The grey granite buildings of Aberdeen glinted faintly in the early morning mist as I stepped onto Union Street, eager to begin the kind of adventure that doesn’t require a map or compass—just a sharp palate and a healthy appetite. Known as the “Granite City,” Aberdeen is often praised for its resilient architecture, oil industry ties, and stark coastline. But there’s something else hiding beneath that stony surface: a food scene brimming with local pride, global influence, and unexpected soul.
Over the past ten days, I walked the cobbled streets, chatted with bartenders, baristas, and cab drivers, asked nosy questions, peeked into kitchens when allowed, and most importantly, tried every forkful I could afford. There’s a beauty in discovering where locals actually eat—not the glittering guidebook darlings, but the places they return to, again and again. Here’s what I found.
1. Moonfish Café – Intimate Dining with Imaginative Flair
Tucked away in Correction Wynd, just a stone’s throw from the historic St. Nicholas Kirk, Moonfish Café sits quietly—almost shyly. The building doesn’t shout for attention, but step inside and the experience will speak volumes.
The first evening there, a soft amber light flickered against bare stone walls. The daily menu, written with elegant restraint, offered a seasonal Scottish tasting lineup with modern European flourishes. I started with pan-seared scallops on celeriac puree, topped with what can only be described as “crispy garden whispers”—thin fried parsley leaves that crunched like autumn leaves beneath your boots.
For the main course, halibut from Peterhead, resting on smoked leek velouté and a bed of charred spring onions. It had that just-caught sweetness, the kind that makes you pause mid-sentence.
The sommelier, a man with a beard so perfectly trimmed it could pass for an architectural feat, recommended a 2020 Albariño from Galicia, its minerality playing deftly with the sea-salt bite of the halibut. Dessert was a deconstructed lemon tart that leaned more toward avant-garde sculpture than pastry.
Moonfish doesn’t take walk-ins easily. I booked ahead through OpenTable, which many restaurants in Aberdeen use for reservations. Highly recommended.
2. The Silver Darling – Dining with a View That Rivals the Plate
Aberdeen Harbour is a churning, dramatic backdrop, especially as the North Sea wind starts to whip. The Silver Darling is perched in the old customs house by the water, all glass and angles, letting the seascape in like a third course.
Dinner began with Cullen Skink—not the first time I’ve had it, but certainly the most luxurious version. The smoked haddock was buttery, the broth rich but balanced, and the chunks of potato tender enough to yield to a spoon but not fall apart.
I chose the monkfish wrapped in pancetta, paired with a Champagne beurre blanc and lentils cooked with what I can only call French patience. Each element retained its own voice but sang together like an old choir.
While sipping an espresso martini, I watched the trawlers tug into the harbor, gulls wheeling over their mastheads. No one rushed me. No bill was pushed. Just salt, sea, and silence.
Reservations can be made via their website, but I had better luck using ResDiary, which seems to be Aberdeen’s go-to platform.
3. Foodstory – The Creative Heartbeat of the City’s Food Movement
Not everything in Aberdeen is sea-sourced or highbrow. Sometimes it’s the laid-back spots that sneak up and wrap you in their warmth. Foodstory is just that: a grassroots café with communal tables, recycled wooden furniture, and a soft buzz of university conversations, acoustic guitars, and clinking mugs.
The menu changes with mood and mission. One morning I had a turmeric oat latte and a stack of vegan banana pancakes with coconut cream and toasted almonds. Another day it was harissa-roasted carrots on a slice of sourdough with a perfectly poached egg and smoked paprika oil.
The staff looked like they’d just come from an art installation or poetry reading—earnest, inked, and busy in a cheerful way. I overheard one of them explaining their seasonal fermentation project to a customer. The vibe is earnest, never pretentious.
There’s no formal booking system—first come, first served. Bring a notebook, a scarf, and at least one existential question.
4. Café Bohème – Parisian Elegance, Aberdeen Soil
Café Bohème sits proudly on Windmill Brae, a restaurant with polished cutlery, pressed linen napkins, and the kind of bread basket that announces intentions early. This is classic French dining—soulful, not stiff.
The duck confit came with puy lentils so deeply flavored I suspect the chef whispered secrets into the pot. The jus was sticky and dark, the kind that demands every scrap of baguette for proper appreciation.
I returned for lunch two days later and found a coq au vin that tasted like a postcard from Lyon. Simple, deliberate, timeless.
Booking through TheFork worked smoothly.
