A waiter in Hong Kong once looked at me and said, when I asked for a table for one at a highly acclaimed steakhouse: "Ooh, that's kind of sad." I still sat down. I still ate the steak. It was a good steak, actually, which made the whole thing worse somehow. But I could not let that opening moment go. It sat across from me the entire meal, the uninvited third presence at the table, and by the time I paid the bill I had decided two things. First, that I was never going back. Se

The prawns in tomato sauce are one of the best dishes to come out of Margarita's kitchen. I say that with complete confidence and without much qualification. The sauce is rich and spiced and has a depth that takes time to build. The prawns absorb it properly rather than sitting on top of it. The dish has been on the menu since we opened and it consistently generates the kind of reaction that tells you something has been cooked correctly: the plate comes back empty and the tab

One of the questions we get asked most often, across every kind of table and every kind of evening, is: what should we order? It is a genuine question and it deserves a genuine answer, which is usually some version of: look at the menu, find everything you want to try, and order those things. Not because we are avoiding the question, but because the best version of a sharing plate dinner at Nectar is the one built around what you are actually curious about rather than around

If someone says Greek food and the first thing that comes to mind is a gyros, you are not wrong, but you are also only seeing a small corner of a much bigger picture. Gyros, the meat carved off a spit and wrapped in pitta, is genuinely Greek and genuinely good when done properly. But it is street food, the equivalent of judging Italian cooking entirely on a slice of pizza from a takeaway counter. It tells you something true about Greek food, that it is built to be eaten quick

There is a moment that happens at Nectar fairly regularly, usually toward the end of a meal, when a small cold glass arrives at a table that did not order it. We pour mastiha as a house serve for regulars, for large groups who have eaten well and stayed long, and for guests we want to look after in the particular way that the end of a good meal deserves. It is not on the menu. It just appears. A small glass, served cold, clear as water, with a quality that is immediately dist

Before I tell you about the desserts, I want to tell you about the afternoon we chose them. Shortly before Nectar opened, we spent an afternoon working through every Greek dessert we were seriously considering putting on the menu. Twelve desserts in total, tasted properly, discussed properly, argued about in the way that food decisions deserve to be argued about. Alongside them, four coffees each. By the end of it, neither Eirini, Panos nor I were in any condition to make sen

Edinburgh is a city that does international food well. That is not something that gets said often enough, partly because the conversation about Edinburgh's food scene tends to focus on its Michelin constellation, its Scottish produce credentials, and its newest openings. All of that is worth the attention it receives. But running quietly alongside the tasting menu narrative is a city that has always been genuinely good at representing cuisines from elsewhere, not in a diluted

I should be upfront about something before we get into this. The platters are our most ordered items. By a significant margin. And I have a slightly complicated relationship with that fact, because my honest opinion is that the best way to eat at Nectar is not to order a platter at all. It is to order five or six individual dishes, share everything across the table, and let the meal develop in the way that Greek sharing food is really designed to do. But most of our guests wo

There is a moment that happens at Nectar fairly regularly with this wine. Someone is ordering a bottle, usually because they have asked what goes well with the meat platter and I have pointed them toward the Xinomavro. The bottle arrives at the table. I open it and pour the first glass. They take a sip, pause slightly, and then look at the wine with a different kind of attention. Not confusion exactly. More like recalibration. They were expecting something, and this is someth

There is a particular kind of Edinburgh evening that does not get written about enough. It starts with a table on Broughton Street sometime around half past five. A drink while you look at the menu. Food that arrives at the right pace and leaves you satisfied but not heavy. A walk up the hill to the Playhouse in time to find your seats without rushing. Two hours of something that stays with you. And then, if the evening is going well, the walk back down again to somewhere war

If you have ever bitten into a piece of cold halloumi and felt that curious, almost musical squeak against your teeth, you already know that this is not a normal cheese. It announces itself differently. It behaves differently. And when it is grilled and served hot, it transforms into something that is very difficult to stop eating. Halloumi is one of my favourite things on the Nectar menu, and I say that as someone who has eaten more of it than is probably reasonable. There i

One of the questions we get asked most often is how we decide what goes on the menu. The honest answer is that the menu is never quite decided. It is always in the process of becoming something slightly better than it was. Every three months we reprint. Every month we run a special. Every week something new is being tried behind the bar or tested in the kitchen, quietly and without announcement, waiting to see whether it is good enough to earn its place in front of a guest. T

There are dishes on a menu that you design, and there are dishes that arrive fully formed from somewhere older than the restaurant itself. Our Spinach and Leek Pitta belongs firmly in the second category. It did not come from a recipe book, a food trend, or a conversation about what might work well on a sharing plate menu. It came from Margarita's family, from decades of preparation in Greek kitchens, and from a tradition that predates Nectar by several generations. This is t

There are dishes on a menu that you eat and enjoy. And then there are dishes that you find yourself thinking about on the way home, that come to mind when the weather turns cold and grey, that you order first on a return visit without looking at anything else. Prawn Saganaki is the second kind. It has quietly become one of the most talked-about dishes at Nectar, and the more time passes, the more I understand why. What Saganaki Actually Means The word saganaki does not refer

Sharing plates have become one of the most common formats in modern restaurant dining, and yet they still manage to confuse people more than almost any other way of eating out. The questions are always the same. How many dishes do we need? Do they all arrive at once? What if one person wants something the other does not? Is this going to be enough food? Should I be building a starter, a main and a dessert in my head, or is this something else entirely? These are completely re

Greek food has a reputation problem in the UK that it does not entirely deserve. For a lot of people, the reference points are the same. A chicken gyros from a late-night takeaway, a bowl of hummus on a supermarket shelf, maybe a taverna meal from a holiday in Crete fifteen years ago. None of those things are bad. But none of them are the full picture either. Authentic Greek cooking is one of the most underrepresented cuisines in British cities, considering how rich and varie

There is a dish on our menu that I did not expect to become the thing people come back for most consistently. Not the cocktails, not the platters, not the flagship Tzatziki Martini that gets photographed and talked about more than anything else we serve. The chicken skewer. It is our bestseller. Has been for most of the time we have been open. And the more I think about why, the more it makes sense, because a great chicken skewer is one of the most deceptively difficult thing

I did not grow up eating Greek food. I grew up in Zurich, in a household where the cooking was good but Swiss and Central European in its character: hearty, precise, built around the kind of ingredients that suit a landlocked country with cold winters. Mediterranean cooking was something I encountered on holidays, in restaurants, at other people's tables. It was always appealing but it felt like it belonged to somewhere else. Then I moved to Edinburgh, met Panos and Margarita