Dysart

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Satan once lived in Dysart, and if that doesn't get your attention then nothing will. In my old 1920s guidebook it says that the name 'Dysart' is derived from a cave in which St Serf had a bit of an argy-bargy with Satan, some time in the fifth century. It was, I am reliably informed, an argument about the lack of good soup in the village.
In Dysart you are offered a tantalising glimpse of the visual treats to be found further along the coast in the East Neuk of Fife. For it is a charming village, boasting whitewashed houses with crow-stepped gables and red pantiles and a harbour with views aplenty. If you approach the village by the shore path from Kirkcaldy, then that first peek when you emerge from the short rocky tunnel will whisk your breath far away and leave you stunned with tingly contentment.
Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be a great deal available on the soup and ale fronts, the old tower that you see is only open once or twice a year, the museum focusing on some Australian explorer is hard to find, and the acclaimed Harbourmaster's House appears to be just a cafe with other rooms that were mostly closed when I was there, with the exception of a display area giving some history. But none of that really matters. For simply being in Dysart is all the reward you need, a visual reward that costs nothing and which constantly delights with each and every turn of a corner.