David Wilson

David Wilson is a merry Scotsman of the best sort. There is nothing he enjoys more than a good chuckle about life and he doesn’t mind telling the odd story against himself — like the time he took his children to a panto in Dundee. The comic picked him out in the audience, set the spotlight on him and cracked, ‘Ooh, boys and girls, look who we’ve got here tonight. It’s Captain Birdseye!’ His face says it all. The eyes crinkle, the mouth stretches into a boyish grin and the whiskers bristle with humour. At the Peat Inn, the menu is a serious celebration of Scotland’s finest produce but the food is presented on exquisite white thirteen-inch plates which, on closer inspection, reveal something of a Euro-jeu d’esprit. The china is made in Stoke-on-Trent to a German design with a French label, ‘Etoiles’, while the salt and pepper pots are shaped like well-fed porkers and branded ‘Elysée’: ‘Low-flying presidential pigs,’ quips Wilson. 1992 and all that, I suppose.