Summering in Glasgow's Gloriosa Restaurant
A reflection on staging at my favourite restaurant in the UK
I’m not sure why it’s taken me this long to write about Gloriosa. Since my first visit to the Glasgow restaurant in early 2024, I have been enamoured. I still remember vividly how green, rich and luxurious their chive butter langoustines were, how the plate of radishes had leaves that bounce, how the dollop of taramasalata tasted like velvet, and how, when paired together with the radishes, I thought of spring. The plate of mussel and seafood tonarelli was bewitchingly flavourful, as if it was tossed with drugs, love, or MSG.
I had been harassing their email ever since, begging for a chance to work in the kitchen. It seems like the third or fourth time was the charm. Just before summer started, I shot my shot again—and got a reply from chef Rosie herself. The myth and the legend. She says that she decided to give me a chance because I made her laugh on the phone. That’s right, ladies and gents. I am a personality hire. And man, am I proud of that.
I had proposed to work in the restaurant for August and planned to return to Italy in September. In the end, August flew by, and suddenly, saying goodbye to the team, the glorious food and the restaurant felt impossible.
“Why don’t you just stay?” the wonderful chefs, Toby and Ella, asked me. I shook my head, knowing that it just wasn’t the right time, nor the agreement. It was the right restaurant. If there were to be a restaurant, a team and a chef that I would stay for, it would be for Gloriosa.
In the end, I stayed an extra month, catching a glimpse of Glasgow’s gloomy October weather, which required a heavy wool sweater and a down jacket. It was very hard to say goodbye, knowing whatever restaurant I worked for next would probably pale in comparison.
On my first day at Gloriosa, Jordan, the head chef, showed me how to make their famed focaccia. Ella made me a coffee. At 4pm, when work ended, Jordan made me a plate of squid tonarelli after I had told him about the seafood version that still haunted my dreams. On my last day, Jordan made me a plate of mussel tonarelli when my shift ended, and I sat on the barstools, chatting with one of the many cool, hip servers and learning about the indie porn magazine that he’s making.
I’ve avoided writing about Gloriosa because I’m not sure words can ever do it justice. I went there because of the food, but I’ve begun to understand that the attraction was beyond flavour. It was the way the food made me feel during my first time. I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since, and found it within every team member in the restaurant. Warm, vibrant, deep, and thoughtful. There is care here. And when you visit, it’s clear to see.
All chefs care about their food—or at least, I hope they do. But Gloriosa taught me something deeper: that generous care can transform a meal. That being seen and treated well in the kitchen translates directly to the plate. Maybe I’m reading too much into it all, or maybe there’s just simply not enough respect, hospitality and care for staff in most restaurants.
In an industry that glorifies overworking, hyper-masculine, competitive and tough environments, Gloriosa is a sanctuary that shows good food can be done, even if—especially if—you are good to each other. All I know is, I’m grateful for my time there.
I hope you are good to each other today.
I resonate with what you wrote; it's such a fantastic remider that sometimes the best 'algorithms' for life involve pure passion and personality. Seriously, that's an insightful journey. Thank you for sharing!