Review: Sloan's, Glasgow's Oldest Pub & Restaurant.

Good vibes, Chewy Pie, and People Watching.

5/8/20243 min read

"The Curious Case of the Chewy Pie: Dining at Sloans; Glasgow’s Oldest Pub"

When a place calls itself the oldest bar and restaurant in Glasgow, you go. No questions asked. So, like the culturally curious (and always slightly hungry) food explorer I am, I found myself at Sloans, dodging pigeons and hoping to discover the culinary soul of Scotland.

Welcome to Glasgow, Where the People Are Weird (In the Best Way)

Sloans was much busier than I expected for what I assumed was a sleepy historic landmark. I opted for the outdoor dining area, which turned out to be prime real estate for people-watching. And let me just say—Glasgow, your people are delightfully odd. Not unlike my fellow Americans, just with thicker accents and more tartan.

Haggis Pie: A Beautiful Monster with a Pie Crust Problem

First up, I tackled the mini Haggis pie with tatties and mash. Because if you go to Scotland and don’t eat haggis, they legally revoke your tourist visa. The flavor of the filling was shockingly good—rich lamb, a nice punch of spice, and that minerally metallic funk that makes adventurous foodies clap like caffeinated seals.

Bonus points: it came with not one, but two pies (what a time to be alive), a full goblet of gravy (a.k.a. sauce royalty), and a side salad that looked like it wandered onto the plate by accident and just decided to sit there awkwardly. The one major letdown? The crust. It was so dense and chewy I needed a power tool to cut through it. Like, I get rustic—but this felt like it was forged in a blacksmith’s shop.

Fish & Chips: Size Matters, Seasoning Does Too

Then came the Beer Battered Haddock, because I refuse to leave the UK without trying the national treasure that is fish & chips. The portion was massive—like, are they feeding rugby players out here?

The batter was textbook crispy. Like, “raise your hand if you’re a culinary school gold star student” crispy. But the flavor? Absolutely ghosted me. No seasoning. None. The fries—yes, fries, not the thick “chips” I expected—were also completely unseasoned. And don’t even get me started on the peas. Look, I don’t know what sacred covenant the UK has with peas, but these were sad, bland, and existed solely to add a splash of green to the plate like a kindergartener’s drawing of “vegetables.”

Service: Fast, Friendly, Then Suddenly... Gone

Now, let’s talk about the service. At first? Lovely. Friendly. Attentive. I was genuinely impressed. Then I asked for the check… and my server disappeared into a 25-minute gab session with a friend—while three other tables sat there like abandoned puppies. Look, I get it. Restaurant work is brutal. I’ve worn the apron. I’ve done the grind. But disappearing during the home stretch of a meal? That’s like stopping a marathon 100 feet from the finish line to chat about Love Island.

Final Thoughts on the Beard-O-Meter

Despite the chewy crust, the unseasoned haddock, and the disappearing act of my server, there’s something about Sloans that still makes it worth a visit. Maybe it’s the atmosphere. Maybe it’s the haggis. Maybe it’s the history. Or maybe I just enjoy yelling “TATTIES” in public.

Either way, for cultural charm and historical curiosity—with room for improvement on the plate—I’m giving Sloans a 5 out of 10 on the Beard-O-Meter. Would I go back? Sure. But I’m bringing my own salt.