Thriving Under the Radar
Reprocessing a 2019 travel memory that is loosely related to how I eat breakfast
At first, I thought we’d made a mistake.
“Well why would you want to go there?”
“It’s so run down.”
“Kinda dangerous.”
“Edinburgh is much better.”
This was the resounding chorus from every Scottish person we’d talked to since the plane landed in Inverness.
Mention of Glasgow resulted in a scrunched nose, a slight head shake of disgust, even a look of concern for the two wide-eyed Americans exploring this country for the first time.
My partner and I had been excited to visit Glasgow. We thought we were excellent researchers and travel planners. We’d read about amazing food, a thriving music scene, and must-visit breweries. Basically, all of our favorite things. Could it really be that bad? Had we fallen victim to clickbait travel blogs that wouldn’t deliver?
We decided to shake it off and see for ourselves.
There was a brief moment of doubt, not long after we stepped off the train. We were walking up to the building our Airbnb was in, and it did look a bit run down. Our host instructed us to give a password to the clerk at the building’s corner store to get the key. We succeeded and hauled our bags up to the top floor of the building. We opened the door and stepped inside a gorgeous flat.
Accents of warm yellow paint made the place look drenched in California sunshine, despite the gray clouds outside. Every piece of framed art, every knick knack was in its optimal place, but it didn’t feel forced. You knew this home was lovingly cared for. We found a friendly welcome note, a comfy bed, and reliable wifi.
We returned to the city streets and hardly left for the next three days.
Craft beers in an old carpet factory modeled after the Doge’s Palace.
A book shop that required customers to navigate around stacks on the floor.
Jaw-dropping street art seven stories high.
Trendy neighborhood cafés serving up perfect, simple breakfasts.
A record store that felt more like your coolest friend’s living room.
Racks of swoon-worthy vintage clothes on the sidewalk.
Some of the best Italian food I’ve had outside Italy.
Soaring Victorian and Gothic architecture.
Mouthwatering Vietnamese street food in a little house that stood out from its neighbors, yet belonged.
A tiny music venue that nearly imploded from filthy blues-rock riffs.
Every gem we explored seemed like it wanted to be hidden. Everything was tucked around a corner, or halfway down an alley, or just below street level, or so tiny you might walk past it three times without noticing.
I wasn’t just having fun; I felt at home here. I felt understood. It took me a day or so to articulate why.
“I get it now,” I said randomly to my partner. “Glasgow reminds me of Cleveland. It gets dismissed based on an old reputation that doesn’t apply anymore, but everyone here seems just fine with that. The vibe is like, ‘Judge all you want. We’re low-key thriving over here.’”
Glasgow is a city thriving under the radar. Not taking itself too seriously. Glasgow doesn’t care what you think of it. The ones who get it, get it. The ones who don’t? Approval not needed.
Chewing on this idea recently, I remembered Anthony Bourdain loved Glasgow, too.
He visited for an episode of “Parts Unknown” in 2014 (aired May 2015, season 5), during the buildup before the Scottish independence referendum failed.
“To many outsiders, Glasgow is seen as a hard-scrabble, even fearsome place that history has moved on from,” goes the voiceover. “But there is a sense that something different is around the corner.”
The b-roll here is of a pro-independence rally, so I’m pretty sure that’s the main point. But I’m going to take this quote as validation anyway. Thanks, Tony. Besides, the Scottish independence conversation is far from over thanks to Brexit.
Here’s a story that’s familiar to me: A city booms during the Industrial Revolution. In the latter half of the 20th century, factories shutter and population declines. Crime rises among those who are left. City gains reputation for being undesirable.
Some might say that’s Glasgow’s story. It’s Cleveland’s story. It’s Akron’s story—my hometown often seen as Cleveland’s little sister. Bourdain argued for comparisons between Glasgow and Detroit or New Orleans, which also make sense.
The parallels are a bit oversimplified, but they are noticeable. I won’t pretend to know every nuance of what makes Glasgow the city it is today. I do know one can’t discuss Rust Belt decline and rebirth without confronting the poison of systemic racism that runs through it all, including the gentrification that often defines the rebirth.
Here’s the next part of the story: In a city that was never dead, new restaurants open. Immigrants move in. Bands form. Artists unleash their imaginations on canvases and abandoned buildings. Unique shops pop up in unexpected places. People gather over coffee or drinks and connect. Voices previously silenced rise up. There’s an underlying hum of excitement and pride that only the trained ear can hear.
I connected to Glasgow because I grew up in a place with that hum, too. It acknowledges where you’ve been, celebrates where you are, and motivates you to keep moving forward. It doesn’t care if anyone else notices. It thrives under the radar.
Do you love a place that’s thriving under the radar? Tell me about it in the comments and “like” this post while you’re there!
What did this post have to do with breakfast? I confess, very little. But it blossomed out of requests from friends to share my recipe for homemade hummus, which I have been trying to nail down lately. I eat hummus toast for breakfast multiple times a week, because of this meal my partner and I had at the Wilson St. Pantry in Glasgow.
I’d never had hummus toast before, as the U.S. remains pretty crazed about avocado toast. This version was so simple: sturdy toasted bread with thick, homemade hummus, nuts and seeds, chunks of salty feta, two beautifully poached eggs, topped with microgreens. I’ve been using this formula for breakfast ever since. Next week on Makans of a Chef, I’ll have my recipe for super creamy hummus and three variations for slathering it on toast.
I love this story! I very much enjoy the appreciation of an under-valued gem, completely content to exist without the approval of the mainstream. In a way, that's kind of what modern writing looks like: existing to find the right audience, cater to them, and not worry quite so much about the rest of the rabble.
Thanks for sharing your travel story!