Set in the shadows of several blocks of student accommodation, The Highland Laddie is completely obscured from view as I approach from the adjacent Kirkstall Road. A twenty minute walk from Leeds station, it feels like I’ve left the creature comforts of the city centre well behind me, as painfully overused phrases like “tucked away” and “hidden gem” begin to fill my head.
The thing is, the pub is distinctly lacking in obscurity. Everyone has been talking about The Highland Laddie. Even someone with even a semblance of interest in the goings-on within the Leeds hospitality scene has no doubt seen the flurry of activity the pub has generated on Instagram. Writing for the Observer, restaurant critic Jimi Famurewa described it as a place of “thrilling finesse” with food that is “spectacularly enjoyable.” And it’s only been open in its revamped form since April.
In its previous incarnation the pub, called The Highland, but known affectionately by regulars as “The Laddie” was forced to close after four decades of continuous trading in April 2023. Previous manager Simon Pierce told the West Leeds Dispatch that running the pub had become “unsustainable” after multiple beer and utility-bill price rises. Following its closure, the pub was acquired by Sam Pullen and Nicole Deighton, who also own and run another slice of Leeds nostalgia in The Empire Cafe.
Here’s the thing: The Highland Laddie has been intentionally designed to present the trappings of a traditional boozer, at least in terms of what that’s supposed to mean in 2025. But it goes further, in that it serves a menu that looks like it’s straight out of Fergus Henderson’s back pocket. Here you’ll find a nose-to-tail selection of small plates veering from fresh oysters (served from the bar) and grilled sardines, to thick slabs of ham cooked over charcoal. Being a proper pub, there’s even a requisite cheeseburger that looks made-by-design to go viral on social media.
But how much is this a proper pub as much as it is a restaurant, or dare I say it, a gastropub. Is it designed for someone who wants to pop in for a couple of pints after work? Or is it a space made for three-hour sit down meals where food takes precedence over drinking? I’m keen to find out who, exactly, The Highland Laddie is actually for.
With the traffic of the busy road behind me, I finally cast my eyes on the triangular, Victorian-era red brick building. A handsome, hand painted sign on the brickwork tells me I’ve arrived at my destination. The building feels classically Leeds, that it could easily feature in the work of local photographer Peter Mitchell, and without fact-checking myself, I wouldn’t be surprised if it has.
Although I immediately spot an update to the pub’s facade in the form of brass shelves that have been fixed to the outer walls, Soho style, to encourage gatherings of drinkers outside. As I enter, this makes total sense. This is a compact space, with a bar and a handful of tables (all occupied) in the triangle-shaped room to my left, and an equally cosy lounge that primarily functions as the dining room on my right. I’ve pre-booked a table, and I’m seated in the latter, where one other couple is diligently working on a plate of oysters.
Both sides have been painted in bold shades of colour, adding a feeling of warmth to the vintage interior. In the bar the ceiling is deep crimson, which matches the mahogany floorboards and bar, where both wood and brass have been polished to the point of elegance. The lounge opts for cooler shades of charcoal and emerald, which adds a nice point of distinction between the two spaces. Vintage pub mirrors are hung sympathetically, in each of the rooms, and in the lounge the pub’s original signage hangs proudly as its centrepiece.
Four cask beers are available, but everyone seems to be drinking Guinness, served from the seemingly de rigueur red box on the bar top, so I decide to do the same. Seeing as the icebox holding them is proudly on display next to the taps, I order three oysters for good measure.
Each oyster, which today are from Carlingford Lough in Ireland, is dressed differently. One is naked, one is served with a beetroot mignonette, and the other with a house-made fermented hot sauce. All are superb, but the latter is my favourite, mingling so perfectly with the fat and the brine of the oyster. My pint isn’t half bad either.
I follow this with a plate of devilled eggs, which is something I consider you should always order if available, based on the amount of effort required to make them. These are superb; rich and well-spiced. I could have easily polished off two or three more rounds.
Moving to mains I opt for spiced minced lamb offal on fried bread, which is deeply savoury and fiery in equal measure. This is followed by grilled sardines served in bone marrow gravy. These are easily the highlight of my meal, with the combination of fish grilled over open coals somehow enhanced by the addition of an intensely meaty sauce. I scrape some of the mince off my other course so I can use the last of my fried bread to mop up as much gravy as possible.
Dining alone means I’m limited in what I can order on this occasion, but I take note of other dishes as they leave the kitchen on the pub’s handsomely monogrammed tableware. It all looks spectacular, and I immediately start texting friends hoping to make plans for a return visit. The cheeseburger looked so good I wish I’d ordered one just so I could post a photograph of it on Instagram.
After dinner I make sure to order a pint of Kirkstall Three Swords on cask to check if the beer is as well looked after as I was by the staff, and I’m pleased to say that it is. My biggest worry was that so much attention here seems given to the aesthetic that the pub wouldn’t have the substance to back it up, especially when it came to the drinks offer. Guinness-aside, there’s a well-considered selection here, with all four cask ales from breweries local to the North and North West, a lager brewed especially for the pub, plus one of the most indulgent selections of whisky I’ve ever seen grace a set of optics. Macallan 12, Bowmore 15 and Jonny Walker Blue Label are just a handful of those available. It almost feels like they’re deliberately showing off. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are.
Thoroughly satisfied, I pay up and leave, still musing over who a pub like this is really for, and if it’s really a pub at all. Because as much as it has been dressed up to look like a traditional establishment, in its approach The Laddie is thoroughly modern. The next day, when I find myself with an hour to spare after a beer festival at Kirkstall Brewery 10 minutes walk down the road, I pop in for a beer mid-afternoon and find my answer.
Perched outside are a handful of regulars working their way through pints of lager. Inside there is a low hum of chatter and people working their way through pints of bitter, some with fist-sized sausage rolls or oysters on the side. Any doubt of whether or not the food offer stops this place from functioning as a ‘proper pub’ had been quashed.
The Highland Laddie is as considered as it is intentful, providing a vital shot in the arm of the Leeds hospitality scene, both as a pub and a restaurant. Because it turns out, even though it doesn’t have to, a pub can function as both of these things if the same level of care and effort is applied to them. In fact, this particular pub is so well done I wouldn’t be surprised if it spawns 100 copycats over the next half a decade or so. And really, would that be such a bad thing?