5. Maggie’s Grill – Soul Food, Scottish Soul
Nothing prepares you for Maggie’s Grill unless you’ve previously dined inside a blues song. It’s loud, smoky (in taste, not air), and unapologetically American with a Scottish twist. Think Creole meets Cairngorm.
I tried the beef brisket, slow-cooked until it could’ve been mistaken for velvet, served over sweet potato mash with a side of mac and cheese that dared me to finish it. The portion was large enough to qualify as an architectural statement. I did not finish it.
But the real discovery was the blackened Cajun salmon—served with southern slaw and fried plantains. The heat built slowly, like a jazz solo, ending in a mouth-tingling finish that stayed long after dessert.
You’ll want to book ahead on OpenTable for dinner, especially on weekends.
6. The Braided Fig – Whimsy and Comfort Collide
Named after the tree that once stood in the garden behind it, The Braided Fig offers a dinner service that walks the line between cozy and slightly surreal. Think antique furniture, a faint scent of lavender, and a menu that would make your grandmother weep with joy.
I was served a venison loin with parsnip purée, cranberry jus, and glazed heritage carrots. It was plated like a still life—so carefully done, it felt briefly wrong to cut into it.
Their sticky toffee pudding came recommended by a woman seated two tables down, who turned around unprompted to praise it. She was not wrong. It was less pudding and more altar to the gods of brown sugar and cream.
I found them on ResDiary as well, with great ease.
7. Bio Café – Where Gut Health Meets Gourmet
I wouldn’t usually seek out a health-food-forward spot while traveling, but after the previous night’s triple-dessert misadventure, Bio Café was a welcomed retreat. Located just off Union Grove, it’s bright, white-tiled, and clean without feeling sterile.
The menu includes probiotic bowls, herbal elixirs, and protein-packed lunches. I tried the Korean Bibimbap with tempeh and kimchi, followed by a raw cacao smoothie. Despite my skepticism, it was delicious—zingy, well-balanced, and extremely filling.
Also notable: their kefir lattes, something I had never encountered before. Let’s just say it’s an acquired taste.
No reservations needed—walk-ins only, and usually a table free if you come before the lunch rush.
8. Nargile – Turkish Warmth in Northern Climes
Climbing the stairs to Nargile on Forest Avenue, there’s a brief moment of hesitation—it looks small, unassuming. Then the aromas hit: garlic, grilled meats, sumac, and toasted bread.
I was seated near the window, where a flickering votive candle gave everything a warm glow. The mixed mezze arrived first: hummus, baba ghanoush, ezme, and dolmas. Each had its own story, its own pulse.
The lamb shish was cooked to a perfect sear, juice catching in the grilled pita below like treasure. I tried the Turkish red wine—Kavaklıdere—and it held its own admirably.
Booking on TheFork was seamless, and I noticed several locals using the same platform.
9. Rustico – Sicilian Fire in a Granite City
Rustico wears its heart on its sleeve. The walls are covered in wine labels and family photos, and the staff speak with a blend of Italian enthusiasm and Aberdonian efficiency.
The seafood linguine was the showstopper. Mussels, clams, squid, and prawns swam in a broth that whispered of saffron and tomato sun. I paired it with a glass of Sicilian Nero d’Avola and watched the room buzz with chatter.
Tiramisu arrived in a low tumbler glass—layered, potent, and better than many I’ve had in Milan.
Reservations are advisable and can be made through OpenTable.
10. Yatai Izakaya – Japanese Precision, Scottish Sourcing
Yatai Izakaya doesn’t advertise itself loudly. There’s no neon or window fanfare, but inside, the pace is brisk, the knives sharp, and the sushi meticulous. What makes it stand out is its use of local Scottish ingredients—salmon from Shetland, crab from Fraserburgh, beef from Aberdeenshire.
I started with karaage chicken, golden and hot with a sweet chili glaze that kissed the top of your palate. Then came nigiri—tuna, scallop, eel—and finally the signature Scottish roll with smoked salmon and pickled daikon.
The sake list was modest but expertly chosen. I ended with a black sesame ice cream that proved dessert can be subtle and complex at once.
They recommend booking via their website, though they’re also listed on ResDiary.
Each of these places brought its own narrative to my time in Aberdeen. I tasted smoke and sea, tradition and modernity, grit and grace. While the weather often played the part of a moody dramatist, the food never wavered—it welcomed, warmed, and occasionally surprised me.
If you’re planning your own culinary journey through the Granite City, booking ahead is a smart move. OpenTable, ResDiary, and TheFork proved indispensable tools.
Let your nose lead you, your stomach guide you, and your curiosity drive you.
Because in Aberdeen, the locals aren’t just eating—they’re feasting.
