As we perch on the high-backed bar stools, burly cable-knit sweaters, tam-o'-shanters, and navy blazers with gold embroidered crests stroll by. When the barkeep emerges from behind the bar, no one seems to notice he's wearing a plaid skirt. Welcome to St. Andrews, the city's sole Scottish eatery, named after the world's most famous golf course, where, six centuries ago, a series of rabbit paths through the furze inspired the sport of golf. The woody front room initiates a golf theme that extends to the clubby back room, in which businessmen in booths loosen their ties and make deals, while families of rosy-cheeked tourists spread out at larger tables. Occasionally interrupting the theme are row upon row of single-malt Scotch bottles from a list of 175; some of them are limited editions only temporarily available. If you betray the slightest interest, the waitress—who seems way too young to be a serious Scotch drinker—will launch into an instructional seminar, declaiming the relative merits of sweet Speysides and smoky Campbelltowns, her eyes shining... More >>>