They were called “the Macaronis”. Later on, “Garlic eaters.” Even Sergio Leone couldn’t escape the curse, being hailed master of the “Spaghetti Western.” No, the first Italian immigrants, back in the 1880s, were not exactly welcomed with open arms. Two centuries later, the tide has turned: wander through the streets of Edinburgh, and you’ll find more than 50 Italian restaurants, besieged by tourists and locals alike. In 2025, Italian food even had its moment of glory, being recognised by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage.
Yet one thing seems not to have changed in the slightest: then as now, food seems to define, even sum up, Italian identity in the eyes of the world. Pasta, gelato, and pizza form part of a systematic, if not caricatured, imagery associated with il Tricolore. The time has come to challenge the clichés. Let’s dive into the daily lives of the nearly 5,000 Italians who happened, somehow, to call Edinburgh home.
Paradoxically enough, Italian food has been, from the very start, the cornerstone of integration into the British society. Indeed, Italians who first emigrated to the United Kingdom saw the catering trade as an opportunity. They specialized in cafes, restaurants, and even fish and chips!
This history carries a certain resonance today. One of the restaurants recommended by the Italian Society, Pizza Posto, was opened by two friends from Naples, who settled in the UK in the 2000s. Mutti tomato sauce, coffee straight out of the Moka pot. The manager previously worked at Ciao Roma, one of the city’s great Italian addresses, with its trafilata al bronzo pasta and homemade ice creams. Ciao Roma itself opened in 1990, ran by two Italian brothers. Still, Brexit has brought its share of change: “The Italian community used to be much bigger. A lot of people, including several of my friends, had to leave,” testifies a waiter at Mamma Roma.
As for the students, they love this vibrant city: “It’s so beautiful it makes up for the cold” jokes a student from Genoa, now in his third year. “That, you never get used to. You just survive it.” The winter is the moment when homesickness strikes hardest: “The November-December period, with the sun setting at 3pm, is the worst,” admits another. Fortunately, many go home to celebrate Christmas in Italy — a most welcome break.
Everyone copes in their own way: unanimously, food is a source of great comfort. One 4th year student explains that during the winter, he treats himself to a good pizza every week. Prosciutto too, when he can afford it, bought at Margiotta. “The problem is that everything costs so much.” So they adapt. “Where do you buy your pasta?” Laughter. Tesco, LIDL… “It’s not very good, but it’s cheap.” And pesto? Here, the reaction is identical: “No choice, you have to make it yourself.”
And then there’s the “gem”: Valvona and Crolla, the 1934 Italian grocery shop. An Italian friend, originally from Puglia, is struck the moment she walks in. Fresh cheeses, Molisana pasta, olive oil… “I feel like I’m at home.” Her relieved laugh. It only took a few ingredients for her to truly feel settled.
The Italian Society also intends to bring a little of Italy up to the Old North. Dance nights, card games, pizza tastings (Paesano restaurant is their latest favourite). The society draws every kind of profile. There are engineers, sportspeople, literature students. There are those who can’t imagine staying away from Italy, and others who hope to spend their whole lives in the UK. One boy argues that “Italy feels like the rest of Europe, stagnant. Here, it’s so cosmopolitan, so vibrant…” Then, a girl, born and raised in Glasgow, who has always dreamed of coming back to her roots, disagrees. She followed Italian studies, spent one year in Siena, and now intends to spread her wings over Rome.
There are people from every region, from Sicily to Piedmont, happy to gather and talk about the latest match, or the worst pesto in Edinburgh. To share, for a few hours, their love of a language, a dish and a wine.
Food, without a doubt, gathers people. It reminds them of a nonna, a house, a childhood. In the darkest days of winter, it carries them away, under the Tuscan sun. But even the sharpest cacio e pepe would mean so little, without the memories that come with it. To each their own Proust’s madeleine. Food is a medium — a reminder of that place, that land, those people they love, and that they get to call home.
Photo by Samuel Regan-Asante on Unsplash.
