The first time I heard the Selkirk Grace said properly was by Uncle John — my Scottish father's brother — in my mother's house in Cumbria. He was a traditionalist in the best possible sense: the kind of man who knew exactly how things should be done and was quietly pleased when they were. I'd offered to put on a Burns Night for the three of us. He accepted without hesitation.

He said it without prompting, without performance, and with the particular gravity of someone who had been saying it all his life. Then we sat down and ate.

The menu was the same one I've come back to ever since: Cock-a-Leekie Soup to start — chicken, leeks, and a long simmer — followed by Haggis, Neeps and Tatties, and Cranachan with Fresh Raspberries to finish. Simple, honest, and completely right for the occasion.

The second time Burns Night came around in my kitchen, I was living in Monte Lope Álvarez — a village in rural Andalucía where I'd arrived in 2012 with a house, a kitchen worth cooking in, and a determination to do both properly. There were a handful of Brits in the village at the time. There are fewer now. Vince thought he was Scottish because he'd lived there for a while. Tony just liked food. Between them they cajoled me into putting on a Burns Night.

The logistics required some planning. My brother and his family were visiting a couple of weeks before the 25th. My brother and his family were visiting a couple of weeks before the 25th. He asked if there was anything I needed bringing over from England.

A haggis, I said. And a swede.

They obliged without asking too many questions, which is the mark of a good family. The haggis travelled well. The swede, par-boiled and frozen, would later find its way into Clapshot — the Orcadian dish of neeps and tatties mashed together with butter and chives — and into a Casa Adora Burns Night that turned out to be remarkably easy to pull off, even 2,000 kilometres from Scotland.

The menu was the same: Cock-a-Leekie, Haggis Neeps and Tatties, Cranachan. And this time, I said the Selkirk Grace myself.

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.

Vince was moved. Tony had seconds.

The Burns Night Menu

Cock-a-Leekie Soup — chicken, leeks, and prunes, slow-simmered until the broth is deep and the leeks have given everything they have.

Haggis, Neeps and Tatties — the centrepiece. Haggis from a reliable source, neeps mashed separately, tatties buttered and honest. The Clapshot variation — neeps and tatties combined — is worth knowing about too.

Cranachan with Fresh Raspberries — toasted oatmeal, whipped cream, honey, whisky, and raspberries. Scotland's best pudding, and not a difficult argument to make.

A note on haggis outside Scotland

In rural Andalucía, haggis requires a four-hour round trip to one of the British stores on the Costa del Sol. It is worth it. If you're further from a source, good haggis is available online and travels well frozen. The neeps and tatties are considerably easier to source — wherever you are.

This Burns Night menu is featured in my Scottish Recipes collection — traditional Scottish recipes from Agnes Isabella's kitchen and beyond.
Find more recipes and food adventures here.
Wonky photos, proper food, genuine adventures — The Flexible Chef