Let's have a gander at the menu: sea buckthorn and thyme soda, Douglas fir and treacle, plum shrub soda, burnt lemonade. And that's just the soft drinks list. Little wonder Timberyard's arrival was welcomed with words such as "game-changing" and "paradigm-shifting".
Edinburgh is temperamentally closer to Copenhagen than, say, Bristol, so it's unsurprising to find a chef whose plates owe more to the likes of Kadeau, Relae and Noma than to home-grown hotshots. It's so uncompromising, so stripped back, you half expect to witness a spot of light butchery in the interior courtyard. They're doing the whole local produce thang, of course, but aim to take it further into a degree of self-sufficiency and zero waste. And dour Edinburgh, instead of clutching well-bred pearls to crepy throat at this terrifying modernity, has embraced it with an enthusiasm that's bordering on the unseemly.
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