Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!

Whether you’re Scottish or just have an affection for spiced meat then celebrating Burns Night is a must-do. For those of you not familiar with the event, this is a celebration of the life and poetry of Robert Burns and is held on his birthday each year, January 25. It’s traditional to serve haggis, neeps and tatties, which must be addressed with a poem as they arrives to the table.

But instead of slaving over a hot stove, why not head out to one of the many venues in Camden hosting Burns Night dinner.

St Pancras Grand
Expect a Burns Night meal gourmet style. The menus includes Scotch broth soup and braised lambs shoulder; pan-fried Scottish salmon, pine nut crust, creamed leeks, soft boiled quail’s egg; haggis, neeps and tatties; rhubarb crumble with malt whisky and ginger ice cream; followed by homemade shortbread.
£45 for 3-course dinner and entertainment
searcyschampagnebars.co.uk

York & Albany - Gordon Ramsay
A Scottish-inspired menu is on offer at this gastro pub. The meal kicks off with Scotch broth soup and braised lambs shoulder, followed by pan-fried Scottish salmon and then haggis, neeps and tatties – and it's all rounded off with rhubarb crumble and malt whisky and ginger ice cream.
£40 for 3-course dinner
gordonramsay.com

The Colonel Fawcett
Expect to receive a shot of whisky on arrival followed by Cockaleekie soup, soda bread, haggis, red berry sauce, bashed neeps and champit tatties.
£25 for 3-course dinner, dancing and bagpipes
thecolonelfawcett.co.uk

Shout outs from Twitter
Bull_Highgate
Phew! We now have a piper for Wednesday, so come along to our Burns' supper. Details on the website thebullhighgate.co.uk

Address to a Haggis
Even if you’re out and about for the night doesn’t mean you can’t say a poem. Here’s the traditional address to the haggis. Memorise it if you’re game!

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dicht,
An' cut you up wi' ready slicht,
Trenching your gushing entrails bricht,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sicht,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmaist! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
"Bethankit" hums.
Is there that o're his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect scunner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his wallie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whistle;
An' legs an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thristle.
Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinkin ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a haggis!

Greta Burgio, Love Camden team