Company has two rustic bars with award-winning beers on tap.
I wander down to Topping and Company Booksellers, the blackboard outside advertising literary events and complimentary coffee. I can’t resist the “blind date” shelf, secret books wrapped in paper with a hint at what’s inside. I take a punt on book two, metafiction. “You’ll know the author, you won’t know the book — despite it being his masterpiece,” the blurb teases.
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Meandering down to the harbour, I sit on the wall by the tangle of lobster pots watching a terrier bounding in and out of the waves on East Sands before heading round the cliff path, past the castle and along the Scores, many of the staid old buildings housing university departments, to West Sands.
This two-mile walk follows the path of the opening to Chariots of Fire, in which runners sprint through the sea spray. As I slip out of my flip-flops I watch a father umpire a race with a stopwatch for his children. I pad barefoot along the shore past a group of teenagers playing rounders. Lovers walk hand in hand. Seagulls soar overhead, Tentsmuir Forest dreamy in the distance. It’s the proper, old-fashioned seaside.
There’s nothing like a beach walk for building up an appetite and, brushing the sand from my feet, I grab my bag from the car and check in to Kinnettles Hotel. This 19th-century property was transformed into a boutique bolt hole in 2017 and has bagged itself a star chef.
The feel is relaxed and friendly. The nine rooms don’t have names or numbers, so they feel more like home, and they match the colour of the sand — yes, shades of beige. The design doesn’t shine or shout, but Dean Banks’s arrival downstairs is making plenty of noise. The Haar bar’s cocktail menu changes every day. Today it’s Wave upon Wave, with Arbikie Kirsty’s gin, Chartreuse, sugar, lime juice and tonic. Haar is a Scottish mist rolling in off the sea and the name anchors the restaurant to its coastal location.
The menus are designed for sharing, with small plates and larger dishes alongside a tasting menu. They showcase local ingredients as well as Asian influences and flavours from Banks’s travels, reflected in dishes such as miso aubergine and rhubarb dashi.
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Banks is from Arbroath, just up the coast, and his signature dish is the Arbroath smokie (hot-smoked haddock) three ways. A creamy mousse made from the belly meat is topped by flakes of fillet under a fishy foam and presented under a theatrical cloche swirling with smoke. Everything else pales beside it.
On Sunday I wake to rain. It’s dreich. After a full Scottish (the black pudding usurped by discs of crumbly haggis) I squelch down the road to the British Golf Museum. I don’t even like golf, but when in St Andrews . . .
The experience starts with a nine-minute film. A stream of golfing greats, from Jack Nicklaus to Tiger Woods, well up as they talk about what St Andrews means to them. I’m watching grown men cry over a game of golf. But as I stand there I feel a lump rise in my throat. I’ve got goosebumps. St Andrews is special, they say.
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Lucy Gillmore was a guest of Kinnettles Hotel, which has B&B doubles from £155 (01334 473387, kinnettleshotel.com) and Haar restaurant (01334 473387, haarrestaurant.com)
