Greggs — Restaurant in City of Edinburgh

Oh Greg. See, back in my time, we didn’t have any of these newfangled “Greggs” scattered across every high street like breadcrumbs after a pigeon convention. No sir. If you wanted a sausage roll in 1956, you had to go to Mrs. Hargreaves’ corner shop and hope she’d made some the night before, and even then, you’d get it lukewarm and wrapped in the Telegraph. It wasn’t gourmet—it was more mystery than meat—but it had character. Character and the lingering taste of inky headlines.

So imagine my surprise when my grandson—bless him, he still thinks oat milk is a real thing—dragged me into a place called Greggs. I thought it was a hardware store at first, or maybe a solicitor’s office. “Greggs” doesn’t sound like a bakery; it sounds like the name of a bloke who did alright at school and now sells radiator valves. But no, inside it’s a wonderland of glistening pastries, steaming bakes, and a queue of people who look far too comfortable with ordering via touchscreen.

Now, the first thing that hit me was the smell. My God, the smell. A warm, buttery fug that curled around your nostrils like a woolen scarf knitted by a loving aunt. There’s a certain dignity to the scent of freshly baked goods—Greggs has bottled it, shaken it, and sprayed it liberally across every corner of their establishment.

And oh, the selection. You’ve never seen a spread like this unless you were at a church bake sale hosted by fifteen competitive widows and two vicars with a butter addiction. Rows of sausage rolls, golden and proud. Pasties with crimped edges that looked hand-pinched by angels. Doughnuts, donuts, crullers, and ringed confectionery creations that practically begged to be eaten before lunch.

I started simple: the classic sausage roll. See, back in my time, a sausage roll was 70% gristle, 20% wallpaper paste, and 10% a prayer to Saint Andrew. But this—this was something else. Flaky, crisp pastry that shattered like thin ice, revealing a piping hot core of seasoned pork that somehow managed to taste both modern and timeless. It was so good I nearly dropped my walking stick.

Then the grandson insisted I try the Vegan Sausage Roll, and I said, “I’m not eating food made of trees and disappointment.” But I relented, and I’ll be damned—it wasn’t half bad. No pork, sure, but it had that same peppery tang and a pastry so light you’d think it had been baked by moonlight. “Witchcraft,” I muttered. “Delicious, flaky witchcraft.”

Now, let me regale you with one final detail: the ambience. No violin music. No ironic neon signs quoting Oscar Wilde. Just people. Real people. Builders, mums, students, me. Folks who just want a decent snack and maybe a cup of tea that tastes like actual tea and not disappointment filtered through an Earl Grey-scented candle.

I sat at one of their little tables—a plastic throne for the working man—and sipped my tea like a king in exile. I watched the world go by outside. A seagull landed, eyed me, and flew off, perhaps understanding it was not yet my time to relinquish my pastry.

Greggs is not perfect. No bakery with more locations than pigeons can be. But it is honest. It is reliable. It is British in the way warm rain and apologizing for everything is British. It is the corner shop of the future, the everyman’s patisserie, the sausage roll of remembrance.

So if you see an old man hunched in the window of a Greggs, sipping tea and smiling into the middle distance, that might be me. Or someone like me. We’re the generation that lived through powdered egg, rationed butter, and war. We’ve earned our steak bakes.

Go...

I popped over for a few sausage rolls in the morning and was greeted by an incredibly rude staff member. Leeann was incredibly rude and blunt to me about the sausage rolls being ready when I was asking if there were any ready. All I did was ask if there were any hot sausage rolls and she aggressively responded “the sausage rolls don’t come hot!”. That was clearly not what I asked and would expect a much better response for someone with the role of ‘Supervisor’. Honestly a terrible experience at Gregg’s and I understand why my neighbours tell me not...

Disappointing to turn up at 6:40am this morning to a closed shop that’s opening hours are 6:30am to see manager Alan abruptly dismiss customers who had been waiting before me telling them not to try and open or knock door as they would set alarm off and that the shop was not open yet although it was actually past opening time. He could have handled the situation in a better manner and remember that any issues the shop is having is not the paying...