Given my restaurants 40 Dean Street and 64 Old Compton Street are both Italian, I admit neither might be the first place anyone would turn to for Burns Night, a celebration of the Scotland’s roguish national poet. But I’m very fond of Scotland, have spent wonderful times there, and count many Scots as dear friends.
More to the point, I don’t always fancy spending January 25 ploughing through the full works of haggis with neeps and tatties. Instead, I like to do the below — it’s as rich and warming as you can imagine, and the spice and pepper of the haggis gives the ragù this startling depth, and a bit of a kick. You might call it a hagù. Or maybe not.
