At the Illusionist's Table

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Candelabra-lit, sage-green walled, nestled at the top of a dizzyingly tall staircase inside the Scotch Malt Whisky Society, lies a private dining room with a huge oval table. And seated louchely at the head, a dark-wood box and a glass of crimson wine before him, is Scott Smith. Impeccably dressed with manners to match, he invites us to sit. We are all, according to Smith, going to make friends with strangers tonight and that, he tells us, is the real magic of the evening.            

Of course it isn’t. The real magic is in the suspension of disbelief that allows you to behold… well Fest would not be such a party-pooper as to tell, of course. Suffice to say that over the course of a two-and-a-half hour meal, Smith is as excellent a host as one could wish for. His patter is gracious, debonair, his tricks classic. He spins yarns delving into his family history and shares with us exclusive and delicious cask whiskies.

James Freeman’s food has been cleverly integrated into the show—we shall say no more—and in its innovation and execution, easily stands up to its rivals on Edinburgh’s fine dining scene.

In fact, the whole show breathes class from start to finish, with Smith’s maddeningly brilliant number-guessing jiggery-pokery a highlight. There is something a tiny bit less assured in his sleight of hand. But then he is still enviably young, and already wildly confident. And Fest would most certainly be first in line to see what he conjures up next.