Roy Beers: Ronnie Clydesdale - a 'godfather' of the Scottish licensed trade

They rightly concentrated on the fact that he virtually invented "fine dining" single-handed back in the early 70's, when the restaurant sector was stuffy, a bit toffee-nosed, and largely concentrated on French and Italian haute cuisine.

In those days, he once told me, wine was something served at your table with an air of mystery and reverence by a man in a dinner suit. Ideally you'd be wearing one yourself. Scottish food was something the Scots ate, behind closed doors.

Nearly 40 years after he launched the now internationally-famous Glasgow West End restaurant The Ubiquitous Chip - which, of course, doesn't serve chips - Ronnie's original venture has grown to become a multi-faceted icon of everything that's great about terrific Scottish food and top end hospitality.

But in the understandable eagerness to recount his triumphs as a restaurateur there's a small danger that one of his greatest abilities - his intuitive grasp of what makes a great publican - could be a little overlooked.

It was obvious in one or two very practical ways, for example by bringing in Bavarian beer on draught when continental brands were virtually unknown in a pub world then awash with gaseous "Export" and standard lager products.

More importantly, perhaps, he brought women into the equation in a big way - both as staff and as customers. This may seem bizarre now, but the standard 1970's pub world was heavily male-dominated and, by today's standards, downright primitive.

Men tended to rule the roost in restaurants too, until he changed all that with a staff which was both intelligent and, at various times, nearly all-female. The Chip (which moved across the road to its mews site in Ashton Lane in 1976) became the "trendy" place to be, after very humble beginnings, but more remarkably maintained its lead over the pack, year after year, without ever become "established" in the dull sense.

In developing the upstairs Chip bar over those decades he managed, with subtle alchemy, to weave a venue with an ambience which has made this particular outlet easily the best known "wine bar" in Scotland - while at the same time ensuring none of the snobbery that term used to imply could be found there.

When the smoking ban came along he ingeniously exploited the layout of the premises to create a little-advertised two-person smoking terrace, accessed by stairs. He thought people should be able to enjoy a fine cigar after a meal in reasonable comfort.

In the early days of the Chip success became assured when "the bohemian set" became his regulars. The amazing food, founded on honest Scots cooking and superlative ingredients, was accompanied by a cheery bring-your-own bottle ethos which went well with the general vibe.

But as the regular callers increasingly featured visiting academics, playwrights, politicians and other celebs, including many BBC types used to the well-equipped wine cellars of London's better establishments, the wine side of the business grew to become one of its major specialities.

Another, the one which made the Chip truly different, was the "zing" which comes with the spirit of radical endeavour on every front.

Ronnie was active in Scottish CND, and a cheerful host for the anti-apartheid movement - for which the Chip became an unofficial Scottish headquarters. His dream ambition, sadly never realised, is that along with all the other personalities dropping by he might one day serve Nelson Mandela - who he nevertheless saw during a celebrated trip to Glasgow.

Always innovating, refining, and adding to the appeal of his bar and restaurant Ronnie literally built his business from the ground up, continually succeeding on a once semi-derelict site (where his was the first pub) which has now become one of Scotland's liveliest quality bar-restaurant areas.

In a conversation I had with him (in a pub) a few years back, he said he was constantly amazed, perhaps even flattered, to find new ventures springing up everywhere with the same basic pitch he had launched back in 1971.

Intelligently-themed "Scottish" bars are no longer an oddity, and a whole and rapidly-evolving Scottish fine dining scene has evolved in the wake of his pioneering progress. Ronnie was battering on about the importance of "provenance" - mainly of food, but on anything from wine to beer to whisky - many years before it became fashionable.

It must have given him some satisfaction, however, that his son Colin went on to launch highly praised and very different ventures of his own. At a time when "pub" and "restaurant" were strictly separate concepts, he successfully combined in his venture Stravaigin the qualities of a great bar with a revolutionary style of restaurant offering "global" cuisine.

Now that the concept of bar-and-restaurant is increasingly common under Scotland's new Licensing Act the real potential of good food with good drink in a quality setting has finally come into its own.

Much as with his father, he was to see his "casual fine dining" ethos eagerly copied or adapted by hordes of emulators, some of them also very good in their particular ways. His characterful pub The Liquid Ship is another venture which manages to appeal to a broad, young-leaning audience, without being anything like those "licensed hairdressing salons" spawned by the failed big brands culture of the 90's.

Ronnie similarly devised his offer around what his customers wanted, and never aimed to reduce them to a series of accountancy-led tick-boxes in the hope of bumping up his margin.

His particular hates included people using kitchen additives of any kind, and he excoriated "easy" ways to do anything related to food. He freely admitted that nobody working at The Chip could expect an easy life.

If he felt like going for a whisky in a trad bar he'd go to what he reckoned was the best trad bar, and enjoy it entirely on its own merits. Regardless of whether he was talking to a politician or a plumber his conversation was always undemonstratively incisive and, frequently, fun.

Described this week as the "godfather" of Scottish cooking - a quip he would surely have enjoyed - he was a major example of the gifted independent operator determined to survive and flourish on the back of a big, bold, unique idea. And what a brilliant legacy he has left his city and his country.